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Archive for the ‘Underwear’ Category

Dear Hateful School Nurse:

Many, many years ago, when I was but a wee blonde tot with a penchant for the Dukes of Hazzard and a mad, crazy love of macaroni and cheese, I suffered an embarrassment on the playground that required a visit to your office.

It began on the swings. Once again, I prepared to amaze the crowd of third graders with my afternoon performance of leaping from the swing at it’s apex, but this time, instead of landing to cheers of applause, I was met with jeering laughter.

It seems my explosive landing had created a split in my pants, thereby affording the crowd ample view of my flowery underpants. Oh, the ridicule! Quickly, I ran inside to tell teacher, who, barely disguising her laughter, sent me directly to you, school nurse.

When I showed you the gaping hole in my pants, fat tears spurting from my eyes, you stood staring without expression. “Please, please, call my mom, I want to go home and change!”

Instead you sized me up, pulled some pants from a box in your office and told me to put them on.

I’m not sure what was more embarrassing that day, having everyone see my flowery underwear, or, having them see me in those pants you made me wear…the bright, plaid, bell bottom pants that were two sizes two big and  smelled like pee.

I hate you school nurse.

Yours truly,

Still Embarrassed

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Dear America,

I want to live in a country where women and men wear robes that cover all that bulging flesh. Here is a list of things that are not attractive to see when you’re walking down the street, sitting in a restaurant, shopping in the grocery store, etc.

  1. Butt crack. No one is so attractive that they need to show this. Just say no to crack!
  2. Muffin top. By no stretch of the imagination is your big fat roll of blubber bulging over your too tight pants sexy. It’s even less sexy when you have a short shirt on and we all get a view of your stretch marks.
  3. Overly short skirts. If we can see your panties or lack there of when you make the slightest forward lean, you need to stop wearing that tube top as a skirt. Seriously, I don’t care if you shave down there or not.
  4. Tank tops. This one is for those men who are thickly furred everywhere and insist on sharing their sheddings with diners at the local McDonalds. I’ll take rat hair over sweaty armpit hair anyday.

Sincerely,
Blinded

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TAZ, sticks to proper bathrooms now

I had a group of friends that I hung around with, most guys.  In our group, there was one girl that I really had the “hots” for.  I had asked her out many times and she would always say; “We go out all the time…we always spend time together.”  But obviously, I was looking for a “date” date and not just hanging around with her and a bunch of my friends.  So, I kept asking and over time she agreed.
She was going to meet me at my house (actually my parent’s house) and I was going to take her to a club called “Mr. Whipples”.  Whipples was about a 45 minute to an hour drive….back roads.  We had been there many times before, but this was the first date.

When she got there, I was a little nervous.  I know we had hung around and chatted many times before, danced together and all that, but this was my DATE with her.  I was excited at the same time, hopeful that this date would lead to something more.
We got into my pick-up and headed out around 7:30 or so.  My truck was clean, with a nice stereo system and fabric seats.  It was a cool evening.   She was beautiful and looked like she did a few extra things to look good. This made me happy, thinking that she had dressed all up for a date with me.

After traveling about 20 minutes or so, my stomach started churning. Those nervous butterflies were trying to escape.

Without causing a big scene, I rolled down my window and squeezed out a silent fart.  Well, the window didn’t help.  The truck was quickly filled with the smell of ass.  I made some a stupid joke or something and tried to laugh my way out of it.  She rolled down her window, too.  After a minute or two, the smell cleared and we rolled the windows back up.
Maybe a couple of miles later, my stomach was taking over and I had the greatest crapping sensation.  I knew if I squeezed out another fart….either I could try to hide it again or I might just crap on myself, but the feeling was growing.  I was starting to sweat a little and there were no restrooms for miles.  What to do….what to do….

At the risk of just blowing the whole date by crapping in my pants, I saw a small dirt road with a little thicket of woods beside it.  I pulled the truck over and asked her if she had any paper in her pocketbook.  Her expression was a mix shock and laughter, but she managed to find me some paper and I darted into the woods.  I could hear her sorta laughing and saying; “Oh my God, I can’t believe this”.

In a complete hurry, I ran into cover, pulled down my slacks and did the deed that had to be done.  It was a major explosion but luckily it ended in just a couple of minutes.  I wiped,  pulled up my pants, tucked in my shirt, regained my composure and headed back to the truck, playing it cool.

I got in the truck, she said something like; “You feel better now?” and I said something like; “Yeah, that’s a load off my mind’.  I pulled off the dirt road and headed back down the street.  We hadn’t gone 1/4 mile when she quickly rolled down her window and said; “Did you just cut one again?”  No…I swore to her, I didn’t.  She rolled her window back up….then immediately back down.

“I still can smell it”, she said.  “You didn’t step in it did you?”  A sinking feeling came over me because I could smell it too.  It was dark out there so….I pulled the truck to the side of the road, turned on the inside light and leaned forward to check the bottom of my shoes.

She said; “OMG…you shit on your back!!”  I jumped out of the truck and took off my shirt.  There was splatters of crap running from the bottom to the top of my collar.

It was matted in my cloth seats and all over my shirt.  She was rolling with laughter.  Obviously, there never was a second date and not really a first one.  She was nice enough to endure this and still go to Mr. Whipples with me.

The best that I can figure is this:  When I walked into the woods, I stepped on a little sapling and bent it over, crapped on it and when I stood up to wipe it sprang back up and splattered me.  The worst date ever.

10 years later, at class reunion….I had to hear her tell the story to all our old friends.  It’s much funnier coming out of her mouth.

Rantasaurus Says: Thanks for sharing. I hope you don’t get the dribbles next time you go to Mr. Whipples.

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Elizabeth N, endowed and proud

I’ll be the first to say it, I’m a lady with a great rack. They’re not too big, not too small, just right. They’re much more than a handful and much, much more than a mouthful and I love it that way. Clothing manufacturers, though, do not.

I just came from Armani Exchange. Now, their sizes are super, super tiny so I have to go bigger to accommodate my bust. I found a dress that I absolutely loved, but they didn’t have it in my boobs’ size! It fit the rest of me just fine, but above the waist it looked absolutely stripper chic.

I don’t get it! My ladies need a little lift and a little cuddling. Why don’t summer dresses do that? Do I have to get a man to do it for me? Any takers?

Rantasaurus Says: I mean, do you really, really even need to ask?

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Hates Flossing, highly uncomfortable underwearer

Dear Red Thong,

I’m so sorry… so, so sorry I didn’t shower today, but that’s not what we’re here to talk about. Look… it’s just not… proper what you do down there. You’re so far up my butt that you’re practically coming out my mouth, and nobody wants a thong wagging around when I talk.

I’ve tried and I’ve tried, given and given, and I just can’t do this anymore. Plus, it’s not exactly nice what you’re doing to my tender area, either. I’m starting to crave an Iron Maiden chastity belt for some comfort down there. I know you make my butt look great in my new silk skirt, but my new silk skirt probably doesn’t look as hot when I spend all day fishing you out of my ass.

I don’t care who knows it, but tomorrow I’m all granny panties!

Thanks but no thanks,
Hates Flossing

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