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Schizofashion

Fashion discussions are dangerous ground, particularly for those of us who used to dress like hippies or whatever.  You can find old pictures and videos of the Woodstock event where the hippies are drugged and rolling nekkid in mud formed from ingredients other than dirt and water.  To say that this brought no honor to the imago dei is to understate things a bit.

It’s not hard to imagine two little demons looking for trouble and wondering if they could get the hippies to do this.  Viola! they did, and an entertaining new pastime for demons was born.  Now it appears they’ve hit on the idea of getting modern kids to dress like mental patients — less crass, just a tad more subtle than nekkid hippies in mud, but no less effective from the imps’ point of view.  The following is told in open defiance of PeeCee termagants who will be appalled that I don’t know all the correctly delicate phrases with which to tell this story.

When I was pastoring my first church, a lady in the congregation had to be temporarily committed to the psych ward at a local hospital.  She’d been going to lots of doctors who prescribed lots of pills until pharmaceuticals were her primary nutrient.  After a few months of that, she went insane.  One of the doctors had her committed; the family agreed to it, and off she went.  I got the phone call to pay a pastoral visit, which I did.

Here is what I saw.  The patients in the psych ward wore amazingly ill-fitting clothing.  The men had some hospital pants that appeared to be one-size-fits-all; therefore, the pants would fit Hulk Hogan comfortably.  Men of normal stature wore them either around their knees or else were obliged to go around holding them up with their hands, and the pant legs piled up around their ankles.  Some of the men had hats.  These were worn at any angle except straight and level.  For reasons not apparent to me, mental patients were not permitted to wear ordinary street shoes, so they had flip-flops or shower shoes.  The whole aspect was pathetic with guys shuffling along in flip-flops, pants falling down, hats looking crazy.  And, well, the poor guys were crazy, which is why they wore their hats like that.  The lady I went to visit was shocked by her companions.  “There are crazy people in here,” she said.

You could release all those mental patients into the average shopping mall and they would appear perfectly normal.  The only thing that hasn’t changed since Woodstock is the drugs.

gangster britcheshat

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