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It was the autumn of 1984. I was at a shopping mall in the big city. This was before you people got your Internets shopping sprees and calling on the phone for things. In those days you went to the damned store where you belong so you can be pressured into buying MORE. Regardless, it was the autumn of 1984.

It was there that I got the idea to start wearing underwear. Normally, I wear extremely thin material slacks with nothing on underneath. The material is so thin that when the sun or headlights are behind you it is as if the slacks are not even there AT ALL. This is great for EVERYONE.

So, I went into a store that looked classy. Guys working there were dressed like robots in square suits and they talked like it was "the future." I found this questionable, but I asked what kind of underwear they sold for men and they smiled and put their arms around me. This was a bit forward of them, but I was not yet alarmed. After all, I have an X-Man type hand that has attachments. Things can be dealt with fair and square even if I am lured into a store by robotic perverts.

Instead, they handed me a box. It looked like a shoebox but it had decorations on it. There were silver and scarlet ribbons on it. They told me, "Open the box. See the future."

Of course, this is a difficult thing to resist. It is more difficult to resist when presented by pimple-faced waste products dressed up like robots and working in a mall store. In restrospect, I should have murdered them and left them in the dressing room. It would have cured their filthy acne. You can tell the sub-humans by their acne. They have to be put in the ground. Make it so, number one.

I sat down and opened the box. There was a filthy plastic chair they made me sit on that my big, manly ass barely squeezed into. With all the live, hairless animals living inside my body for more than seventy-five years moving around as I sat, the robot boys were alarmed.

Inside the box was a pair of white briefs, a kind of underwear that the milk of human failure wears on a regular basis. I looked at them with consternation and they said, "Inspect further, man." I wrinkled my nose and picked up the white underwear and looked at them. The robot boys came closer than I would have liked and pointed inside the briefs.

"Checky out the pockey, man," prattled one of the human failures.

It took a minute, but inside the briefs was a little pouch. It was located at the bottom of the area where the sizable male genitals would go. It had a soft fabric, much softer than the briefs themselves. It was cottony soft.

"What is this for?" I asked in confusion.

"Nut snuggler," giggled the most pimpled of the robot boys. "You tuck your nuts in there and it keeps them warm and happy."

I did not buy these briefs. You can see why I wish I had killed them.

God bless. Please bring prayer back to schools. For me.

Bless you.