Dixon says - Many writers struggle with humor. Somewhere along the line, Adam learned the secret: you start with a scrap of the truth, and then exaggerate it beyond all recognition. This is a wonderful example of writing that tickles the funny bone.
As a columnist for a fashion magazine, you might think I would have a clue as to clothing. Long story short, I don’t. Thankfully, Front Row Monthly columnist Charissa Livingston has slowly changed my life. Every month, Charissa provides us with news and reviews of the latest fashion trends and crazes from around the world. Her words are poignant, informative, and I feel are going to put me in a position to develop a style of my own, giving me the confidence to finally attract that one elusive woman I’ve sought after for so long.
I’ve never been one for fashion, but since Charissa came into my life, I have searched hundreds of websites, and watched a buttload of Bravo TV, mesmerized by visions of bulimic models prancing their tiny asses down the catwalk. The cuts, colors, and cameras promote a scene that I’m upset I hadn’t found sooner. Charissa’s column has been a Godsend.
For my entire life, I’ve only enjoyed wardrobe styling reminiscent of professional wrestling fans and toll booth attendants, which has made for a difficult attempt at dating. It can be embarrassing at times, as I get the feeling that every woman who has ever seen my closet thinks the same thing, “How am I going to untie myself and get out of this closet?”
Filled with stadium giveaway T-shirts, and beer logo hats featuring wildlife scenes, my wardrobe looks like a flea market that puked on a yard sale. I’ve even attempted to donate my clothes to Goodwill which declined, asking that I never return.
I’ve grown to understand that it’s time to start changing my ways, and I encourage Front Row readers to help in the endeavor. Please do not hesitate to keep me abreast of the latest styles, designers, and fads as I am a sponge looking to take ideas to the next level. Starting today (ehh, probably tomorrow), Adam Hornyak vows to stop wearing mustard stained jeans and accept what my public feels I need. Money is no object, so feel free to recommend a Nicole Miller gown (It can’t be backless though with all of the prison tats, and such). Maybe I’ll buy a Prada handbag to carry my pistol and condoms in. Just because I’m a men’s size 12 and weigh over 300 pounds doesn’t mean I don’t deserve a sexy pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes to wear out for an evening dancing. I am a new man, ready to take on this fashion shit with the gusto and fervor that made me the Wendy’s manager that I am today.
Mark my words. Someday soon, that one-eyed midget Sam’s Club cashier is going to notice me, and when she does, look out. The Adam is coming in style and will rock her 4 foot world. Sure, I can probably be a little more fashion-forgiving on everything above the equator (since she can only see my shoes and pants), but I can guarantee that the short circus freak will no longer spurn this guy’s advances. Look out world. Charissa has changed my life, and a new and improved Adam is about to show up.