I usually wear underpants. Sometimes I don’t. I call those “slut nights.”

Most people complain about their socks disappearing. My socks disappear, yes, but my underwear seems to as well. I remember when I used to have two drawers of underwear. I was loaded. I often prayed for a market collapse and the United States Government to go back to the “Underpants Standard” which is what the currency was before people discovered how shiny gold was. I would have been a millionaire. Now, I’d be giving blow jobs just for a pair of panties.

I don’t know when the last time I got a new pair of underpants was. Probably two Christmases ago. It was a two-pack, one black and one blue camouflage. I don’t see why those should be sold together. Black is a solid. Camouflage is not. Maybe I’m an underwear diva, but it bothers me. They both fit similarly. A nice snug feeling against my thighs. I’d say they are my sexiest underwear except for my silk pair with dogs on it. I don’t wear the silk ones too often. They’re too slippery and always fall down as I walk. My new sexy pair are the blue camouflage. When I wear them in a blue room, it looks like I’m naked.

A lot of my underpants are sports themed. As I type this, I am wearing a pair of boxers with basketballs on them. I don’t know why I have these. I don’t like basketball. I’ve never watched a full basketball game on television and only ever saw one in person. It was a minor league team that folded half way through the year. I remember eating chicken fingers then looking at the crowd and realizing that I had more French Fries in my lap than the team had supporters. It was a little sad, but keep in mind that I did have a lot of fries. My least favorite thing about these basketball boxers is that the elastic on top bends. It’s all curly. I don’t notice when I wear it, but I know if I ever took off my pants in front of a girl or a doctor or a thief wanting my pants they would notice. Then I’ll feel self-conscious.

Among my basketball boxers, I have several with baseballs on them. I actually like baseball. I like it so much that I have pajama pants that match my baseball boxers. I even have one pair of baseball boxers that is the same as another pair. I used to have the pants to go with it, but they got too worn down so I angrily tossed them at a Goodwill worker. I have another pair of baseball boxers that I know I’ve had since at least high school. It has autographed baseballs on it from the 1934 All-Star team. I don’t know why the makers chose the 1934 All-Star team. Maybe Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Jimmie Foxx, Ty Cobb, and Dave “The Vaginal Fluid” Patterson were easy to names to artistically put onto boxer shorts. Okay, I know what you’re thinking and I admit it. Ty Cobb had already retired by 1934. Sue me for making up lies if you got a problem with it!

The way I remember my boxers and how long I’ve had them is if I remember getting changed in gym class with them on. There was a boy with one-arm that changed next to me and I always thought that he would make a comment about my underwear looking too childish. He never did. He was too busy trying to figure out how to get a tackle at two-hand touch football.

Then there are some normal pairs of underpants that I have. By normal, I mean no badass pictures on them. I have a couple of grey pairs, a blue one, a navy blue one, and that’s it for my boring pairs. I don’t like those boring pairs. It reminds me too much of when I was younger and wore tighty-whities. My asshole never seemed to get clean and I would leave a nice brown stripe for my mom in the back of it. She’d yell at me and tell me I wasn’t wiping well enough. I began to check my underwear before putting it in the wash for stray shit stains. Whenever I would find one, I would hide the underwear under my bed. I figured if they’re good enough to go under my pants, they’re good enough to go under my bed. I’d wait until she began to do a new load of laundry, grab my dirty underwear, and rush down to toss them into the washing machine without her knowing what a dirty ass I had. I see why she did it. I hate having a dirty asshole. It also taught me why teenage boys and then men wear baggier boxer shorts. Because they have very dirty assholes. Maybe if we put more manly things on toilet paper instead of cute puppies. Put a truck or a UFC fighter on them playing with a roll. I think it might work.

I had a nightmare a month back where some fat kid I went to high school with took my underwear and threw it. He said “You won’t be needing these anymore.” I woke up and reached down to make sure that my underwear was still on. It was there. I had dreamt the whole thing. If I get that panicked about a dream where my underwear gets tossed away, I can’t imagine how I’d feel if something more important like my spoons did.

P.S. – My only friend in real life has started up his blog again. Check it out along with the other links on my “blogroll.”

  1. I get around the problem of skidmarks by only wearing black boxers.

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