September 2002

Don't Sit Down: A Tragedy Waiting to Happen

Problem: Sometimes my sack falls out of my underpants.
The Story: Back in 1999, I began to buy tons of underpants. Every time I went to Hecht's, or any other men's clothing section, I purchased a pack of underpants. In time, I amassed a collection of about fifty pairs of men's underpants. I had all kinds, too. Boxers, briefs, and boxer briefs. Being single and having no car payments to worry about, I always had extra money to spend on crap like that. I could wear two pairs of underpants a day for three weeks and still have a few clean pairs left over.

Since I customarily wore only three pairs of jeans in rotation, and never cleaned them, the mass of underpants (I will not call them 'undies' to save on typing time) let me appear to be filthy without being filthy. That's kickin' back like a champ. What's more, fifty pairs of underpants all fit in ONE washing machine load. Hell, that's awesome!

Because I did not care what kind of underpants I bought, the quality of my underpants varies greatly. I have many pairs of sturdy and comfortable u-pants (that should save me some typing time) that will never die. But I also have some of the flimsiest u-pants in creation. The flaky u-pants all have one flaw in common: my bits fall out.

Normally, I do not think about my nuts. I wash them, dry them, and tuck them into my underpants every morning. The u-pants I reach for are at random. I get whatever I pull from the shelf. When I put them on they seem fine. My rad chillies (as one may call them) settle down for a day in the office.

Some time between leaving the house and arriving at my desk, something strange happens: my nuts escape. So there I am, in the middle of the office, with two, three or four women (and there are ONLY women) in the office, wanting to adjust myself. Before I know that my sack is free, I think I need a 'regular' adjustment. You know, spread my legs and align myself. But as I reach for the quick one-two I realize that I am grabbing myself. My nuts are hanging low.

Crap. While it is no problem to run to the bathroom to fix myself, I know that my balls will pop out every time I walk to the fax machine or to get my mail. This day is going to blow.

I also know that at some point that day my balls will rub up against my zipper and scare the hell out of me.

When I get home, I undress and toss the offending pair. If I owned a furnace, I would reserve a special day in every month for underpants burning. It would be cool.