Turtle Head

This guy who inhabits a cafe that I frequent is the biggest fucking tool I've ever met. For our purposes, and because I don't know his name, we'll call him Turtle Head. He goes to Naropa- the little alternative hippy college that sits like a shining beacon of ill-informed hope at the bottom of the hill to CU Boulder : the top party-ranking ski-bumming college that I go to.
Everyone at Naropa has a Mac and can easily be identified by the yoga mat which has earned a consecrated spot in their thermo-molded, gortex-blend REI day packs, complete with dual drink-tube exit ports for ultimate on-the-go hydration. They adamently deconstruct gender binaries and challenge society's view of beauty with their deliberately indecorous hair choices. Women choose not to shave their legs and arms but make up for it by shaving their heads, ivory spiral earrings wedged into gaged earlobes. Men have ponytails or immense mountain-man facial hair or the especially arogant of the lot just let their hair go wild. Pantene Pro-V, chamomile and shea butter voluminizing product and endless grooming apparently all come together to create the perfected and painfully conscious image which falls somewhere in between ''I just had multiple orgasms'' and ''I don't give a fuck, I'm just beautiful''. Naropa folk live in yoga studios and cafes and subsist mainly on maté, green tea, gluten-free pastries and over-priced salads.
This man in particular used to sport pigtail braids. He's short and slightly chubby but he's perfected the sustained eye contact and soft touch which is supposed to signify his sensitivity. I call it narcicism but whatever. Either way, it does absolutely nothing to get him laid which is undeniably the underlying motivation behind 80 percent of his actions. The remaining 20 percent goes into trying to assert his intellectual dominance to all who become subjected to his presence.
Naropians bloviate to each other about incredibly important things (that everyone should be thinking about) in order to win their comrades' approval. ''We're all one bro,'' says Turtle Head to his equally hairy cafe table-mate. But, as TH has not realized, while he's making transcendently insightful observations about the state of the world, his convo-bud is listening just enough to follow it with a witty and infinitely transcendent-er response.
Turtle Head loses his train of precious thought as he glances up at a bleached-blond boobed-up bimbo in that gorgeous pair of Prana® pilates pants that are supposed to allow for ultimate flexation-action and are made of that one new synthetic that is built to whick any nearby moisture. She sits down next to him, her pants instantly whick away his maté but he doesn't notice. She can sense a kindred spirit. He's entranced in their impromptu convo about her new yoga iphone app. She very conveniently displays her touch screen right below the horizon line of her cleavage and she's flattered by how intently Turtle Head listens.
''He has inner beauty'', she tells her swooning girlfriends which is code for both ''he's kind of ugly'' and ''he is willing to put up with my shit because he is so desperate to fondle my tits'' simultaneously. Insecurities compliment each other in that sad sick way.
These people pity those who value money because ''there are so many more important things in life than a carreer''. But their money conveniently comes in monthly wires from Carmel and is somehow gone at the end of each month, putting them in the lowest tax-bracket and affording them the title of bohemian or ''starving artist'' which they traips around town proudly only because it's not true. Starvation is so flattering when it's voluntary.
My thoughts, these observations. They're so fucking deep. You have no idea. They're unclassifyable. How could they even fit in a square room with your limitations and definitions and. grammar rules don't: APPLY. My words transcend punctuation I refuse your endmarks and a period is not needed here it can't be placed here as if this were a complete thought you don't even know I'm so deep Dont Limit me with your rules and standardizations because I don't apply they don't apply to me to this this is beyond what you know what you understand beyond your rules my thoughts my jots

OUT.

Namaste bitch.