I went to the shops to meet my dad this week, where bought me underpants for my 33rd birthday! I don’t know how the hell I reached this point in life. My dad and I have the perfect guy relationship, we talk sports, and personal stuff is never ever, ever mentioned fucking ever! Now we have a tradition where he buys me underpants.
I hate the word underpants, we call them undies in Aussie which is a little bit better, it just sounds too fucking childish to me.I'd prefer to call them 'cock warmers, fart keeperinerers, sort of, at least keep the skid marks off your pants dealies'
'Victorias secret, now stocking a full mens range of cock warmers, fart keeperinerers, sort of, at least keep the skid marks off your pants dealies, mmm sexy'
I wear the little shorts ones now, it took me like twenty nine years to find those, the rest of the time I wore uncomfortable shit. The little ones which dig in, and boxer shorts which leave you to flap.
By the way, I used to think that the fact I flapped too much but that this didn’t bother others was a sign I might be you know bigger than the ruler suggested.
You know what else, you know people cross their legs, and girls go tight, guys go either like horizontal and loose, or tight like girls. That used to make my balls hurt, so I assumed guys who did that tight way were small in the junk, but now I do it sometimes! Does that mean my balls have shrunk?
When I was young, and hoping puberty would hit me one of these days, I started getting underpants which had pictures of a guys bulge on the cover, something I have never fucking understood, why on earth marketers think guys want to buy underpants with pictures of naked body building, socks in underpants, on their underpants packaging, but anyway I was now getting underpants with a picture of a guy who clearly new first hand what a pube looked like, unlike me. The thing is I used to think that this picture was evidence that I could use to prove to my friends I had a teenage rather than prepubescent cock, should I need to prove it to them, and they be stupid enough (and gay enough) to want evidence but not just tackle me to the ground and pull my pants down in a act of humiliating sexual assault. Here friends, THIS is a picture of the guy who models my underpants!!! Take that you doubting fooools.
Ahh penis, will you and I ever be friends?
By the way, I really god damn wish I knew what I did while I sleep. On this lovely morn I wake to huge back and buttock bruises, what the fuck, was I a rock star last night who took a leap into the drums, cause I don't remember that.
I’m off to LA tonight, see you all in like a day or so!!
Life is short. Or perhaps it lasts for a really, really long time. No one is really sure. Which sucks. If they can't figure that out definitively then what else don't we really know? The perfect size for a jar? What a fuckin' miserable thought. Fuck that. Instead here are the silly, weird, unhinged, absurd, silly, stupid, completely unrelated to hinges (moslty), poorly edited, outpourings and thought vomits of a silly idiotic teddy-bear of a dickhead. Staring David 'Pinky-Von-Sox' Tieck
Thursday, January 28, 2010
And now a message from inside my pants
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