The Tight Underwear

From Savage Spear of the Unicorn

My new underwear is too tight. If I wear the waistband low it will cut off my femoral arteries. Or the veins that crawl over my hipbones. It will cut off my blood supply. I’ll have to get limbs amputated. I will be retarded.

If I wear them high, what. They make me know how fat I am. I have a fucking six pack and I’m fat. Need to throw out this candy. I have a girl now who leaves chocolate here. She doesn’t eat it herself. She leaves it here for me to eat. She wants me to be fat. I can feel the elastic pinch in to the bicycle tire size ring of flab on my belly. It will leave a red imprint around my guts. Take six weeks to recede.

It’s a delicate balance. For my body to be genuinely ripped my face has to be so skinny that my eyes sit in deep black pits. Eyeballs themselves beginning to wrinkle like grapes that fell off the bunch and sat in the bottom of the bag as the grapes got so old they went on sale for 39 cents a pound. Fat gut fat face, I can feel it. My new underwear I was so excited about. Nice colors. Nice patterns. They will crucially cradle my balls which have hurt lately. This is what I thought. Whatever connects my nuts to the rest of me has hurt like a gremlin is gently tugging down on it. Tweaking the nut meat and a fingerful of sac down and down toward the earth so I tangle them in my ankles when I walk naked. I was watching The Sopranos. Tony returns from the toilet in his comare’s house just before she’s set on fire cooking Egg Beaters and Tabasco. He wears boxers. How can this man older than me let his nuts hang free like this. Do other men, even fat guys who lurch around, whose big thick fat legs just bruise and batter the sac–do other men have small tight balls.

Anyway I bought this underwear to support my balls. 100% cotton too. The “microfiber” blends make my sac stink like an old lady. I was excited about the new underwear; they were buy two get one free; the cashier was cute young and Asian and I got to ask her where the men’s underwear was which made her think about me in it. Doubtless picturing a much thicker imaginary version of my schlong. And when she checked me out the credit card machine said LEAVE CARD INSERTED, which made me think: I’d like to leave my COCK inserted–in YOU. And then I laughed all the way back to my car thinking of this.

Every fucking thing, an appointment in Samarra. I can feel it already. No blood in my fingers. I feel lightheaded. Puny dry brain rattling in its high school gym size skull, smacking against the sides. Distorting my memories. My prefrontal cortex intact of course. That which enables me to plan, function and work. God forbid I should become an impulsive animal who just steals and rapes. Guts twisted. Jesus Christ. Should I return the other two for a large.