We are the goon squad and we are coming to town

Kris KrossWhat goes around comes around. In the late 90s we were subjected to a plague of ‘fashionistas’ (flash or what?) telling us that the 70s were like, so in man, and that we should resurrect loon pants and Huggy Bear style platform shoes, with goldfish in the soles.

But no, the sensible people listened, and continued to dress in t-shirts and jeans. Women almost escaped, but insist now on wearing those god-forsaken gypsy skirt thingies, especially when they’re out on the town. Go back to jeans, please, so we don’t have to imagine how fat your arse is. With jeans you just know.

You know what’s next though. A 90s revival. So picture the scene… Wayne’s World style ‘dream sequence’ fade out…

Middlesbrough. 2010. Satda Night. Two 27 year olds, for the sake of argument, called, ooh, I don’t know, Mike and Keith, stand at the bar of a club called ‘Button Down Adidas Tracksuit Bottoms’ formerly Flares.

“What’ya drinking chief?” asks Mike.

“Dunno chief, summat a bit decent, some top totty in here tonight.”

“How’s about a Carlsberg? That’s quite 90s innit? The splitarses love 90s ya know.”

“Go on then chief, but not Export, you know what a kids belly I am after I had my liver swapped for a parmo.”

They are clad in the latest fashions from Psyche and Triads.

Mike wears jeans ripped at the knee and back-to-front, a-la Kris Kross, a Bart Simpson “Don’t have a cow man” t-shirt and some shiny kickers shoes.

KG, I mean Keith, is clad from head to toe in Kappa.

“Fuck about chief, check her out!” shouts Keith over the sounds of Culture Beat.

“Yeah, I know, she’s proper Cowabunga her man.”

The bird they are eyeing up is wearing a Union Jack dress, about 3 sizes too small, and over the top spice girl platform shoes. She has the same hair do as Rachel off of Friends.

“KG, wait here chief, drank too much Castaway in the Riverside (Formerly Hush, formerly the Ayresome Park.), gonna spew.”

“Alright chief.”

And with that, Keith goes to the pizza shop and buys a parmo, with the Ninja Turtles on the box. He goes home in an N reg Ford Escort. not because of the fashion, they just haven’t bought any new taxis yet..

(Dream sequence… and we’re back!)

There we are chiefs. A horrifying vision of the future, I’m sure you’ll agree. Let’s stick to jeans and t-shirts eh?

And no more Castaway. Even though it is very nice.

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J.A. Laraque

J.A. Laraque is a freelance writer and novelist. His passion for writing mixed with a comedic style and intelligent commentary has brought him success in his various endeavors. Whatever the subject, J.A. has an opinion on it and will present it in writing with an insight and flair that is both refreshing and informative.

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