you know what's more ironic though, being a teenager and pretending that it is 1986 and grunge never happened because metalblade said that it is so, and paying 200 dollars on ebay for a Razor shirt to wear at the next gig of local bands in which every guy is wearing white reeboks, a bullet belt, maybe a Cirth Ungol shirt, and has feathered bangs on some farrah fawcett's gay brother with a dirtstache steeze, and then drinking PBR in someone's exodus poster-clad (also bought from ebay from a fat 45-year old bagel shop owner at top dollar) garage, listening to twisted tower dire vinyls with the mom of one of your friend's who tells you all stories of glory days when you could wear leather jackets in the summer without being viewed as mentally handicapped and the one time she sucked off the bassist of Manilla Road.
My glasses are cool, I have a dioptre and prescription in my lenses and a protective layer for computer work (because I stare at the screen at work 14 hours a day), and these were the cheapest frames I found that fit my bulbous jaundice baby head.