Underpants. Continued...

I found them. Plain underpants that cover my equipment but aren't big enough to carry groceries in. Fabric smooth enough to allow even the tightest fat jeans to glide over. Waist band elastic tight enough to hold them up but loose enough not to bulge my out handles.

That's me, on the right. Fricken fine. That's me on the right, hanging from the bathroom door frame. With the lights dimmed. Can I get away with nothing with you people?

Where did I find them, you ask? Wal-mart. Seriously. Wal-mart, purveyor of Chinese imports, enslaver of the helpless. $4 bucks a pair. Hanging on mini plastic hangers right between teenylacypinkthings and buttcrackflossythings. Just down the isle from omarthetentpants.

Cool. According to this tag, which includes a Spanish translation, my satisfaction with these underpants is guaranteed. If I am not completely satisfied, it states, I can return them for a refund or replacement. I am seriously saving this tag. The minute one iota of fabric from these pants even thinks of sneaking between my cheeks, they are going back. Apparently to Alabama.

Y'all come back now. You hear?