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Okay, This is the kind of useless topic that people turn to their blogs to tell the world about, and dammit, I intend to share.

I keep splitting my pants in the crotch.

Aren’t you glad I’m back?

No seriously, I got issues with the makers of various styles of slacks. Whether I buy cheap ones or expensive ones, eventually, at some point, I split the damn crotch. It happened for the fourth time this year, unbelievably. My bedroom is littered with the carcasses of pants with holes in the crotch.

I think the problem is that I tend, when I am bored at work, to do the occasional split. Well, not a full split like the kind Jean-Claude Van Damme would gratuitously throw in, but once in a while, I like to, um, let the boys breathe a little bit. I think this puts a short-term strain on the the crotch area, and eventually, one time, I do one of these little stretches and, BAM!

The worst part always is getting home, especially if I’ve made the decision to go commando, as they say.  Usually the crotch rips enough that the pants are no longer usable, but not enough to cause an indecent exposure charge if I am careful. It means standing up even when there are seats on the subway. It means being cognizant of short people, especially ladies. It means walking swiftly but discreetly. And it means sweet, sweet relief when I finally get home.

But now I have five pairs of pants sitting around my room not being used. Unless you want to pee by standing right above the toilet. This weekend, I think I’m going to gather these pants up and head for a tailor. I’m getting a bit tired of spending good money after bad and buying yet another pair of pants. Screw that.

Any of you fashion-minded folk out there have any tips for a the flexible guy who likes to do the occasional split whilst tapping away at an Excel spreadsheet? Suggestions are welcome.



  1. Good to have you back, but I could have gone without the commando story. Are you secretly a pornstar?

  2. Rick, I do have a funny story about my potential porn career…I did once receive a flyer from a strange little man once telling me that if I was not fat and had no STD’s, there might be a career in porn for me. They would even let me “practice” first to get my, um, feet wet.

  3. Dare I suggest larger pants?

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