^what a normal gentleman's underwear drawer should look like.
Haha. I just made myself laugh with the notion of having a "drawer." What do you think, I'm made of money? I'm bins for life, or at least until I get a girlfriend or a raise, then all bets are off. You know it's bad when I get hungry looking at these fresh, pressed undies like I would get hungry looking at a pert Dub Cheezy fresh off the poorly cleaned grill. I am in a conundrum of epic proportions. I'm just a man that uses a laundry service that can't pick up his clothes until Sunday, with only 1 pair of undies left.
Back in my college days (or like one week ago) I would have milked a pair of boxer/boxer-briefs, until the sewing comes off. That has definitely happened by the way. 1 pair, 3 days no problem. That was my mindset. Just don't do anything too taxing. Avoid sweating, try to minimize any gaseous situations, and just stop fidgeting in chairs all together. Fidgeting causes unhinged stitching for all you "hygienic" bastards out there. Well, I am not in my college days anymore. I am on the upswing in life, or that's what I keep telling myself. I have the ability to go to the Stop & Shop and buy a 3 pack of Hanes Boxer-briefs. Here's the kicker though. I unknowingly bought the wrong size. Didn't know until after I came back from playing basketball and took a shower. What the balls is Stop & Shop selling whale-sized 42 inch underwear for? I thought that's where the beautiful people shopped. Anyway, I am down to one real pair until further notice (not counting marginally used compression shorts).
So, if you see me, don't ask why I am walking slowly and avoiding Mexican food until Sunday. This shit is like a religious practice. Seeing how I can survive and maintain social interaction with stank drawers. "Why not go back to Stop & Shop and get more underwear?" you ask? Answer: because Stop & Shop just straight up beat me--accepted my challenge and beat me fair and square. I'll be figuring out plans and execution strategies in the coming days....
This is mo'effin' proof that I will never have nothing to write about.