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an open letter to this guy’s underpants


 

Dear This Guy’s Underpants:

Go. Go now. For your kind is not welcome here.

You are but a lowly pair of men’s boxer-type briefs, available in packs of three at department stores. Your fabric is commonplace. Your design is mundane. You are not worthy to shield this rock musician’s dangly parts from public view.

Yes, for some reason Mike Rodden of the band Hinder chose you. He chose to wear you last night to the Broadcast Music Inc. Annual Pop Awards in Beverly Hills. He chose to wear you as he accepted the Song of the Year award for his band’s Lips of an Angel.

Perhaps Mike Rodden was drunk or high or a bass player (the hair suggests a combination thereof). The point is this, underpants: your very existence is an insult to the grand tradition of crotch-based rock attire.

You are not made of leather.

You are not made of spandex.

You are neither provocatively encrusted with sequins and rhinestones nor tailored in such a fashion as to be largely assless. Thigh sweat will not accumulate in you.

You are a simple poly-cotton blend, grey in colour, drab in manner. You were not made for the stage. Your place is around the pelvis of the common man and our butchier ladies.

Deep down, the mighty gods of rock – looking down from on high – may respect your comfort and easy maintenance. The mighty gods of rock are surprisingly practical that way.

But the mighty gods of rock know you lack sufficient testes-hugging snugness to either mesmerize the females or successfully execute a flying scissor kick without “giving everyone a peek.” The mighty gods of rock know this, and they are not pleased. The mighty gods of rock shall have their vengeance!

Go then, charmless Stanfields-style underpants. Be gone with you.

David Lee Roth would not wear you. Sammy Hagar would not wear you. That third Van Halen singer guy probably would wear you – but no one liked him, so that’s actually another strike against you.

Also, this photo suggests it’s apparently impossible to stuff you to make your “contents” look bigger – which is a deal-breaker, frankly. Even the mighty gods of rock can use a little help down there.


 
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an open letter to this guy’s underpants

  1. Well, at least his package is thereby loose and free, enabling the continued production of rockin’ sperm.

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