Goodbye Poopstain! Have Fun Floating to Oakland!

Most ceremonies bite, especially marriage and the ritual killing of mexican hookers. Been there, done it, don't wanna do it again. But I have a really good, although somewhat sad, ceremony that I perform when needed:

I burn my underwear.

Face it. There comes a time when one needs to part ways with a pair of shorts. I don't care what you say, throwing them in the trash is wrong. Giving them to a homeless person, although hilarious, is NOT a good idea. Dood. DNA. Identity theft. It's real mann.

Burning them with hot hot fire is the best option. Trust me.

I will admit, it's a tough call sometimes. Which underwear need to burn? Stretched out waistband? A teeny hole? A faint yellowish mark from lazy shaking habits? Minor offenses.

An absolutely unforgiveable offense however, is a clearly visible, -- opaque skidmark. a.k.a. the poopstain, the scab, the hershey squirt, the jerky, the brown button etc... I'm not talking about the faint kind, I'll let a little beige one slide by. I'll look the other way. We get those now and then. They wash out. No big deal. I'm talking about the "Holy Crap What Happened" kind. The kind that makes you ponder your last poop.

I'll be honest, Skidmarks upset me. What the fuck do they want from me? I clean up. I think I have good technique. I have nimble fingers and good wrist rotation. I have even been known to keep baby wipes handy. I empty the chamber. I try my to make certain that mamma bear and all of her cubs have completely left the cave. Short of hosing myself down, I'd say I could probably enter competition. And still, every now and then, some little eager poop has to come out and wreck a good pair of shorts. WTF?

Or -- -- is it the shorts?

That's where it gets confusing. The doubting and wondering are reasons enough to torch ANY pair of shorts, new or not. Not all shorts are equal either. I've had a few pair of *trusted* shorts that I've been wearing since I was 10. They cuddle my marbles. They never have drips. They are nice, good citizens. They DON'T involve themselves with my anus unlike certain other shorts that just seem to be out to get me. It's like they crawl six inches up my rectum just looking for poop. I can't prove they are against me, but still, just to be safe --- I light those fuckers on fire.

I don't wait either (unless I have company). The very second I see evidence of this activity between my butthole, my poop and my shorts, I nip it in the bud FAST, because like I said, it makes me a little upset. Truthfully, I think it's more anger and disappointment than the love of ceremony that makes me want to burn shit -- I mean stuff.

But, call me insane, I refuse to light my rectum on fire, and lighting a poop on fire would be pointless, not to mention damn near impossible. Besides that, how would one know which poop did it? Was it the tail of the previous poop or the head of the most recent? The first poop is long gone and the recent one is waterlogged. At any rate, there's no reason to ever burn a whole turd.-- It's the shorts. Fuck'em.

The shorts burn.

I have these awesome log tongs (how nice) by the fireplace. When I am confronted with the offensive smudge of poop, I simply remove the offending shorts, grab them with the log tongs and light'em up. I let the flames flicker up a little, just enough to release a cute puff of smoke into the room and then I hold them under the chimney and say my goodbyes.

"Goodbye shorts. Farewell poopstain. Have a good time floating to Oakland."

And you know what? It's nice. Standing in front of the fire, with no pants, watching the magical transformation from shorts/skidmarks to flames/smoke, basking in the glow of my own burning shorts, feeling the warmth of the fire on my shameful parts... it just seems right.

Friends, I can't make a higher recommendation.

And don't get wrapped up thinking about the burning skidmark. You can't smell it. Grow up. Can a handsome man live free of your snickering for five minutes? Please.

Whether you like it or not, burning a defiled and shameful pair of shorts is just the right thing to do. I'm positive of that. I would not lie about something so close to my own blow hole.

So in closing, I say:

Doooooo it.

Burn those disgusting little bitches. You won't regret it.

Don't burn yourself. Use proper precaution. If you don't have a fire place, an hibachi or an old coffee can will do. But DO IT OUTSIDE and not near dry grass or gasoline! Pantsless is best, but don't get arrested. Don't do this with friends. Keep it between you and your shorts. We have enough stupid Burning Man hippee rituals already. Don't be gay. Don't roast a marshmellow trying to be funny either. It's not funny. Show some respect.

I hope you found this post useful.

Oh yeah, I'm still in the future. Underwear are the same. Sorry if you were expecting a revolution. The Fart Filter craze of 2009 never caught on and they still haven't invented unskidmarkable shorts. Honestly, it's a crying shame. So much senseless torching of shorts.

Thank you. Good night.

Best friends forever,
merkley???

I just taught my spellcheck the word "unskidmarkable". -- sweet.