Friday, October 25, 2013

Butt Crack Exposé

Since I'm too lazy to write an original column this week, here's one from my dark and seedy past.

Where The Cold Breeze Blows

A terrible thing is taking over this great nation of ours. Something so horrible that most people just look the other way when they encounter it. It’s a problem that middle-aged men are dealing with on a daily basis, and I, for one, think that it’s time to do something about it. Somebody has to crack the silence, and I guess that somebody has to be me.

I was recently in my yard raking leaves on a rather windy fall day when I had my latest run-in with this problem. I have begun to notice that as I age, when I bend over while I’m working on a breezy day, breezes hit me in areas that breezes didn’t used to hit me before. My backside was breaking loose from the restrictive confines of my belted pants. In other words, the chill in the air was causing my cheeks to get rosy. All four of them.

This used to be a problem most notably experienced by plumbers, carpenters and carpet installers. The disease was most often associated with the tool belt-wearing crowd. But now it seems as though this insidious affliction has infected such other manly vocations as farmer, auto mechanic and newspaper graphic designer.

Years ago, I lived by a guy who would experience this malady as he worked in his garden. When he was bending over pulling weeds, I would warn my wife not to look by saying “Don’t look! There’s a bad moon rising!” After that, I would hilariously say “Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello! etc…” like my voice was echoing over the Grand Canyon. I would chuckle while my wife just shook her head. In hindsight, it doesn’t seem so funny. Speaking for myself, I don’t want to be the butt of any wisecracks.

Before all of my macho, manly friends try to determine if whether or not I’m talking about them, I’d like to say yes, I’m talking about all of you. If you haven’t felt the cold wind of embarrassment in the past, you will someday. So guys, in the future, don’t look in the rear-view mirror and tell me you weren’t warned.

In scientific terms, I believe that derrière exposure is due to a gravitational occurrence that, for the lack of a better verb, occurs. It seems as though the size of the gap that lies between the end of the shirt tail and the top of the back of the pants is directly proportional and equivalent to the amount the stomach overlaps the belt buckle in the front. I believe that Einstein was working on this theorem when he accidentally discovered the whole relativity thing.

As a temporary solution to my problem, I’ve decided to stop raking the yard. I’m sure that the neighbors may get a little angry, but I figure that when you compare a few dead leaves blowing into their garage and my hind end peeking out, the leaves will be much more lenient on property values.
As a permanent solution to this great indignity, I have begun designing something I like to refer to as the reverse codpiece. For those not familiar with the term, Wikipedia defines a codpiece as an article of European clothing worn during the 15th and 16th centuries that consisted of a covering flap or pouch that attached to the front of men’s trousers and accentuated the  –  Oh Great Caesar’s Rump Roast!!! I can’t say that!!! The things that they get away with on the Internet!

With the reverse codpiece that I’m suggesting, a covering flap would be built into the back of all pairs of jeans and would extend up from the belt line to about a third of the distance up the pants-wearer’s back. Bend over all you want guys. You’ll be covered, and America’s eyes will be protected. After reading this, I’m sure that the folks at the Levi Strauss Company will be calling me to inquire about patent copyrights.

In conclusion, gentlemen, the next time you’re outside on a blustery day and you imagine that you can hear that low whistling hum that happens when you blow across the top of a glass Coke bottle, you probably don’t need to have your hearing tested. You might just need to pull up your pants.

You may think I got a little cheeky with this column. I assure you, that was not my intention. I urge the men of this nation to get off of their exposed backsides and do something about this crisis of epic proportions.

If you feel the need to talk to me about this, you can find me by yelling and listening for the echo.


Please be sure to check out my comic strip "Nothing is not Something" on the Go Comics website. You can find it by clicking here. The more subscribers I get, the better. Thank-you in advance.

If you get a chance, please check out some of the other stuff I've got going:

"Nothing is not Something" on GO Comics.
"Nothing is not Something" on Facebook.
"Nothing is not Something" on Twitter. 

Greg Wallace Ink on Facebook
Greg Wallace Ink on Twitter.

Sawdust & Paint on Facebook

No comments:

Post a Comment