Ebola. ISIS. Putin’s general hootenanny in Ukraine (I call it a Putinanny). It’s a complex, tense, scary world. As citizens, we have a civic duty to keep ourselves informed; an ignorant populous is a doomed one. That’s why I’m here to shed light on the most troubling issue facing humanity today: skinny jeans.

I’ve never been harmed by someone wearing skinny jeans; never assaulted by a horde of mouth breathing hipsters. Hell, I’ve never even worn any. So why should I be upset about them? Why should I waste time on something so trivial? Because I’m the kind of person who stares at the sun when I’m bored.

Maybe my hatred stems from the fact that something about skinny jeans seems inherently French. They seem like something mimes would wear while silently gallivanting about, wrestling with invisible walls and non-existent bear traps. They’re like mute soulless clowns. But I don’t need to go into my deep seated hatred of mimes here—there are plenty of busy street corners for that.

I’ve tried to take action against them. I’ve lurked around back alleys in gentrified neighborhoods, a pair of tongs in one hand and the bible in another (nothin’ like a hard covered bible to knock someone out). But my ventures into late-night vigilantism have been greeted with tazings and nightstick beatings. I guess America hates heroes…