Nice jacket, eh? Go ahead, take a good, long, hard look. Pretty cool, isn't it?

Sorry, it's just that I've noticed you looking at my jacket for the past couple of days in what I'd consider an admiring way. Let me just say, thanks for your admiration. It really is a terrific jacket. I can see that you must have good taste when it comes to clothes. Well, other people's clothes…

Perhaps you're wondering why I've been wearing the same jacket day in day out for the last month? Well, obvious answer (really good jacket), but don't think that I haven't noticed that you also have been wearing that, um, “jacket” of yours quite frequently. I couldn't say whether or not you have worn it every single day the way I have mine – I haven't been paying that much attention to you – but what I can say with complete certainty is that your jacket is not as cool as mine.

I mean, I'm sure that's not what you intended to broadcast by wearing your jacket all the time the way a person with a really cool jacket (say, me) would wear theirs.

Did you?

You couldn't possibly entertain that notion. How could you? It's insane!

Look at your jacket. It's nowhere near as cool as mine. They aren't even in the same league. If they were in leagues I'd have to say that mine would be in a very professional sort of league and yours would be in a very amateur one. I can't think of two fitting league examples right now, which in itself is a testament to how worlds apart our jackets are. Galaxies, really. Sorry, my bad; leagues just doesn't cut it when it comes to jackets. I mean, don't get me wrong, your jacket is for all intents and purposes a jacket. But there's jackets and then there's jackets, am I right?

For instance, look at the workmanship of mine. You can tell that the zigzagging patchwork of multi-colored, quality-tie-dyed imitation leather has been hand-sewn. And the patch with the roaring lion with wings and a flaming sword riding a grizzly bear on the breast was hand-sewn too. The lining was sewn with a machine, which I've been assured was operated by a human hand.

The only thing that wasn't hand-sewn are the fluoro-yellow acrylic lapels and the transfer of Yosemite Sam, guns drawn, saying “Back Off,” located appropriately enough on my back. Those appear to have both been iron-ons, and were ironed on with the finest of care.

I've also noticed that your jacket doesn't contain a horizontal zip at the back of the neck where a concealed parachute-style rainhood is housed; mine does. Nor can I see the faint bulge of a mouth-tube inset into your collar that is attached to a water-reserve located in each of the pockets. Mine has that too *slurrrrrp*. Does yours, perchance, have a secret pocket within a secret pocket for keeping things extra hidden? My jacket may or may not contain such a cache.

And let's not even mention that you don't have your name embroidered on the breast in yellow-gold cursive. No, this isn't my name, it must have been the name of the original person who commissioned this piece. That's right, I consider this jacket a piece of art. Xiao-Wing must have truly been a patron of coolness.

And that's what I'm getting at, I guess. My jacket out-cools your jacket. Any day of the week. Big time. And the distance between the jackets isn't negligible, believe me, it is a chasm. A wide open space of progressive coolness that starts at a nadir of relatively uncool (you and your jacket) up a gently inclining gradient that ends way, way in the distance at a steepening peak of complete and utter coolness (me and my jacket).

You may have noticed that I have started to talk not just about our jackets but have brought ourselves into the conversation. This was intentional and not meant to go by unnoticed. Because a cool jacket can only be as cool as its wearer. I'm sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but you; like your uncool jacket, are pretty uncool too.

This has an unexpected silver-lining for you (incidentally, my jacket has chrome-silver lining, which keeps me cool as a kewk during these sweltering summer months). For you and your jacket, while both uncool, were simply made for each other. It really does suit you. And I'm sure that you can acknowledge that me and my jacket go together like peaches and cream, which is just about the best pairing ever (apart from me and my jacket!).

What I'm trying to get across whilst we stand at this bus stop, waiting to go to our respective jobs where I will be openly high-fived by my co-workers for having such a terrific jacket and you will most likely be passively maligned by your co-workers for whatever reasons they see fit–and believe me, I can tell just by looking at you that the list of reasons must be pretty long–is that even if by some freak occurrence you ended up with a jacket as cool as mine – which you'd be hard pressed to find but goodluck! – you wouldn't be up to the task of honouring its coolness and matching it with your own. In effect, even without any jackets; say if we're standing bare-chested, I would still out-cool you. Surely you have enough self-awareness and humility to see this.

So what, you say! Does a man have to be cooler than another? you might say also.

And the answer is yes. We just have to be. Humans are like that. We strive to be the coolest at all times. It's what separates us from the losers, dweebs and nerdlingers of this world who wouldn't know cool if it wrapped itself around them and covered their upper bodies the way this cool jacket perfectly encompasses mine.

So in short, I am cooler than you. Not by just a bit. By a lot.

Now if you'll excuse me, the bus is arriving and I've got to crowd the doorway to make sure no passenger exits before I've had a chance to get on and get the seat nearest the driver, where I will speak to him about my jacket in a loud, clear voice, because I find whispering intensely rude.

Oh, one last thing. I really hate you and your jacket. It's nothing personal. It's just coolness.