I KNEW this was going to fucking happen

Listen, babies.
I don't make this shit up.
Everything I do has a good fucking reason.
As fucking Barnes

would say

Now, I got no fight... with any man who does what he's told. But when he don't, the machine breaks down. And when the machine breaks down, we break down.

See, here's the deal.
Pretty much my entire wardrobe, with the possible exception of T shirts, but pretty much everything I wear every day, is one of, or a direct derivative of, these colours:

It's my system, and it works well.
I might skew a little darker in the winter, but otherwise, it's a blessed oasis of consistency and dependability in an otherwise chaotic and unpredictable universe.
Consider it my personal hedge against entropy.
Probably the worst that can ever happen is that I'll end up, either due to the laundry crap shoot, or simply not turning on the lights, going to work in the dreaded khaki/khaki matchup, with the result that I either walk around all day looking like the world's oldest (and largest) Chien Kuo Boy's High School student

Or

Crikey.

Anyways, you wouldn't be-fuckin-lieve the fucking stick I get for this around the palace.

See, to me, every shirt or pair of kecks is different.

I don't have any fuckin difficulty differentiating between British khaki

and desert tan

to me it's like a fuckin rainbow.

I'm afraid I don't have any choice but to surmise that girls are just too dumb to make out the variation.

So anyways, in the interest of getting a little peace and quiet, the last time a new shirt order went in, your sagacious yet sprightly Ruler actually got a couple that were, well...colours.
And yes, they went into regular rotation, seeing wear once a week or every other week.

You know, it's important to exhibit maximal adaptability.

But, sure enough, sooner or later, it was bound to happen, I'm grabbing out my clothes in the morning, and the Ranette sees them and gives me the stinkface.

So I say, you know, what?

And she says, sounding like she'd caught me pissing in the sink or something

"You're not planning on wearing that shirt with those pants, are you?"

And I'm like, why not?

And she says

"Because they don't go!"

Well fuck me.

OK, fine, what the fuck ever, so I go and get the other coloured shirt.
And I say, OK, is that better?

And she says

"Ugh, that's worse, now you look like a Christmas tree!"

So I went back to the first one and told her if she didn't like it she could pound sand up her ass.

Or something like that.

See, this is what happens when you FUCK with the SYSTEM.

Catch me fuckin buying something coloured again, I don't fucking THINK so.

Raj