EAT MY SHORTS!

So, how's that cold weather you're having on the East Coast working out for you? Bit chilly? Snowed in? Wondering what you'll do for dinner in front of the telly while the pizza place can't deliver because of drifts?
All out of chocolate-mint power bars?
Having power issues?
Shivering?

You ran out of rendered bear grease for rubbing on your chilblains and insulating your skin from the fierce biting cold and blinding snow?
Water heater froze solid, developed cracks, and would flood your apartment except that it's a block of ice?

I can just imagine. You are suffering. I sympathize.

Bitter cold and freezing conditions: it's horrid.


Please know I'm swanning around in my boxer shorts right now.
All windows open to the warm California sunshine.

It's my day off. And I'm in California.
I know. Lucky, huh?

They're very uber-cool looking boxers. I wish you could see them. Happy colours, snazzy pattern. No, that isn't a pizza stain, we don't have "real" pizza here. That's strictly a New York thing. We're too laid back.
I accidentally dripped some of my tofu-raspberry snowcone.

Just kidding. Every one knows you don't have tofu-raspberry snowcones for breakfast. Even in California. It's not a well-rounded meal (unlike pizza), and the low fat version tastes blah.


Boxer shorts.
Styling.


I've been reading in a state of déshabillé all morning.
Enjoying the nice spring-like temperatures.
Might go surfing later.

Ah, fresh air, mountain meadows, and neighbors wandering around in mumus and grass skirts. The sweet smell of medical grade marijuana and happy dolphins on the gentle zephyrs wafting in from the bay.
Wholesome gluten-free meals to keep us trim.
As we gambol in the California sun.
Lithe and bronzed.
And warm.

Boxer shorts.

I strike a pose before the hallway mirror. Hot dawg I look svelte!
Of course, there are tummy hairs. And navel lint.
If you were here, you'd know.
I have an 'inny'.

Because of the way the tummy hairs all curve towards the centre -- imagine that it's a chakra trail down my front -- the fibres from the wife-beater and sleep pants all moved toward the 'inny', forming a feathery little pillow. Which I will remove with a toothpick. Because, being in just my boxer shorts, it can be plainly seen. Unlike all you poor people in New York and Philadelphia, who are wearing thermal underwear, legwarmers under your heavy woolen pants, plaid lumberjack shirts, sweaters, multiple mufflers, overcoats, hats, gloves, and heavy lined boots.

Oh, the chafing, the chafing!


Again, that's boxer shorts.

Nice and baggy.

Cotton.





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