sometimes I like to roll up on sales attendants and show them what's up. i like to feel that the spirit of my sartorial crew (voxsatoria, aportney, bmulford, manton) are riding behind my shoulders, ghostly, translucent, like the four horseman of the apocalypse, when i'm telling people how sadly pathetic they truly are. i rain the fucking wrathful fire of satorial vengeance down on these ignorant bitches, name dropping motherfuckers like rubinacci and steed left and right. when i enter a store all the little sa bitches better run for cover, cause i'm bringing the collective knowledge of an entire internet forum to do battle (including bboy manton, that gangsta actually wrote a fucking book on suits - what the fuck you done today, bitch?).