Our man in Havana, or is it NYC or Chicago I'm not sure, the fooster, foomeister, foomanchu, or plain foo, has unsurprisingly turned again to his despised public and requested their, somewhat inferior views on one of his latest overwrought and over thought purchases. No spur of the moment decisions for this diminutive Trump of the forums. Even though he seems to be awash in unearned wealth, the best kind, he must it seems, be bound to agonize, at least in public , about each $1,000 spent on his self love. As of now the DSM has no special category of 1 for this person.
In the past the ma po dofoo has, alone and without the much desired support embarked on a one shoe odyssey that almost reached around the home block. There has been the mythical Napoli tailoring of the Rubens natural shoulder requiring across Atlantic flights, not economy, to get measurements and fittings in the garbage filled cesspit of Italy. Then there was the discovery of a new romantic interest other than the self. The perfect pant. Only one person in this world of 7 billion was capable of such a feat. No not the boys department of Brooks but, and I know this will come as a surprise to some, an Italian artisan of godlike skills, residing in, of all places, Italy. One aptly named Ambrosia or similar.
It is a lamentable fact that this did not go well. Due no doubt to Italian intransigence, genetic shiftyness and general ignorance of the American iGents exacting standards and the impossibility of the said iGent ever being wrong or capable of incoherent communication. As with many relationship breakdowns in this modern world much of the saga was conducted online, in view of myriad strangers and even encouraging those strangers, as is our hero's wont, to join the adventure as experts, as long as it was acknowledged that they were lesser experts by a serious margin than our hero.
Mr Osho Foo posted a photo of himself in a park wearing the prefect trousers and a sweatshirt or gym top and the premmies agreed that tis was indeed the perfect trouser. Orders to Italy increased. Somewhere somehow something went a tiny bit wrong. Mr Foo was waiting a year or more for pants. When they arrived they were too big or too small or too wide or Mr Foo had put on weight, taken off weight or sucked in his belly. Anyway they were not perfect and it was the italians fault. No doubt.
Naturally this was all posted in public to a forum of interested strangers, idiot lurkers and no doubt the FBI monitoring service. Snowden is no doubt saving this for his coup de grace to usa.
Unusually, the maligned maker, Sig. Ambrosia, can read and write English and use the Internet, who would have thought Italians could do these things. Not only that he seems to like drink or two. One night he got half plastered in Japan or Hong Kong or somewhere not America and decided to hit back at the casual slanderer.
Our Mr Foo got called, by his old romantic interest Ambrosia, a "dwarf Oval Head " amongst other kinder but devastating descriptions, like liar. There was some considered debate as to if Mr Foo did indeed have an oval head. Consensus was not reached.
The whole exchange is worthwhile reading if you are stuck in an airport by an artic vortex or squashed in economy class on a long flight from creditors.