November 28, 2011

In honor of today’s post, I have decided not to wear pants.

But… just while I write this.

Thought you’d like to know.

Honestly, I don’t think it will surprise anyone who knows me that I’m not a big fan of pants. Sure, I wear them when the weather turns sour or on the clock at the bookstore, but other than that, I avoid them at all costs.

Yes, I am one of those guys that takes his pants off all the time at parties and would rather just hang out in boxers than get all gussied up for a night on the town.


I just don’t like pants.

It’s that simple.

Pants are constricting. Yes, they are designed to cover all the juicy naughty bits that we have, which is good in most situations. I’m sure a table full of guys wouldn’t want to see most of a hot waitress’s ass sticking out the back of her shorts, would they?

Pardon? Hooters?

Oh, right… bad example.

Still, pants do hold some functionality (like covering your bits and keeping them warm), but I’m still not a fan.

I like the days off that allow me to drop trou, grab a RedPop (don’t get all excited, Juggalos) and watch trashy horror movies on my Netflix instant queue. I’ll be damned if I let pants interfere with those precious (and increasingly infrequent) days.

Frankly, we used to drop our parts a lot more than we do now.

I can remember being at summer camp and hanging of in our boxers all of the time.  We had a motto: No Pants, No Fear.

We even had no-pants jams. We’d find a nook of the campus, set up a drum set and start playing. I carried my guitar everywhere with me back in those days, so I was always ready for no-pants jam.

On one such occasion, we found a small stage and a few girls interested in hearing us play.

I’ll spare you the details of what they had that we were interested in. Suffice to say… it involves pants.

Regardless, we were playing, pantless of course. I was on a small chair on the stage, and the girls were in the audience. This meant that they were roughly eye level with my crotch.

I don’t cross my legs to play guitar, so things sometimes sneak out the side of the boxers. They warned me to close my legs more because… well, the eggs and sausage were starting to slide out of the frying pan.

Instead, I spread my legs farther.

To say they caught an eyeful would be an understatement. Everything flopped out the side of my boxers and was left dangling for the girls to see.

They were pretty young, but so was I.

You don’t need to call Chris Hansen.

I can’t help but thinking that that may have been the first time they had seen male genitals.

If so, you are welcome, and you know who you are.



This is not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Sam Jones for providing me with an outlet to tell a slightly embarrassing story from my past.

I remember the looks in those girls’ eyes.

I can’t help but think that that experience led to a couple more that I had had with them, but alas… that is a very different 500 words.

Also, I had to cut out a vagina joke, mainly for shape issues. It was pretty unimportant to the final piece, so it was the first thing to go.

Truly ghjr


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