It takes a certain type of man (and a frankly extraordinary type of woman) to stride into a bar – they never ever ‘wander’ in – sporting a faux-leather bag about the size of a midget’s ironing board. Upon reaching the pool table they stop. They place the bag on a nearby table (obligatory shoulder strap easily shrugged off), and carefully withdraw two halves of a pool cue. These they carefully screw together, delighting in the way the screw’s thread fits the hole’s. This is what‘fitting in’ must feel like, they imagine.
Although often very sleek and very shiny, the own-pool-cue (OPC) is not an expensive accessory. Yet it does contribute some less-than-pleasant insinuations about its owner. It suggests an emotional (notwithstanding financial) commitment to the most pointless of games: pool. One’s ability at pool usually correlates inversely with one’s ability at life. To celebrate and consolidate this fact by proudly holding the OPC is deeply sinister. Why not just hand out CVs detailing your secret desire to be a DJ, Asian porn fetish, and interest in insects? Carrying the totem-pole of sinistry around with you to tell everyone this is no better.
Attic Rating: 7/10
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