twice the smartass, half the laughs
Adventures in Boxer Briefs
Post Date:

So, like every couple of months, I decide that I'm gonna get my shit together and get in shape. Now, I can hear what you're all saying to yourselves right now. I'm sure it's something like "Get in shape? But Jimmy, you're in great shape. I mean just look at you. That toned, well developed body. Those rippling muscles. That washboard stomach. Mmmmmmm,why just thinking about it...oh my!" And while I really appreciate that rather skewed perception of me, the truth is that over the years I've become rather doughy around the mid-section. Don't believe me? Well, does anyone remember a blog I wrote last year that contained a very unflattering picture of me in a towel? (Was that last year? The year before? I can't remember. How long have I been writing blogs anyway? It's hard to remember cause I take those long sabbaticals from it.) Well, if you don't remember, you really should go look it up. While you're at it, why not take a trip down memory lane. Make sure to stop at the post about pooping at work, and of course the one about Allee spending the night heaving her disgusting olivey puke all over me. (What's that? Huh? What? No, you in the back. Speak up bro! This is your first time here? Man, you've got some catching up to do.) Anyway, every time I decide I'm going to start trying to get into shape, my lovely wife buys me something (usually of my choosing) in order to support my effort. Once she got me some dumbbells and once she got me a Swiss ball (which is currently our computer chair). But this time she brought "support" to a whole new level. She got me some boxer-briefs.

Now, I'm a boxer wearer. I have been for a long time. I started in junior high and haven't looked back. Boxers are great because they protect your goods from the inside of your pants, but they're roomy and they let you breathe. The only problem with boxers is that they don't provide any support. Normally, this doesn't matter to me. However, on the occasions when I'm trying to do some light exercise (like jumping rope, or jumping jacks...or...come to think of it...anything that has to do with jumping) I get... well, I get "The Flop". You know what I mean? The flop? Ladies, if you can't figure it out, ask one of your guy friends. Well, the flop can cause some discomfort (mostly in the berries, not so much the twig...unless it's really vigorous). I told this to Shelley and told her that I had thought about investigating some under apparel that could help alleviate the flop. I mentioned I was think about picking up some tighty-whities to see if they'd do the job. Well, when she finally composed herself and wiped the tears away, she said she thought it was a good idea (though a couple of snickers did escape when she said that). So good in fact, that she surprised me by picking up some boxer-briefs for me the next day. I imagine that she went for the boxer-briefs because she couldn't stomach the thought of having to look at me in straight briefs.

Well, I decided to try them out the very next day and guess what: Boxer-briefs aren't really very comfortable. They also don't provide quite the support I was hoping for. They do, however, make your package look bigger which is pretty cool. Especially when they're all you're wearing and you're kickin' a wicked awesome Captain Morgan pose. Um...I mean...not that I'd ever do that. That would just be silly. So, in summation: Boxer-briefs. Sorta the answer, but kinda not (Unless the question is: What can I wear to make my package look bigger?)

Well, that's it for now. I hope LSU wins the BCS Championship tonight cause I know a lot of people who are gonna be really pissed off at work tomorrow if they don't. Oh, before I go, are you watching "Lucy, the Daughter of the Devil?" If you're not, you should. It's on Cartoon Network during their Adult Swim block. Check your local listings for times. Of course I would like it. After all, H. John Benjamin voices three different characters in it, and I think we're all aware of my feelings for Satan. Later gators.

Until next time: I lied and told her I loved her...she didn't care. But anyway.