New Template, Same Bullshit

After over three years of lighting up the blogosphere at a blistering rate of one little-seen post every three weeks, I have decided it's time to mix things up a little bit. I've actually been meaning to change my template for a year or so - an interval that a scientist might call "A fraction of a microsecond in terms of geologic time," but that normalfolk call "A super-long time to put something off that takes 5 minutes to do." I think deep down I am hoping that renovating my blog will inspire me to write more, like a husband who buys his aging wife breast implants in hopes of maybe being able to achieve a natural erection in her presence.

Whether this comes to fruition or not, I cannot say. But the template switch has already paid dividends for me in the real world: You see, it felt so good to cross something off my Inconsequential To-Do List that I just went ahead and did something else - something much more important than a two-bit blog update or a hacky banner. Today, after several years of hemming, hawing, and foot-dragging, I finally threw away the pair of boxers that my penis always slips out of.

It's been a long, checkered journey for me and my short, checkered pair of Hanes 34-36 waist boxers. From the day they came out of the package, my package came out of them with disturbing frequency, the slightest movement causing a penis jailbreak through the shorts' canyonesque, apparently defective front flap, forcing me to readjust covertly so often that anyone paying close attention would think me incapable of going ten minutes without fondling myself. Don't get me wrong: I'm all about giving my penis a sporting chance to break free, but I was tired of my boxers making my junk look like the Harry Houdini of genitalia.

Eventually, I dropped the boxers from my rotation, relegating their Adam Eaton-style implosions to mostly long-relief and mop-up duty. But since I am an idiot who never does laundry until he's out of clothes, the boxers kept getting spot-starts. And unlike my penis they never, ever came through. I'm sure they would blame their slipshod performance on being out of practice, but look at the stats and face facts, man: you have always sucked, and I'm in the playoff hunt. And so it is that today, August 30th, 2009, I grant my worst-performing boxers their unconditional release. I wish them all the best, and hopefully they'll be rescued off the garbage heap and latch on with a hobo in rebuilding mode.


Here's to change!