AH, PANTS. SLACKS. DUNGAREES. TROUSERS. Man’s wardrobe of choice since society deemed dresses only acceptable on women, Scots, and your birthday when you and your partner do that thing where she’s the bad boy and you’re the naughty girl and the safe word is “happenstance.”
Pants are that great gateway between propriety and nudity, between fantasy and getting some, between skin and sin. But not everything that can get into your pants should be there, nor is it a given that anything that can make it into your pants is a good thing. Oh sure, phrases like, “I got into her pants,” suggest a positive connotation, but replace “I” with “Chlamydia”, and we’ve got a whole different Saturday night.
Headshots, your source and authority on all things slacks, is a great fan of the pant. Hell, we love them so much we’re hesitant to trade them in for short pants during the summer. We love jeans, corduroys, chinos, and some lady’s pair crumpled up on our floor in the morning. But as much as we love pants, and love getting into them (and out of them), pants should be treated with respect, and caution.
Heretofore are the five worst things that can get in your pants.
No, I’m not talking about dude with bad pickup lines. I’m talking about rodents, especially mice.
Vermin love a good pants vacation. Now, rats, gerbils, hamsters, you can see them coming, and avoid their unwanted visit. But mice, mice are small shifty little f**kers. They can get up the pant leg of Williamsburg’s most skinny jean sporting hipster, and nest in there until the next Arcade Fire album comes out. And mice will hid in the spot between your junk and your thigh for weeks, slowly nibbling away at your business, but not in a flirty way. It’s how my cousin Martin became cousin Margery.
Not all dudes, mind you.
The dudes we’re talking about are the guys who wear white ball caps, tuck in their golf tees, say things like “top shelf” and “no homo” and “I got it down to a misdemeanor.”
These dudes travel in packs of at least four, played team sports through college, and (though hetero, and in the worst way) would blow Tiger Woods if given the opportunity. And these dudes will do anything to get in your pants. Buy you drinks, tell you you look like Selena Gomez, listen to you. And once they’re in there, they’re not unlike the mice, nibbling away at your business, but not in a way that suggests they have any clue as to how to work your business.
3. Smartphone Cameras
Last week we talked about Smartphone Sexfare, a new game for lovers, something that’ll take the world by storm as soon as we sort out some copyright issues. But while in that instance photos of your stuff, her stuff, the midget’s stuff, are encouraged, and necessary, it’s time that we, collectively, stopped snapping pics of our genitals.
What in the name of Brett Favre are you thinking if you shove your phone down your pants, click away, then tweet your business? Who is this impressing? Also, no one’s business looks good on an iPhone camera. And trust us, dudes, no one want to see your business. That’s why the good Lord invented lovin’ with the lights off.
Semen, giver of life, and nighttime enemy of teenage boys, is as messy a substance one can find on God’s earth. And it’s for this reason that we implore you to not let it into your pants. It smells, it stains, it crusts up your jeans in a way that Tide has not yet learned to solve. It doesn’t look cool.
No one points at a fresh semen stain on a set of corduroys and exclaims, “Sweet, homeboy must’ve got laid, there’s some jizz on his cords!” And for the ladies, this is not like walking around with a trophy mark. This tells everyone, “Look, we didn’t bother with condoms, I won’t let him come in me, facials are for girls from Arizona, and so I let him finish on my Levi’s.
Class it up folks. Not Cool.
Probably something that you’ll catch if you don’t heed the warnings of number 2, but deserves its own place on this list.
It’s hard to believe that given our knowledge of sexually transmitted diseases, and the ease with which they can be prevented, that dudes and dudettes are still contracting herpes, gonorrhea, syphilis, and that one that turns your junk green and then you have to dip it in ointment for three weeks. Like, cover it. Completely. Sure, condoms are a little pricey, and nowadays with all their vibrating, and colors, and flavors, and sizes, more than a bit confusing, but for the love of Amanda Bynes, is saving ten bucks worth it if you have to bathe your business in calamine and pop $50 antibiotics for a month? That’s not just sexually irresponsible, it’s fiscally unsound.
I’m sure there’s other things you’d rather not make their way into your pants; snakes, Vincent Gallo, a rabid monkey, but for our purposes, and based on our experience, these are the five to avoid.
Unless, you know, you’re into the kink.
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