Ok, Peabody! Set the way-back machine to 1983 and listen up. As a teenager I had a real "I hate the world" vibe going on so I followed a strange bent to rebel against the harsh society of reality. My plan: I decided to never wear underwear again. Ever. That'll teach 'em- I don't wear any fucking underwear and I used to randomly bring up the subject at partys and other bad times like family get-togethers, all the while drawing stares from everbody. And comments like "I'll see you later, I have to uhh.... Oh yes, go scrub my toilet".
The rub? Denim makes your jewels itch like a bastard. I took this girl I used to know to a movie one night and it was hell on toast only after 10 minutes into the flick. I had to put down the popcorn and drop the Skittles and shred to the restroom seeking relief. I found an empty stall and dashed in and slammed the bolt, dropped my pants and scratched my ass off. Joy! No more itchin'! That is, until ten minutes later, when the same thing happened again. I was running out of excuses to go visit the head but screw it, I was a rebel without a clue.
Soon after the movie incident I got tired of picking blue lint off of my balls every night so I reverted to wearing boxers. The point: If you're going to show the world you're a rebel, don't do it by not wearing the proper undergarment.
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