How to Know When You’re a Broke-Ass
Let’s face it, guys. You woke one morning and it dawned on you: “I’m a broke-ass.” But how do you know? What evidence is there to prove that you’re a broke-ass or not? Here’s a few key signs that might let you know that you are indeed a broke-ass motherfucker.
To Eat or Not to Eat:
That is the question, and once you ask yourself this question you know you’re a broke-ass. Money gets tight at certain points. Whether it’s the holiday season, you’re in an incredible amount of debt, or you just haven’t mastered the art of saving money, you can sometimes find yourself deciding between getting home or eating lunch.
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Shopping? New Clothes? Uh, No.
Keeping up with fashion trends is cool, if that’s your thing, but if you’re like me you buck the trend. Still, it’s nice to at least keep up with your own style. Me? I don’t go shopping much these days and I can attribute that to the lack of fashion sense. I’m just a t-shirt, jeans and sneakers type of guy. Nothing fancy over here. But that doesn’t mean I don’t at least attempt to update the wardrobe every now and then.
So here’s how your clothes say “I’m a Broke-Ass”:
- You’ve been wearing the same coat for 5 years or more.
- People confuse your white Converse sneakers for a pair of black Converse.
- You don’t buy vintage style t-shirts to be trendy, because your shirts are already faded.
- The rip in those jeans are a result of wear and tear, not a fashion statement.
This isn’t so much a sign that you’re a broke-ass, but more so a sign of homelessness creeping into your near future. I don’t know about you guys, but I like to smell like a spring day in a field of beautiful flowers. Unfortunately, not everyone feels the same way. Some people sacrifice showers from their daily lives, and who can blame them. “I hath no time for showers, for I shall shower my fellow man the my manly musk.” Just what I fucking need; a guy who’s body odor causes the immediate area to smell like Shaq’s diarrhea inside a cows vagina. I don’t know how this problem has risen, and I understand that popular hygiene products destroy natural oils and such, but I’d rather circumcise myself with a nail clipper.
Home, Sweet, Home…Hi, Mom
Failure: It’s the worst possible thing you can feel.
You think that you can achieve success. You feel that you can handle the real world and its pressures. You know you can conquer a fucking planet…and then you fall flat on your face. The glitzy job is gone, the wrong bills begin to pile up, and the words “fuck this bullshit degree” can be seen glowing above that defeated look on your face. So what do you do? You suck it up and head back home. Think positively, because you get to start over. Yes, a new beginning is upon you. Shit, mom found my pack of condoms and she’s asking questions. Fuck!
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