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May 24, 2007


Why are you wearing that shirt?

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Jim: And What's Up With Those Boots?

I stopped with only one arm sleeved. “What?”

Jack sat on the edge of his cot, looking up at me. “That shirt,” he pointed, grimacing. “It’s all wrong.”

“What’s wrong with this shirt?” I asked, sliding on the other sleeve.

“Have you even seen yourself in that shirt? It sags on your chest and it’s too tight around your tummy. I’ve seen scarecrows with more fashion sense than you have!”

I stared at him for just a moment. Then I grabbed my helmet and left our tent.

Jack doesn’t have a good handle on that Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell thing.

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David: The Harsh Light

“I got a job, okay? Is that all right with you? This is my uniform. I’d rather not talk about it.”

“But, Gerald… Captain Cluckers?”

“They were hiring.”

“You have an advanced degree! Why stoop to food service?”

“I have a philosophy doctorate. Not a lot of major philosophical conglomerates are advertising job openings these days. I took what I could get. Plus, I can eat free on shift.”

“Chicken, Gerald? We’re vegans; we agreed.”

“I’ve already sold out professionally. It would be hypocritical not to eat what I’m feeding other people.”

“But… your family is rich!”

“Yeah. Funny story….”

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Jeff R.:Hand-me-Down

Sarah's face turned ashen as Paul came down the stairs. "What's wrong, mom?" he said.

She didn't respond, didn't even breathe until her body had to choose between answering or fainting. "That shirt..."

"What about it?"

"Why are you...that was..."

"What's all the fuss about?" boomed Nathan's voice from upstairs.

Blood returned to Sarah's face as she dragged Paul upstairs, by the collar. "This is Martin's shirt."

"He used to get his clothes when Marty couldn't wear them anymore," argued Nathan. "And it's not-"

Sarah slapped Nathan across the face as Paul scampered downstairs and out the door.

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From The Comments: Nick

"You know, that's not nearly as sexy as when I do that," she laughed.

"I know. Why is it that you can look so damn hot wearing my dress shirts at my place, but I can't pull of wearing one of your blouses?" he replied.

She came over to him and kissed him lightly on the forehead and said, "For one, you don't have the chest for it."

"So you're saying, you'd love me even more if had man breasts?"

She glared at him and started to unbutton the blouse. "Don't even think about borrowing my bras if you do."

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Stacy: The Assistant TM

Nearly a second skin, The Assistant ™ wasn’t so much a shirt as a symbiont, preventing heat loss, recovering precious moisture. It also repelled rain and bullets, but did sometimes get confused by slow-moving blades. It had 97 pockets, cost a lifetime’s pay, and I could never, ever take it off.

The Assistant ™ powered itself using the natural electricity of my body. Mostly. Every five years it required a full recharge. Complete immersion was required in order to fully replenish its emergency reserves.

I let the still-twitching body drop to the ground and reached for the next screaming donor.

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