I saw this young punk wearing a sports shirt with the word “Supreme” scrawled across his scrawny chest and a number 10 on his back. It looked like a P.E. t-shirt of sorts, but of course, I immediately thought of American Horror Story: Coven, and how being a Supreme completely twisted the word to a whole new entity that has no connection to Diana Ross. The guy’s shirt was two sizes too small for me, so of course, I was like, “I want that.”
I immediately went home and hopped online, thinking, “Why can’t I have what I want? Shoot.”
It wasn’t difficult finding an array of Supreme t-shirts for my choosing. I found one I liked on Ebay, sized S/P and thought, “perrrrfect.” I could totally work this shit in case there’s ever been any doubt or question. My bitches would surely get a chuckle.
I was JUST about to commit to “Buy it Now,” when a disturbing image shattered one of the windows in my mind.
I don’t know why, I seriously wanted to channel the fabulous and wicked Fiona Goode.
But instead, I found myself thinking of a completely different supreme entity.
There’s the Supreme of The Supremes, there’s the Supreme Witch, there are Supreme Bottom Beings and then there’s the Supreme Bean. If my friends caught the subtle connection between the supreme word on my chest and that concoction you find at a Taco Bell, you best believe they’d get more than a chuckle at my expense.
I am forever reminded that there are certain looks and ideas that Mexican guys just can’t pull. Mexicans can’t pull messy, dirty or grungy the same way that white boys can. And we now know that Mexicans should steer clear of the word “supreme.”
It’s been decided.
PS: there a sexual act surrounding a Burrito Supreme–one that I hesitate to post on this here Hiss Fit, on account of it’s so god damned gross. I warned you.