Posts Tagged ‘clothing’

Think of your favorite cartoon character. Are you thinking of it? Does this character wear clothes? No? You’re a pervert. If you answered yes, continue on. What kind of clothes does this cartoon character wear? I mean each episode. Because a normal human being would change their clothing. But not a cartoon character. They wear the same damn clothes every damn day. Except sometimes during flashbacks or special occasions. Like that Flinstones episode where Fred had to attend Pebbles’ funeral. That was a real downer but we got to see Fred in a suit. This observation and obsession of mine has made me more aware of the clothing that actual life action humans wear. Freaky thing about this is that sometimes there are real people who dress like cartoons. People who always seem to wear the same thing every day.

(He sure seems chipper to be at his daughter’s funeral. Must have wanted a boy)

The only joke I’ve ever seen in a cartoon about this was on an episode of Doug. Doug, who always wore a green vest with a white shirt underneath, opened up his closet to reveal an entire rack full of the same outfit. In real life, few people own multiple versions of the same outfit. Or do they? I haven’t been in too many closets. That’s where monsters and homosexuals hide. My closet is full of mostly black shirts, but they’re all different. That’s more than certain people can say. People who I would like to ridicule for having inconsistent cycles of clothing wear.

I worry about stupid things. One of my big worries is that someone will notice that I’ve worn the same shirt in the same week. Luckily I don’t have enough quarters to do laundry that consistently. Phew! I also perfected the strategy of throwing on a button up shirt or sweatshirt so that nobody will see that I’m wearing the same thing as yesterday. I don’t do this often, but sometimes I do. You know, for good luck and such. If a rabbit’s foot, a horse shoe, or a coin can be lucky, surely my body odor can be too.

(Clearly the smelly men in this picture are the lucky ones. All that medical school to do this for a living)

To me, the unwritten rule of wearing clothes is don’t get caught looking dirty. Women own so many clothes that if I notice you wear the same thing a lot you’re doing something wrong. Men get a little more leniency. Don’t tell me this is a double-standard. I hate that excuse. Complaining that something is a double-standard is your way of admitting you think what you’re doing is wrong. If it didn’t bother you so much you wouldn’t be trying to justify it. So be comfortable with what a horrible person you are already.

(“If I killed only the French nobody would have minded. Such a double standard” – Charlie Chaplin lookalike winner 1938)

Pants vary from shirts with these laws. I think you can wear pants more often than you can wear a shirt. Why? Well a shirt will touch your gross disgusting body more. At least pants have your underwear to protect your fabric a bit. But the problem with pants is that you need to make sure they’re not a loud pair that you wear more than one day in a row. I know this guy, we’ll call him Sniffy because he always seems to move around a lot like a dog sniffing. He really irks me. I want to smack his nose and tell him to stop moving around. He’s way too young to give the Parkinson’s excuse. And he has neat girlish handwriting so he’s just being a nuisance to me.

(Knock it off! Find a place to shit and be done with it you grape colored dog)

Sniffy wore the same loud obnoxious cranberry colored pants three days in a row. They were the color of red velvet cake. I know I shouldn’t associate another man’s lower half with a delicious dessert, but that’s what it made me think of. What kind of man buys cranberry jeans? It’s the same shade as the rope at the movie theater and probably felt as soft. I don’t know. I’m not about to ask to rub his knees to find out. He has another pair whose color reminds me of a mermaid’s fin. They’re a very soft solid blue. My reasoning for noticing his pants so much is that I have bad eyesight and see colors stronger than anything else. I will also claim that I sit low in my chair and my eyes are around crotch level. Making eye contact is a strain on my neck. I have to keep it level. It’s not like I know the fly on each of these pants is silver-colored–

I’ve known two other people who always wore the same sweatshirt. Every day. All times of the year. The same exact outfit. Both these guys were pretty weird in general so I guess that wasn’t a concern of theirs. Even if it’s not the same shirt, you need some sort of rotation. I once kept track of a friend’s shirts and how often he would wear them. It took only about a month before I realized a pattern. Certain shirts were worn early in the week while others were purely bought for weekend purposes. He probably secretly called them his party shirts. I know I would. Super Mario fist pumping is the definition of a party.

(This should screams “I don’t live with my mother, she lives with me”)

What is your strategy to make sure you don’t wear the same thing every time you see a certain person? Please note that wearing something you don’t like that your grandmother gave you every time you see her doesn’t count. That’s not gross. That’s trying to make an old hag smile at her awful gift idea.

I’m sitting here wondering about a world before pants. Actually I’m lying. I’m sitting here looking around the room for something to write about. I’m wearing pants for once which means that must be a sign I should write about them. The pants I’m wearing right now are pajama pants. They’re camouflage. I look like I belong in the Cuddly Marines because my pants are so incredibly soft.

(A POW of the Cuddly Marines. I don’t know this kid. It’s creepy that I’m posting his picture)

Pants have been around for a long time despite not being around at the beginning of time. Jesus never wore pants. He wore a gown. At least, that’s what it looks like to me. Julius Caesar never wore pants either. He was killed by his best friend, Brutus. If my best friend killed me I would not be surprised. I would not say “And you too?” I would say “I knew you were going to do this someday, bastard.” The earliest person I can remember ever seeing depicted in pants is Christopher Columbus. Using this logic, pants were invented in 1492. Let’s stick with that.

(I really hope he’s wearing pants or else he’s clearly playing with himself)

The purpose of pants is to cover up your private parts. And to cover up the knees of people with knobs for knees. Before pants we used fig leaves to cover our private parts. Then Isaac Newton came around and turned the fig into a delicious cookie, The Fig Newton. A couple of bullies called it The Fag Newton because bullies don’t like cookies without a chocolaty flavor. It’s true. Think about everyone who has ever picked on you. Did they or did they not have a chocolate stain on their lips? After the fig leaf went out of style we decided to wear furs over our crotches. We had developed the ancient art of killing an animal to cover our shame. That’s kind of silly. If someone did that today, killed an animal only to wear their skin, we’d be outraged by them. Survival used to depend on it. If you didn’t have the most trendy of raccoon skins for underpants you’d be made fun of then killed. The ancient world was a cruel place.

People eventually learned how to sew which led to the toga. The toga was used primarily because it could cover the entire body. The citizens of those ancient times were lazy and did not care to put on a shirt and pants separately. Oh, they had the technology to build pants. Believe me. They were just too lazy to do it. The Romans had bath houses to hang out in. It wasn’t even a gay thing. Can you imagine that? Hanging out with your buddies in a bath and it not be a gay thing? I can’t even sit next to a friend at the movie theater without feeling slightly homosexual.

(Speaking of slightly homosexual)

The night-gown, worn by Jesus and all of his disciples, was pretty popular for quite a long time. I’m not really sure what happened in history from the year 0 until 1492. It’s all kind of a blur. That was such a gigantic chunk of human history yet we seem to know less about that time period than any other. I think there might have been a few Crusades. The Crusades, where a bunch of white people invaded a country of olive-skinned people claiming that their god was a white guy who grew up in a land of only olive-skinned people. Okay–no wonder they had to make up King Arthur to get others behind that story.

(Common battle garb for a man in the times of Jesus)

Christopher Columbus somehow got his greedy hands on a pair of pants. The pants he wore were silly pants. They were tight and the kind of pants that a clown might wear. His discovery of a new land would eventually lead to the murder of a bunch of non-pants wearing people called the Native Americans. I guess back then they weren’t called Native Americans. They were called “in-my-ways.” That’s exactly what they were. In the way of pilgrims. Their presence alone was a nuisance. Native Americans used to actually live in gigantic beautiful mansions. They felt bad about taking up so much land and decided to conserve space by living in teepees. A small triangular home that was only big enough to shit in. They could no longer hang fancy paintings on their walls. They had to resort to hanging scalps which were much smaller. In today’s world, Native Americans do wear pants. Usually these pants are filled with poker chips. We killed their ancestors and gave them casinos. The world is a bloody mess where money fixes everything.

Were are we in history? We’re in like 1776 or so. People are still wearing silly Christopher Columbus pants. Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, and other racists all wearing the same type of tight-fitting girly clown pants. Then the Declaration of Independence is signed. The United States is free from England, a country that thrives on not wearing real pants. We fight a couple of wars, enslave a couple of races, and before you know it blue jeans are around. I saw the film Gettysburg or at least part of it. It takes place in the 1860s in Pennsylvania. I actually almost got a hand job at Gettysburg, but that’s another story for another day with no real ending. The soldiers for the Union wore blue. This, my friends, the invention of blue jeans. It came out of hate, war, racial suppression, but I think it was all worth it. I would give my life so my children could live in a world with blue jeans. They’re so form-fitting that it’s worth death to have.

(Brett Favre killed 19 men to get ahold of these real comfortable jeans. He only showed 2 of them a picture of his penis)

Today, in the year 2015( don’t want this to be time sensitive) there are lots of types of pants. There’s the aforementioned blue jeans, there are khakis, there are cargo pants, douche bags wear dockers, there are pants that are impossible to stain, pants of every color you could imagine, pants that if you were thrown from a plane would act as a parachute, pants that have the bottoms cut off, pants with the backs cut out, the types of pants that exist are endless. Dogs also pant when they’re hot. This is one of those cases where why don’t they call a dog panting something else. Call it a dog breathing heavily. Or if you need its own word call it Supplenating. I made up a word that means nothing. Merriam Webster never did that. Too busy getting teased for having a girl’s name.

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.”

I own a lot of shirts. Many of them I don’t wear because they are too big on me. I used to be fatter and I also used to work as a rapper in my spare time. I own a 3XL shirt. It never fit me right, but there were only two sizes left, 3XL and a medium. I could fit into the medium now. Back then I thought the chances of me ever being small enough for that were fat. I think that’s a pun I just made, sort of.

My shirts are organized by color. It’s not hard, 92% of them are black. I did this about 5 years ago when I was bored and now every time I move I maintain the same organization skills. I’ve gotten new shirts since and given some away to charity. I’m a good person. I give to charity. I don’t like people so I dumped it off in one of those charity dumpsters. Chances are, it was a regular dumpster and now my old clothes are killing mother earth. That doesn’t bother me. Mother earth is a bitch. Examples: Hurricanes, tornadoes, volcanoes, tsunamis, earthquakes, floods, severe heat, severe cold, overly abundant rainforests in the way of the future sites of shopping malls, etc.

I guess my choice of shirts has gotten better over the years. People never seemed to comment on them. When I was young it was always sports related shirts. That’s what us jocks do. We wear shirts of the teams that are looking to recruit us. When I got a bit older I had shirts that were of favorite television shows of mine. Sometimes people would look at my shirts and think they were silly and then never talk to me ever again. I wore those shirts a lot.

Now my shirts mostly make up of bands that I like. They not only can represent an obscure opinion of mine while advertising anti-government or anti-religion, they also fit me well and at times can trick people into thinking I have shoulders. My most popular shirts, my Iron Maiden ones.

I’m not that into Iron Maiden as most people who are into them seem to be. They’re hardcores. They think that if it ain’t metal, it’s shit. I don’t even know anyone in the band. That’s kind of pathetic considering how I own two shirts of them. They have very Swedish names, I think. I know they’re English, most likely. Really I should do some research on this but my brain is already filled with so much garbage. Do I need to really know the name of the idiot drummer to enjoy their art? No. That’s like knowing the name of the guy that mixes Britney Spears’ music to make her sound human. It’s unnecessary and time is better spent rocking out.

Overall I only own one Iron Maiden shirt, which when worn properly, makes me look strong. My other Iron Maiden clothing is a hoodie. The hoodie is too big and whenever I see myself in the mirror wearing it I get the feeling that everyone things that I have a stomach on my lower back. A big stomach too. I try not to think about it that much because a guy that made me a sandwich at Wawa complimented me on it. He said “Nice shirt!” and I smiled at lifted my sandwich to him agreeing. Another guy, at a different Wawa, who was filling my gas tank, saw me wearing my Iron Maiden t-shirt and tried talking to me about the lead singer. I agreed with everything he said because I couldn’t tell you the difference between the lead singer and the guy who parks their bus. One other time with that same t-shirt, a nerdy black kid asked me what I thought of their new album. I must have missed the episode of Family Matters where Erkel becomes a metalhead. This Obama clone new more about a band that I love than I did. I embarrassed myself by saying “I don’t know what their new album is” instead of just agreeing. Here’s a tip for you. If you don’t know or don’t give a shit, agree. Very few people are actually trying to fool you. Your best bet is always to just agree with whatever it is they are saying.

More people than that have complimented me on my Iron Maiden clothing. My one neighbor said “Cool shirt!” and I wasn’t sure he was talking to me. A month later I was wearing my Social Distortion shirt and he yelled again from his balcony “Cool shirt!” I guess that’s his “in” with a friendship. We’ve talked two times since. Once was about how I saw that he had a Canadian flag hanging inside his home and he’s not Canadian. Go figure. The second was when he thought I knocked on his door and he came outside. I had to explain to him at 12:30 at night that it was the maintenance man going inside the people above me to shut off their air conditioning because it was leaking down my wall. He nodded and went back inside to look like comedian Judah Friedlander. Sometimes he has a black guy over. Could it be Tracy Morgan?

But I love my shirts. All of them. They help keep my shame inside. If there is one thing that I am good at, it’s getting people to notice my shirts and have something to say about it. I never wear a shirt without a design. It makes me feel like everyone is judging the oval, circle, and triangular shapes that my body can form into when not perfecting my posture. A design can distract someone and even tell a stranger a little bit about yourself. I love that. Someone will know immediately if we have something in common. Nobody would ever compliment you on wearing a plain orange shirt. So don’t do it. Put on some swag with a cool design that will beg a few questions from others. What song did that band do? What city does that team play in? Is that girl old enough to have one of those in her mouth?