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Permit me, if you will, to begin not with an insult, but with a lament—a sonorous mourning for the tragic state of your… ensemble.
I do not wish to be cruel, dear fellow, but one must speak plainly when confronted with a textile travesty of this magnitude. That suit, sir, is less an outfit and more an affront to the very notion of tailoring. The lapels—if one dares call them that—hang like the ears of a disgraced spaniel.
Did you perchance select this ensemble from the clearance barrel at Banana Republica? Or was it a hand-me-down from a tragically dressed orangutan uncle? Either way, it is less “business casual” and more “funeral for fashion.”
So I implore you: burn it. Bury it. Donate it to science or the theatre. But never, ever darken the doors of this boardroom again dressed as though a colorblind lemur advised your tailor under duress.
Now. Shall we proceed with the quarterly banana distribution report?