Why the Mr. McGrumpy look on your puss? Didn't you have a good workout? Was jazzercise class vexing today?
So listen. It's like this: We tolerate you because we enjoy Entourage. We saw your documentary about trying to reconnect with your deadbeat dad. You actually seem humble and sorta nice. You've got the tortured artiste with smoldering eyes and a three-day-bender beard schtick down to a science. But we've got four crucial words for you. We're going to type them slowly, so if by some miracle of osmosis, you'll read them slowly and let them sink in:
JOCKSTRAPS. ARE. YOUR. FRIEND.
Holy crap, dude. What's going on in those shiny royal blue spandex jazz pants?? (we keep things tastefully black and white here at COWA, but trust us readers...shiny royal blue spandex) Look, we support a guy's right to show bulge. Broads are allowed to hoist their girls up to their necks to create acres of cleavage, after all. And there seems to be a camel toe epidemic these days. But however proud you are of that unruly nest of crotch vipers you're breeding in your basement, WE DO NOT GO COMMANDO IN RICHARD SIMMONS STRETCHY-PANTS!
You look like (pick one)
- You're smuggling a litter of kitty cats into rehearsals for Pippin.
- You've been fused at the molecular level with a marsupial and your baby kangaroo is being spandexed to death.
- You've got a rare case of Alaskan king crab lice.
- Your testicles are miniature sumo wrestlers in the middle of a particularly contentious match.
- Iggy's found a new home.
- Your balls are trying to escape the tyranny of your shame hose and have decided to make a break for the northern border.
- Bloody hell.
XOXOX
WAM
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