Boxers versus briefs (1977 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesRating: 0.57 on 8 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by minustwodie (View user info) at 2005-03-31 19:23:39 EST
Mundane and simple. That was him. He started every day the same way. Always is was with beer and cornflakes. Yeah, that's right. I said corn flakes. You should listen better. I said cornflakes for a reason.
Always with the cornflakes. He'd go into the refrigerator after he poured the corn flakes into the bowl. The bowl. Always he used the bowl. The same one. The one he never washed.
He went into the refrigerator after the beer for the corn flakes. Yes, the beer is for the corn flakes. Always with the corn flakes.
He'd reach in and pull a can of the cheap beer from a pack of others. He strained at it, working the cylinder loose from the elastic and gripping straps on the cans of beer. He strained looking at it. His eyes quivered as he watched the struggle. The can slipped back and forth but the straps would not let go.
He may as well have been blind. He could not see what he was really looking at and didn't care for what he really saw in those cans. Always the straps quit gripping and the can slipped out as if it hadn't any business being there in the first place. Then he was back at the cereal and the bowl.
"Nothing with her ever lasted very long, anyway," he thought.
And always there was the dog. The dog. The dog watched him with the beer. The dog was conscience. He had a dog because he didn't like cats. OK, maybe he liked cats. That's a hard thing to pin down with him. You know as well as I do.
He had a cat. Or she had a cat. She took the cat when she left. Not that she wanted the cat. The cat certainly didn't want her. The cat always preferred him.
Animals and small children can always tell. Remember that. Animals and small children can always tell.
So she took the cat he pretended not to like and now he had a dog that was his conscience. Doleful. Big droopy thing. The dog followed him with eyes as bloodshot as his own.
Always with the cornflakes the dog watched him. The conscience with big droopy ears watched him pour the cheap beer into the corn flakes. That's right. Always with the beer in the corn flakes. You should listen better.
It wasn't the dog that bothered him. It was that he believed that the dog understood what was happening. Happening inside him. He never wanted anyone to see that. That's why there was beer in the cornflakes. Remember there was a reason?
It was an amazing thing to see. A skinny unshaven Colombo tottered around an unkempt house in the early morning twilight as it seeped through closed blinds. He wore a blue cotton terry bathrobe. It covered a tank top and boxers. The white underwear was yellow and grey.
He looked at the dog and then he looked at the cereal. Every morning he looked. First he noticed the cereal when the bitterness touched his lips and then almost came back out as he tried to swallow it down. This morning it did come back out. Splattered on the floor.
The dog followed him most places. The dog would not go into the bedroom. The dog wasn't stupid. It followed him as far as the hallway and stopped. It saw where things were headed and didn't want to look anymore. The man sloshed his way toward the bedroom spooning soggy alcohol-laden cornflakes into his mouth.
He moved into the room with his feet following his heart. The feet sludged through a mess of old undershirts and assorted soiled clothing. He put the cornflakes on top of the dresser.
He was there to change the underwear. Damn things got wet with the corn flakes. Yes, the cornflakes. In the bowl on top of the dresser. You can forget about them now. He was done with the cornflakes. For good.
He looked in the underwear drawer and mumbled a curse. There weren't anymore boxers. All he had now were briefs. Her briefs.
She always wanted him to wear briefs. Something about a sexy package. He never would. She just didn't understand about boxers.
Now it seemed he didn't have a choice. He'd have to wear her underwear. He let the boxers he wore drop down around his ankles. They didn't offer much resistance. The elastic was breaking down.
He picked up the boxers with his toes, then his fingers and held them out from himself. He let them fall to droop over a drawer front. Then he looked heavenward as he drew the briefs onto himself.
He let his hand fall past the boxers and they caught on his fingers. When he left the bedroom the boxers swung from his fingertips in tune with a stiff gait. It didn't make any sense to carry his boxers around now that he wore her briefs. He just held on to them.
"They're practically alive, anyway," he thought. "It sorta makes sense to keep an eye on them."
The dog was waiting for him by the couch. You'd say operant conditioning. He thought the dog lay there to mock him. The dog isn't so easy to read either. Basset hounds do what they want.
He nudged past the dog to the couch and sat down.
So he was sitting there in the briefs on the couch with the boxers and the basset watching him. He looked at them both. He saw the dog glance away and whimper. Following the dog's glance left him staring at the papers lying on the coffee table. The boxers rustled. He tossed them onto the coffee table beside the papers. That's right, the papers. The ones he thought the dog and boxers were getting so emotional about.
The papers were folded in half and crinkled from the drops of water that had so often fallen on them. He sighed and picked the boxers back up. The boxers picked knocked a pen onto the floor. The dog stood with a bark and looked at the pen.
He felt the dog looking at him and picked up the pen.
"Is this what you want, boy?" The dog barked again.
He looked at the boxers in his shaking hand. They were rustling again and dancing around.
So the pen was in his had and the dog and boxers were cheering him on and the dog was standing beside him and the briefs were choking him and he was going somewhere he couldn't see. He just stared at the papers. The dog was looking at the papers and barking. There was nothing to be done about it. He could see her imperative x's and notes that all said, "Sign, here!" There was nothing to be done and the briefs were choking him and the notes were malignancies on the crinkles from his tears and he had to go where he'd not been and he stood and jerked her constrictive briefs off of his manhood. The release started a wave in him and this bitch was gonna get out. He tossed the boxers on the dog's head and started signing everything on the table. He almost signed the pizza box.
"She wants a divorce?" he said to his dick. "I'll give her a divorce!"
"Sign here, sign here," he mocked her. "I should have known better than to marry a stinkin' lawyer, " he cursed, lowly.
The dog barked with the boxers dancing a jig on its head.
"Woof!"
He stood up straight from the coffee table and the signed divorce papers.
"I need some damn underwear," he said, and strode toward the bedroom with a Basset hound and boxer shorts parade following along behind him.
He walked into the bedroom and started picking up boxers from all over the floor. He turned and picked up the dancing boxers and found the dog smiling under them.
"What are you doing in here?" he asked.
"Woof!"
"Well, come on, boy. We've got laundry to do!"
User Reviews
Submitted by Josephine (user info) at 2005-04-01 09:57:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I have a feeling you were trying to be "fresh" with your writing style. It kind of annoyed me instead.
Submitted by supersloth (user info) at 2005-04-01 09:38:12 EST (#)
Ranking: -1
The white underwear was yellow and grey.
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2005-04-01 08:46:48 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Always with the -2s.
Submitted by metricgiraffe (user info) at 2005-03-31 20:10:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
+2. Always with the +2. Yeah, that's right, I said +2.
Submitted by Degreeless_Capibara (user info) at 2005-03-31 19:45:46 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
dis story R0xx0RZ MI B0xx0RZ
Submitted by CookieLass (user info) at 2005-03-31 19:39:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
how odd.
+2PIE.
Submitted by Sassmasterr (user info) at 2005-03-31 19:38:49 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
reminds me of the the madtv character "mofaz" - the depressing turkish tow-truck driver
always bad.
Submitted by mybrainisawaffle (user info) at 2005-03-31 19:36:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
You get a gold star.