Saturday June 18, 2005
	I'm working on my 4th of July underwear cannon.
	"Whatcha working on?" says the good to look at woman.  It's Saturday afternoon and we're going to the movies tonight and after the movies we'll probably ball one another and then she'll make fried bologna sandwiches with mayonnaise and when we're done eating the sandwiches we'll probably ball some more and when we're done copulating we'll tell each other ghost stories (by candlelight) and then fall asleep on top of each other. I say: "When my neighbors are shooting up chintzy Bottle Rockets and stupid Roman Candles I'll be blanketing the neighborhood with these." After a pause she says:  "Underwear?" I say:  "Men's and women's underwear." "Huh?" says my woman. "I've got 1500 pairs of authentic dirty underwear and with my newly designed lighter fluid cannon I can launch about fifty of them into the air at once," I say. After a pause she says: "Instead of fireworks you're gonna shoot dirty underwear into the air?"  "To a maximum altitude of about 2,500 feet," I say (75000 centimeters).  "To get more altitude I gotta add more lighter fluid and the underwear usually catch fire." "Why would you want to shoot dirty underwear into the air?" she says. After a pause I say: "See, it's Independence Day in America and everyone is out and they're laughing and they're cooking things on barbecues and their kids are playing and dogs are barking and they're all excited 'cause they've spent a couple of hundred dollars on fireworks and they know that pretty soon they'll be sitting on chairs looking up toward the night sky and they'll be saying things like OOH and AH.  Well, I figure it'll take me about an hour to send up all 1500 pairs and I'm just loving the idea of them sitting there and somewhere between an OOH and an AH they'll have a pair of my soiled underwear land on them or on their spoiled kid or better yet, right atop the hamburger or steak they're cooking." She says: "You want dirty underwear to fall out of the sky on Independence Day?" "I'm gonna blanket the f-ckin' area but first I gotta spray this glow in the dark paint on each pair and I was hoping you'd help me," I say. "This is sick," she says.  "You're bizarre." Initially women do think I'm bizarre but after a few weeks they don't think that anymore and then it's nearly impossible for me to shake them. "Where did you get 1500 pairs of authentic dirty underwear?" she says. "Ebay," I say. She says: "What do you mean, authentic?" I say: "The seller guaranteed me that all 1500 pairs were worn and that the stains were genuine.  Five hundred pairs of men's boxers, five hundred men's Fruit of the Loom cotton briefs, two hundred and fifty thongs, a hundred pairs of crotchless panties (from Cambodia) and a hundred and fifty pairs of miscellaneous other under things:  V-strings, Bikinis, Hipsters, Boyshorts, Briefs and Low Rise." "Why?" she says.  "Why can't you just run down the street holding a sparkler like everyone else, Norm?"   "Imagine looking up and seeing a pair of extra large soiled panties or Fruit of the Loom men's briefs coming toward you," I say.  "Try to see it from my point of view, honey." She says: "Dirty underwear falling onto people isn't enough you need them to glow in the dark too?" I say: "Think about it, honey." PREVIOUS   HOME   NEXT