underwhere

I’ve got a leaky faucet. And I am not talking about my sink, kitchen or otherwise. Now today I realize after a month of being short on underwear after The Incident (a blog for another day) new underwear is needed, sorely. So I go to my local Fred Meyers.

Upon arrival, a predicament is shown to me in deciding which whitey tighties I should purchase. My first instinct is to buy the color white—not because of racism and/or The Bible, but because, well, they are “whitey tighties.” But if the pure is my choice what awful calamities could happen upon them? For one, as I have mentioned, my leaky faucet would render the front of my new under-shorts yellow. Secondly, The Incident, aforementioned, of which I am at no point to be able to write on, could ravage the color white in unmentionable ways. White is out, but what of black? Semen, semen is what of black—the foil to all colors condensed—or lacking, depending if you look upon a computer screen, or a painter’s canvas.

Black is out. Green is preposterous. And blue? Blue you ask of? I may as well buy black.

So my proposal is this: A multi-colored “whitey tightie”, one that will suffuse semen and urine in the front, and would hide in the back whatever came of The Incident.

I’m requesting a campaign convincing Hanes, and Michael Jordan if needs be, to create such a tightie for us with leaky faucets, a propensity to precarious semen placement, and those, who at their lowest point, can succumb to The Incident.

Join me.