Let no-one claim I am not artistic. Yesterday I came into a much-needed five bucks, for doing nothing more than sitting in a sunny office with three other DTESers, spouting off opinions about the people who are allegedly paid to help us get jobs. It took an hour. Five bucks for an hour of opinionating about Welfare service providers: I could be a millionaire before I run out of things to say.

But did I take that five dollars and get myself a nutritious lunch, or a week's worth of veggies at Sunrise Market? Oh no I did not. I walked myself over to Yaletown, confirmed that my hairdresser would extend credit, got my hair done to Malibu blonde perfection, then settled my linen-clad ass in the cushy sofa at Starbucks for a few hours. Sometimes you've just got to go West Side, ya know?

So what does this have to do with Worker #3116? Well, the next thing to get revamped is my wardrobe. Pulling out my jeans the other day, I realized that over 50% of them are – get ready – pegged. I shit thee not. Cuz yeah, nothing in the world is as flattering as jeans that skim the hips, then pouf out and billow around the legs down to the ankle, where they nip in smartly. Yeah, that cut would make Heidi Klum look like a cankled camel. So it is time for some new jeans.

Here is what Worker #3116 has to say about eighties jeans:

Clown Coffee is wearing these retarded jeans today that look like something I would have worn in Junior High with the cuffs pegged. They got me thinking about those Bugle Boy commercials where people would go out of their way to imply that they were sexually attracted to you, when really they were just sexually attracted to your horrible jeans. And I was thinking about how those ads would look today.

2006 Bugle Boy Jeans Ad #1
Nightclub. Nelly plays in the background. Scantily clad women gyrate, people drink expensive cocktails, the men all have five o’clock shadow and their shirts half-unbottoned. A man stands by the bar in his Bugle Boy jeans. He sees a woman in hot pink eye-liner with a razor-cut hairdo sitting on a velvet couch, checking him out. She runs a hand along her upper chest. Beads of sweat have collected on her upper lip. The man tries to play it cool, but he looks over and the sexy woman is still checking him out. The bartender sets down the man’s Smirnoff Ice, and as he goes to pick it up the woman’s fingers graze the back of his hand. Nervously, he looks up. “Hi…” he manages. The woman smiles seductively. “Are those Bugle Boy jeans you’re wearing?” she asks. Confidently, the man nods. “Why, yes, they are,” he says. “TOLD YOU BITCH, PAY UP!” the woman shouts to her friend, still sitting on the velvet couch across the crowded bar. “YEAH, BUGLE BOY JEANS, CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE IT?” she yells as she recrosses the room to get the bet-payoff from her friend.

And so on, and so on. I need new jeans NOW!