"Blowout" said the bossman...

With any luck at all this won't turn into a venue for me to complain about the straight shite things that happen to me during meetings at work, but SHIT this week just WILD for punishment.

I must ask: In the occurence that while sitting around a table and "brainstorming" (i.e. listening to chemists talk about what simpletons biologists might be, and as a computer dude shruggingly agreeing with them for lack of evidence to the contrary -- that's the scientific method, after all) you go to move your leg and an audible tearing sound is projected from yr ass-area, do you let 'em think you just farted or do you tell 'em straight up that you believe the chasm you just tore in yr pants likely gives a straight view of your balls? I opted for the second -- toned down in bidness casual language, but of course -- and spent the rest of the day shuffling about in my office chair.

It was the walk home that terrified/tittilated me. To set the proper mood I turned Ironman (the Ghostface album, not the Sabbath tune, although that probably woulda worked too) up as loud as my headphones could carry and strutted to the best of my sag-ass-flap'd ability. I think I pulled off a convincing effect of my ass being so damn walnut-crushing tight that it just couldn't be contained in designer denim. I look forward to seeing this trend spreading, and am currently talking with some selvage denim producers for a new line of AssHole Jeans.