Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Pants Worthy of Your Money-Maker

Just in case you might be in the market for a smashing pair of naugahyde club pants, I thought I'd alert you to a well-hidden secret. This e-Bay post
was worthy of a blog.
Fucking brilliant.

You are bidding on a mistake.

We all make mistakes. We date the wrong people for too long. We chew gum with our mouths open. We say inappropriate things in front of grandma.

And we buy leather pants.

I can explain these pants and why they are in my possession. I bought them many, many years ago under the spell of a woman whom I believed to have taste. She suggested I try them on. I did. She said they looked good. I wanted to have a relationship of sorts with her. I’m stupid and prone to impulsive decisions. I bought the pants.

The relationship, probably for better, never materialized. The girl, whose name I can’t even recall, is a distant memory. I think she was short.

Ultimately the pants were placed in the closet where they have remained, unworn, for nearly a decade. I would like to emphasize that: Aside from trying these pants on, they have never, ever been worn. In public or private.

I have not worn these leather pants for the following reasons:

I am not a member of Queen.
I do not like motorcycles.
I am not Rod Stewart.
I am not French.
I do not cruise for transvestites in an expensive sports car.

These were not cheap leather pants. They are Donna Karan leather pants. They’re for men. Brave men, I would think. Perhaps tattooed, pierced men. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say you either have to be very tough, very gay, or very famous to wear these pants and get away with it.

Again, they’re men’s pants, but they’d probably look great on the right lady. Ladies can get away with leather pants much more often than men can. It’s a sad fact that men who own leather pants will have to come to terms with.

They are size 34x34. I am no longer size 34x34, so even were I to suddenly decide I was a famous gay biker I would not be able to wear these pants. These pants are destined for someone else. For reasons unknown - perhaps to keep my options open, in case I wanted to become a pirate - I have shuffled these unworn pants from house to house, closet to closet. Alas, it is now time to part ways so that I may use the extra room for any rhinestone-studded jeans I may purchase in the future.

These pants are in excellent condition. They were never taken on pirate expeditions. They weren’t worn onstage. They didn’t straddle a Harley, or a guy named Harley. They just hung there, sad and ignored, for a few presidencies.

Someone, somewhere, will look great in these pants. I’m hoping that someone is you, or that you can be suckered into buying them by a girl you’re trying to bed.

Please buy these leather pants.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

The World's Longest 10-Miler

Or perhaps the race should be appropriately known as the "World's Largest 11.2 Miler"?
This morning was the annual "Army Ten-Miler", the second largest 10-mile race in the world. Unfortunately, the threat of a package bomb at mile seven caused an unforseen diversion which re-routed the course into an 11.2 mile cluster fuck.
Now, for all you runners out there, it gets better. Since the package wasn't discovered until after the race actually started, race officials did not have time to set up things like... the finish line. There were no time clocks after mile seven. And they added a sweet X-Terra element at mile 10, as runners had to scramble over a cement highway divider to get to the end.
Caddy bitching aside, it was a memorable event. (Especially considering the security pat-down at the start from a hot army dude. Hooah.)