In times of trouble, my sense is that fewer people are going commando. I mean, unless times are really bad — like Congo bad — then everyone’s basically just happy to have a pair of pants.
When the money and cocaine are flowin’ like they were in the 80s, a lot of people are thinking “to hell with all this underwear.”
Underwear is for people who can’t close.
Also, people rarely reminisce about how great the late 60s and early 70s were for the underwear-free movement. Thank you, Janis Joplin and women’s lib for making the down-the-shirt nipple sighting a possibility.
I’ll be honest here and say that, besides putting another layer of fabric between you and the external garment to absorb pee trickle, I’ve never really understood the point of underwear.
This is why I sometimes find it hard to make real headway in life.
Because while people like you are moving forward at the beginning of each day, thinking higher, more complex and adult thoughts, I still am often stopped in my tracks as I prepare to don a pair of undies. I think: “Wait, why am I doing this again? Oh yeah, the pee trickle.”
Frankly, the only piece of undergarment that makes innate sense is the bra. Even though I’m a guy, I feel ya ladies. See, I suffer from a hereditary condition which it pains me to talk about. Let’s just say that the men in my family can get a bit prematurely top-heavy. It’s manageable — much like with diabetes or asthma — only if I stay eternally vigilant.
As with any major medical condition, it can often be a blessing in disguise. Diabetics, for example, often use their diagnosis to get healthy and finally overcome their fear of needles. For chesty males, it’s often a question of empty carb intake. When I’m in a healthy mode, maybe staying on the wagon for a few weeks, you can hardly tell I have a disease. But when I go through a partying phase, you may as well name my man-maries Whiskey and Beer.
In fact, when I work out, that’s what I call them in my mind. Fuck you, whiskey. Fuck you, beer. And they bounce on and on, causing all kinds of back pain and nipple burn.
I think that, as part of health education class in junior high, students should be forced to cross gender for a day, just to see what the other team has to go through parts-wise. Boys should don a water balloon-filled D-cup and do ten laps around the soccer field. That will definitely do a lot to help them understand why women are so emotional.
And the girls should stuff a prosthetic cock n balls in their pants and go run errands. It’ll help them understand why men are always devoting at least 5% of their awareness and energy to maintaining a running dialogue with the little team down there.
As for going commando, it really is as its name describes — it’s about being bold, adventurous, almost ruthless. You say, “I am immune to the curse of the pee stain! There is no sagging here! I am ready to get undressed quicker — and have cocaine-fueled sex faster — than any of you!”
When the economy is down, we aren’t looking for commandos. We’re looking for grunts. We want everyone to hunker down, stop doing drugs and save a little money. Having that extra layer of underwear is an easy way for people to enhance their sense of security.
“My balls, you say? Oh, they, much like my stock portfolio and IRA, are completely secure.”
So let’s take a moment to consider going commando. Sure we need our grunts in a recession. But the only way you ever really get out of a pickle is when some commando motherfucker steps into the room and starts wrecking shop.