Out of Mind, Out of Pocket
What’s with the developing trend in young women’s fashions to no longer include hip or rear pockets in their jeans and slacks? Where the fuck do they put their stuff? Do they just throw away their spare change? Sure it’s a nice unobstructed view of the chick’s cooch and derriere; but that’s gotta be about as inconvenient as fuck.
I will also note the obvious in that the “that’s why we carry a purse” argument is very true; but only to a certain degree. The size and volume of any woman’s purse or handbag is directly proportional to the amount of limited pocket space she has in her jeans. That means, depending on what she has chosen to wear out that day, she may be swinging a 50 lb duffle bag from her shoulder. And THAT’S still pretty in-fucking-convenient if you ask me!
Imagine if men were to adopt this current fashion phenomenon of “pocketless” pants; it’d be sheer and utter chaos! Along with the fact that we’d all have our own fashion television program, we’d all inevitably look like carbon copies of Kojo from ‘Entertainment Weekly’. With nowhere to put our wallet and keys, it’d be a quick downward nasal skid to the bottom of Nature’s food chain again. It would be instant anarchy: plague, rivers of blood, frogs falling from the sky, cats making out with dogs, the whole nine yards. It would seem like something you’d dream about after a quart of Jack Daniels and a couple of bad sausages.
The simple fact of the matter is that males need our pants pockets like we need our buddy-dog cop flicks. The most tortured animal on this planet must be the poor male kangaroo; the poor beast. Maybe it’d just be best if we allowed the poachers to pick them off one at a time and help snuff out their wretched existence. In fact, I’m surprised that the male kangaroos don’t already hop their pussy-whipped asses directly into the line of fire for anybody who happens to be wandering the Outback with a rifle. Imagine allowing the wife to own the sole responsibility of carrying all your personal effects in her pouch for you. How emasculating!
One minute we're the dominant kings of all we purvey, yodeling from the very top of the Evolutionary ladder, and the next minute we're banging out ‘Those Endearing Little Charms’ on small rocks in the entranceway of our cave down at the abandoned quarry.
I don't know about you fella's; but I'll keep the "pocket look", thank you very much.
I will also note the obvious in that the “that’s why we carry a purse” argument is very true; but only to a certain degree. The size and volume of any woman’s purse or handbag is directly proportional to the amount of limited pocket space she has in her jeans. That means, depending on what she has chosen to wear out that day, she may be swinging a 50 lb duffle bag from her shoulder. And THAT’S still pretty in-fucking-convenient if you ask me!
Imagine if men were to adopt this current fashion phenomenon of “pocketless” pants; it’d be sheer and utter chaos! Along with the fact that we’d all have our own fashion television program, we’d all inevitably look like carbon copies of Kojo from ‘Entertainment Weekly’. With nowhere to put our wallet and keys, it’d be a quick downward nasal skid to the bottom of Nature’s food chain again. It would be instant anarchy: plague, rivers of blood, frogs falling from the sky, cats making out with dogs, the whole nine yards. It would seem like something you’d dream about after a quart of Jack Daniels and a couple of bad sausages.
The simple fact of the matter is that males need our pants pockets like we need our buddy-dog cop flicks. The most tortured animal on this planet must be the poor male kangaroo; the poor beast. Maybe it’d just be best if we allowed the poachers to pick them off one at a time and help snuff out their wretched existence. In fact, I’m surprised that the male kangaroos don’t already hop their pussy-whipped asses directly into the line of fire for anybody who happens to be wandering the Outback with a rifle. Imagine allowing the wife to own the sole responsibility of carrying all your personal effects in her pouch for you. How emasculating!
One minute we're the dominant kings of all we purvey, yodeling from the very top of the Evolutionary ladder, and the next minute we're banging out ‘Those Endearing Little Charms’ on small rocks in the entranceway of our cave down at the abandoned quarry.
I don't know about you fella's; but I'll keep the "pocket look", thank you very much.
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