The other night, on our way back from a mirth-filled evening of Bryan Regan stand-up in Frisco, I somehow managed to rub a large piece of Pocky G into my favorite shirt, a baby blue Big Lebowski homage which states “the Dude abides” underneath a picture of him (often mistaken for Jesus by the uneducated). I didn’t notice the chocolate indiscretion until it was exposed in all it’s stained glory, by the bright lights of the supermarket back in Davis.
At first I was a little miffed at the whole situation and I mentioned it to my friend Nate, who happens to share my affinity for the great movie (his dad is basically the Dude of Tuolumne). He made the wise assessment that perhaps it wasn’t really all that bad, because the Dude wouldn’t fret over one measly little stain and it certainly wouldn’t stop him from wearing it bowling, so why should it upset me? So I said “fuck it dude, let’s go bowling” and washed it without any pre-wash preparation (Shout, for instance) and now I have a very dude-like stain permanently ingrained into my shirt.