FICTITIOUS FASHION: The Boy Who Freeballs

Take a look at my face. Look at those abs. My toned legs? Perfectly groomed facial hair? Yeah, I’m a model so I don’t really need to many credentials…or clothes. I’m fine with just a necklace, some socks and my Prince Albert. Yeah, I said it. Prince Albert.

Anyway, I’m going to the airport to head off to Australia because my agent got me some campaign for a shoe brand…or shaving cream. I can’t remember which one because I didn’t end up boarding that plane headed to Australia.

You wanna know why? Because the fucking MTA Security tackled and apprehended me. I thought I was doing them a favor by taking all of my clothes off before going through that bomb detector or whatever it does.

They seemed okay when I took my Vans off and they didn’t look twice when I took my belt off but they flipped–their–shit when my Levi’s came down and saw I was freeballing. 

When the first security officer attacked me, I was able to push him off and began snatching up my clothes from the floor. But then they kept coming. I was like “Damn, are they like the Crazy 88 or what?!” I was waiting for The Bride and shit to pop up.

But it was all good though. The brand I was going to shoot for is apparently folding soon. And I got three phone numbers and a few grabs while being escorted out of the airport. Like I said before: it was all good. Now if you don’t excuse me, I’ve got somewhere else I have to be at and from what I hear, clothes are optional.