the big bopper

Very much to my own amusement, some recent hard drive tidying lead to my discovery of this smattering of nonsense that I penned well over two years ago. Enjoy:

the most forgotten sign of a way cool fellow is the leather jacket. nobody rocks the leather jacket anymore. see, if it were 1955 and i wanted to put myself on the local map of greaser big whigs, all i would need is a slick leather jacket and a huge black comb. if i had the whole get-up i could lean against my car outside the drive-in burger joint and girls would flock to me like sheep to a shepherd in a hot leather jacket. no matter what my name was, i would have it replaced with some stellar nickname like "the bopper" or "the big bopper". why can't it be that way? you know, i noticed that sonic is really supposed to be like a throw back to the fifties. in fact, it's real name is sonic drive-in. but it's not a very good throw back to the fifties because if it was, then when i went there the other night in my hot leather jacket the girls would've died to get with me. but that's not how it went. all the fellers with their tricked out cars hogged the limelight. i leaned against the side of my car for like 45 minutes. not one bite. dang. i wish i was fonzie. then when my cell phone rang i would have cool lines like "hey baby, fonzie's got to get the phonzie, then we'll go to inspiration point". little would she know that inspiration point is a really good fishing spot i used to go to with my grandmother when i was eight. man, we would catch the most hardcore large mouth bass.