Remember when an extra 40 pounds on a man meant wealth, winsome facial hair, and an elegant wife? A potbelly meant you could afford to eat the finest steaks, drink luscious vintage wine, vote Republican, and still afford to bribe local authorities to conceal the fact that your alpha-male, blue chip prospect, All-American first son got caught finger-fucking the starting right tackle from a rival school at a matinee of The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement on the second Thursday after Lent. It was a privilege to be fat enough to shop at a Big and Tall for undergarments. The size 3XL was a specialty item to be bartered for rare furs and myrrh. Now, it’s the default size at Wal-Mart.
ComfortSoft waistband? Is THREE XL not intrinsically comfortable? Why the fuck do you need an elastic waistband? It’s like putting shoestrings on a muumuu. Unless you’re John Holmes and you need the real estate to park your Ripley’s Believe It Or Not! bison cock, you could stand to do a few jumping jacks between Warcraft raids and pudding happy hour. You’re the reason I can’t buy a pair of normal man boxers. I’m talkin’ DaVinci’s Vitruvian Man not The Gospel According to E.L. Fudge®. If you have to line-dry your pants because modern day dryers buckle under the intense weight of the tarp you use to hide your KFC Famous Bowl™ legs, you have a goddamn problem. If you take your pants to the cleaners and they say “Sorry sir, we don’t do quilts”, call the nearest morgue.
Frankly, I’m sad that we validate such poor life choices by offering a “husky” line to the masses. Back in the day, a corpulent man had to disgrace himself by shopping in the maternity section. Now every section is the maternity section. Even toddlers have a fatass line thanks to remiss, unfit, double-wide mothers who breastfeed Dutch chocolate milk after buying foie gras and pickle spears with the Section 8 barcode tattooed to the Pegasus wing of fat rolling down their arms as if the laws of nature were the North and it just Jefferson Davis-ed itself to gravity.
Stop being a log ride with legs. I shouldn’t have to turn to internet auctions to get plain large boxers because you use Chips Ahoy! in lieu of croutons.
Love,
Shabaas
