Avitablehood of the Traveling Pants

When you're a big guy, you have two options when it comes to shorts. You either wear them up on your actual waist, which means that your belt goes around your gut and looks like someone trying to garrote a hamburger bun, or you put it under the gut, which means that you have to cinch your belt relatively tight so that your shorts don't fall down around non-existent hips and the non-ass. I choose the latter. This will be important in a minute.

Last Tuesday night, my friend James and I were coming back from dinner when we spied a 27" TV on the curb (actually, it was the idiot neighbor who has the "Open" sign.) Since a few of our ideas for the Halloween party could use some old electronics, I stopped the car and James grabbed the TV and put it in the backseat.

When we returned to my house, I told him that I'd take care of bringing the TV in the garage, and he went inside. I parked outside of the garage, opened the garage door, grabbed the TV and started walking in.

Almost immediately, my shorts started to fall down. It was almost like they were alive and as soon as they knew that I had a large, heavy object occupying both of my hands, it was time to shimmy!

I had nowhere to put the TV down and only had to walk about 15 feet, so I started walking slowly for the garage, taking widespread duck-like steps and trying to raise my legs really high, making me look like I was a goosestepping Nazi who had been anally raped and stole a TV during a riot. If this absurd looking walk wasn't weird enough for my neighbors to witness, it wasn't even working. My pants continued their quest for my feet.

I tried a different tactic. I pushed my full body up against the TV, hoping that the pressure of the TV would catch my belt buckle and keep it from proceeding any farther south. To no avail. In fact, the TV actually caught the top of the buckle and pushed everything down further.

So I froze. And thought, while I stood bowlegged to prevent the descent of my obnoxious shorts. Should I yell for James and ask him to take the TV? Could I put the heavy bastard down on the ground before my shorts hit the ground?

There was no easy solution. So I did what any man (who's retarded enough to not wear shorts that are tight enough in the first place) who was a real man would do. I stood up straight, my pants dropped to the ground, and I shuffled into the garage with as much dignity as any man carrying someone's curbside used TV with his shorts around his ankles could muster.

And I wonder why none of our neighbors wave at us!

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