Kevin Bacon Pants Party

I decided today that I would wear a sarong into work in an effort to keep cool and comfortable on an otherwise hot summer’s afternoon. Where I expected the odd giggles and stares from passersby and fellow co-workers, I didn’t expect to be fully beamed directly into the Twilight Zone. I half expected Rod Sterling to sit down beside me in the next cubicle and begin his monologue: “You unlock this cubicle with an ID swipe card with no imagination. Beyond it is another Dimension - a dimension of Memo’s, a dimension of conformity, a dimension of mindlessness. You're moving into a call center of both shadow and substance, of ridiculous things and non-ideas. You've just crossed over into the Corporate Twilight Zone.”

It’s amusing to me to see the looks of bewilderment on the faces of those around me as they try and comprehend what would possess a grown man to wear a skirt. Usually they explain it away by assuming that I am wearing a sarong simply for the shock value of my peers working around me. If this was the case, I’d sooner be wearing fishnet stockings and have an entire towel-rack attached to my face. I have just taken to telling people that I am just observing my own religious beliefs and adhering to the fated 11th Commandment*: “Thou Shalt Not Wear Pants on Weekends”.

I can assure everyone that despite the fact that I choose to wear a loose fitting wrap-around skirt on hot summer days, that I am ALL man! I still burp and fart openly and I still stop to ogle construction in progress when passing by. Except that now when I do it, I am not as constricted by the regular trappings of tight-crotched pants and I am free and unencumbered as my nuts are swinging footloose and fancy free. It’s a literal Kevin Bacon dance party under my sarong**. All my short n' curlies line up in celebration behind my cock and balls and dance in unison to obnoxious Kenny Loggins songs. In essence, it’s just more comfortable and it doesn’t make my ass look fat either.

When it comes down to it, how could millions of thousands of Polynesian, Asian, Indian and African men be wrong? In fact, just about the majority of the major world’s religions regularly incorporate sarongs into their daily dress apparel; Buddhists, Taoists, Lamas, Hindus, and Islamic peoples of all varieties; not to mention David Beckham. Do you think Buddha would be sitting there smiling so genuinely if his fat ass was imploding in on itself like a neutron star with the chafing caused by wearing tight binding pants? NO! He achieved his level of ultimate spiritual awareness because he was ultimately comfortable with his own conscious being due to the fact he was wearing a loose easy fitting sarong. You just can’t become one with the universe when your balls are all crammed up like two dried walnuts in an onion sack.

Just think how thousands of years of religious history may have been altered if these current humble, jolly, peace-loving deities had been more accustomed to wearing uncomfortably tight britches instead of a sarong in their wet humid environments. Buddhists would be an aggressive war-cult Hell bent on bludgeoning all other religious contenders within an inch of their spiritual oneness with their alms bowls. Vishnu would have taken up machetes in each of his several arms instead of ploughshares and began hacking and stabbing at anything in direct difference to his own beliefs. The Lama’s would be crusading against the Taoists over incense fragrances…it would be anarchy!

I wonder if the reason most other males take such a strong attitude against other men wearing sarongs is that they are helplessly insecure with their own sexualities and are ultimately afraid that they might develop forbidden homosexual feelings or something? That they are suddenly, upon laying eyes on another man in a printed wraparound cloth, going to go against their very natural heterosexual instincts that they’ve developed and observed their whole lives and start hanging out at public bathhouses, watching ‘Will & Grace’ reruns, drill glory holes in their bathroom walls at home and develop a strange inexplicable fondness for George Michael songs? Maybe the sarong will drive them to highlight their hair and sign up for a fashion design course at the local community college. Poor, ignorant, simpleton, bound up bastards.

Besides, like I was EVER going to seriously take the criticisms of somebody who is so creatively inept that they have to purchase what all their friends and everybody around them is wearing just so that they can feel like part of the common collective. Personally, I would prefer the fishnet stockings and towel rack piercings over the oversized MC Hammer shorts and sporting jerseys with upside down sun visors or crooked ball caps that just inevitably make them look like plastic OG Milk Jugs.

* One of the lost Commandments that wouldn’t have been broken had Moses not tripped on one of his loose sandal straps while climbing on Mt. Sinai and thereby breaking all but the existing ten.

** Yes, I still wear boxer shorts when wearing a sarong. My last name is not MacGregor, and I understand that other men usually feel the strong desire to whip down anything that does not have a belt supporting it so that the poor embarrassed “prankee” finds his jewels shamelessly on display for the immediate mockery of his peers.