23 February 2002 - 10:17 p.m.

but not facing me. I may want to admire your ass while you're doing it.

Yes, I am the reigning monarch of debachery, hear me take part in a rousing game of suck and blow. and truth or dare. My apartment may be roughly the size of a phone booth, but that didn't stop the drinking, the trousers in the freezer, the nudity or -

wait for it -

THE REMOVAL OF A PAIR OF UNDERWEAR WITHOUT THE REMOVAL OF THE INDIVIDUAL'S PANTS!!!

It's possible, ladies and gentlemen. You read it here first. I myself had always heard conflicting thing about it, and so I could not reseist daring someone to try it. Fortunately, the person who had requested said dare was wearing very loose boxer shorts with a slightly torn waistband, as well as flannel-lined jeans. That was nice. The dare-ee didn't even mind going commando for the rest of the festivities, so cozy was that thar flannel.

I think the key to truth or dare is to get as many males to remove their pants as possible, just to see what kind of underwear they're all wearing. Last night yielded the usual proportion of plaid flannel, as well as a blue-on-blue check that literally looked like something out of a circus clown's drawers, and a kind of M.C. Escher-esque lizard pattern.

I wish I had thought ahead and bought something to give the guest with the best undies. Maybe next time.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: