Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

His Pants Are (Marked) Down

bobby denim manpris

For years now, Bobby has had an informal endorsement deal with a small haberdashery in the East Bay called Creepy Ernie’s Palace of Unacceptable Trousers. In the market for a well-fitting and reasonably-priced pair of dungarees? Then get the fuck out of here before I sodomize you with a hammer: this is Creepy Ernie’s!  Summer coming up and you need some appropriately-lengthed shorts? The only thing you’ll find in your size in Ernie’s will be Ernie’s testicles, which he will “accidentally” flash you six or thirteen times. (The name of the store is appropos: Ernie’s creepy as shit.)

Before each tour, Bobby would pop in, and Ernie would re-measure his inseam, and Bobby would choose his new unacceptable trousers: would they be the jodhpurs he wore on SNL and to close Winterland? The itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny almost-acid-washed mankini he poured himself into for Summer Tour? Bloomers? Knickers? Britches, greaves, loincloths (a bit too Ted Nugent for Bobby),  leggings, jeggings, cleggings (these are pants made from the flayed, tanned, and tailored skin of South African musician Johnny Clegg), MC Hammer pants, M.C. Escher pants (the leg hole opens into the pocket: it makes sense on paper), skinny jeans, anorexic jeans, Auschwitz jeans, relaxed jeans, comatose jeans, buttless chaps, crotchless panties, legless slacks (someone once told Ernie that these were just called ‘shorts’ and Ernie stuck his finger up the guy’s butt with neither lubrication nor warning.)

Cargo pants, cargo shorts, cargo speedos (basically, you have to shove your wallet and phone up your ass), tights, pantaloons, a too-small towel inexplicably covered in swastikas desperately gathered around your waist in a motel you don’t remember checking into with a headless hooker and a duffel bag full of meth on the bed, adult diapers, morph suits,  hundred of minks swaddling your lower half with their bodies which sounds great until you realize that they use their teeth and claws to hold on and they’re little vicious fuckers who constantly fight with each other so it’s just the worst living hell you can ever imagine, bicycle shorts, tricycle shorts (these are like bicycle shorts, but are smaller and are covered with duckies and moo-cows), unicycle shorts (these are bicycle shorts that know how to do magic and enjoy LARPing).

Creepy Ernie has all of these things and he’s having a sale this weekend: the specific discount is based on Ernie’s ranking of your–and I’m quoting here–“gozangas shaking to-and-fro” or your “penis.” Be forewarned, though: Ernie only accepts Discover. No checks, either. He also will not take cash: you kinda have to open up a whole new line of credit and deal with mail to shop there; it’s inconvenient at best. The location is not a draw: Little Aleppo. Plus, Ernie’s going to watch you try stuff on: it absolutely will happen, and you may or may not be aware of it. I cannot overstate the man’s creepiness.

1 Comment

  1. I think that chaps are, by definition, already buttless.

    Personally, though, i tend to use “assless chaps” until i am corrected.

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