“Excuse me,” I overhear you ask, in your lovely New Zealand accent,

Yes? I wonder,

“But if my wife doesn’t like this hat, can I return it?”

FUCK YOU NEW ZEALAND MAN. FUCK YOU WITH YOUR HAIR AND YOUR FACE AND YOUR SHIRT AND YOUR JEANS AND YOUR VOICE. GUESS WHAT BUDDY? ALL SALES ARE FINAL! NO! YOUR WIFE CAN’T RETURN YOUR GODDAMN PRECIOUS GIFT!

I’m sorry. I want you to know, New Zealand Man, that when I say “precious” I don’t mean it in a sarcastic manner. I think that you wanting to buy your wife a vintage straw hat really is precious. It is a precious gift. It is kind of you. Kind like your eyes.

NON -REFUNDABLE, PAL. I HOPE SHE FUCKING HATES IT!!!! I HOPE SHE OPENS THE BAG, HER EYES WIDE WITH HOPE AND PROMISE, AND THEN UPON SEEING THE HAT, I HOPE THE SHARP DISAPPOINTMENT IS OBVIOUS ON HER (LIKELY) PRETTY, PRETTY FACE. I HOPE SHE COMES CLOSE TO TEARS. I HOPE THE HAT REMINDS HER OF EVERYTHING THAT IS WRONG IN YOUR RELATIONSHIP. BUT OF COURSE, YOUR RELATIONSHIP IS PROBABLY AS PERFECT AS YOUR FACE, NEW ZEALAND MAN.

You walk in, with your long hair, your boyish face, in your outfit that your perfect wife probably picked out for you, except you probably chose those shoes, and you make everyone want to know more about you and then with one simple request your ruin it all. What kind of husband are you, anyway? Aren’t you a little young to be married? Aren’t you a little young to be buying your wife a hat? Don’t you have to be in your 50s to do something like that? Who the hell are you, New Zealand Man? Where did you come from, aside from New Zealand?

AND WHERE IS YOUR WIFE, ANYWAY? SHE’S PROBABLY OFF DOING MISSIONARY WORK. SHE’S PROBABLY MODELING. SHE’S PROBABLY BUSY BEING FAMOUS. WHERE IS YOUR HOME, NEW ZEALAND MAN? VENICE? SANTA MONICA? ECHO PARK? WHERE DID YOU COME FROM? WHO ARE YOU?

I’m sorry, New Zealand Man. It’s just that you’re too perfect to be here. You’re too perfectly wrong. WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN A STORE ON A THURSDAY AFTERNOON? SHOULDN’T YOU BE WORKING? I KNOW WHY I’M HERE, BUT WHY ARE YOU? DON’T QUESTION ME, NEW ZEALAND MAN. I’LL ASK THE QUESTIONS HERE. I DON’T KNOW HOW THEY DO THINGS IN NEW ZEALAND BUT HERE IN AMERICA WE HAVE RULES, BUDDY. OUR RULES ARE THAT IF YOU LOOK LIKE YOU AND HAVE THE ACCENT THAT YOU HAVE, YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE A WIFE. LOOK IT UP IN THE CONSTITUTION. SEARCH FOR IT IN THE FLAG. IT’S PRINTED ON OUR MONEY.

I hope that you and your wife have a long and happy life together and I hope that she hates the hat. Really, really, really hates the hat.

“Sorry,” I hear her say. “All sales are final.”

You chuckle. CHUCKLE! A kind chuckle. A, “Aw shucks, I’m just happy to be here!” chuckle. You tell her that you’ll just have your wife come over and look at it then.

YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME, SPORT. YOU GO SHOPPING FOR YOUR WIFE WITH YOUR WIFE? NOW YOU’RE JUST SHOWING OFF. GET OUT OF HERE. GET BACK TO YOUR ART STUDIO. YOU’RE PROBABLY A PAINTER. OR A PHOTOGRAPHER. OR MAYBE YOU’RE A MUSICIAN. YOU PROBABLY HAVE LIKE SIX GUITARS AND YOU PROBABLY SING ABOUT WHY THINGS IN LIFE AREN’T SO BAD. I didn’t look at your wife before I left. But I can imagine her. I can imagine her crinkling her nose at the hat and waving it away. I can imagine hating her even more for it. But you probably take no offense.

Fuck you, gentle soul.

Get It On My Mind (Marvin Gaye vs. The Pixies) — Dj Zebra

Warning! This mash-up may change your life.