I’m single. I have a pair of underwear that might be a decade old. There are a couple of little holes and they’re not the original color any longer, but they fit better than any pair I own. Do I have to throw them out?
Under worn out:
As long as you frequently launder the mud flaps — and don them only among TV stories, fur kids and vibrators — there’s really no reason to suffocate the Dumpster. (Although if they’re the catalyst to melted batteries, go to your room and contemplate how your lingerie makes dildos cry.)
I still have my childhood blankie — a strip of silk surrounding a Catholic guilt-sized burn hole, frayed with unraveled, crisped-cotton strands. Sure, I don’t dress my pants masterpiece with it, but many of us hold on to significant threads.
However, since your retention seems to be comfort-related, maybe consider springing for some fresh fruit of the loins. And if parting causes sweet sorrow, then routinely comb for bugs — and if you must take them out to play, be prepared for hot fireman to amputate the rag in the event of pelvic impalement, jaws-of-life misadventure or a wooden-spoon-stuck-in-your-butthole accident. (We know. You “fell” on it.)
Just the tip: Don’t wear those rags under a skirt. Aging sag gives the appearance of a faux load between your thighs. In the event of gusty winds, please don’t subject us to this.
Every time I stay over at a new crush’s house, I get terrible gas. I know it’s because I’m nervous, and I know nerves are normal, but I don’t know how to move forward. It’s been like this since I started dating. I feel like my choices are: 1) Dutch-oven action 2) never sleeping over. You have any ideas for me?
First, know that beer and beans are not true friends. Don’t listen to Peter Griffin.
Second, we all fart. Don’t be embarrassed. However, the terror is tangible when one slips out — like when you bend over to get the cheap bag of pork rinds at King Soopers, or sneeze-fart in line at Pleasures.
Some have gassier guts than others and some intestines flare when nerves take hold. Anal acoustics are a natural occurrence we can’t take full control over. Curb your diet before a slumber party: no beans or lentils; no asparagus, broccoli, Brussels sprouts and cabbage; lactose can irk the stomach — as well as starch-rich foods and various whole grains.
Ergo, only eat whiskey and cigarettes pre-bang. After smashing genitals, the next morning you can Taco Bell como un jefe because rules state he won’t call you for three days anyway.
Just the tip: If you must dutch oven, insist it’s him who’s farting. Hypnotize him with a Little Tree Freshener, channel Kevin Nealon and have him repeat after you: “I am a smelly pig.”