It was funny at first, but now it’s ruining my life.
Pants. What are they? The woven mittens we wear on our legs. I’m personally a big fan. Or, at least, I was. Someone — or a group of someones, for all I know — have been pulling various pants-related pranks on me.
It started off with small things. One morning, the cuffs of my pants were slightly shorter, almost imperceptibly so. The average pants-wearer likely wouldn’t have noticed, but someone as scrupulous about his slacks as I am was immediately on guard. I was concerned, but altogether unscathed in the grand scheme of things. It was the following day when the pants pranks took a turn for the sinister.
I put on one of my favorite pairs and went to put my phone in the back pocket, only to find that said pocket was filled with baked beans. Upon furiously searching, I discovered that all of my pockets were similarly occupied. Concerningly, the beans were still warm, as if they were just heated up for a lonely dinner. I’m no quitter, so I wore those bean pants the whole day. People gave me weird looks, and my phone broke because bean juice seeped into the screen, but I wasn’t going to let this denim devil dissuade me from my chosen pants.
A week or so later, I had accidentally fallen asleep in the library, and the slacks scoundrel struck again. I don’t know how they did it, but somehow my pants had shrunk in my sleep. Perhaps they soaked my jeans in scalding water and I slept through it? It’s hard to say. The pants were so tight I could hardly walk, and when I did move, I looked like an animated scarecrow escaping the cornfield. Worst of all, when I bent down to pick up a pencil I dropped, the rear of my pants blew out, exposing my boxers to the rest of the library. I had to walk slowly and shamefully back to my room, my Homer Simpson-patterned underwear hanging out of my too-skinny jeans the whole way. Needless to say, I was pissed.
The next day was even worse. This time, though I did not sleep in the library, I did take a nap in my room. Disturbingly, the prankster somehow snuck in. I know I leave my door not only unlocked but wide open almost all the time, but I never thought that would come to bite me in the ass. I awoke to see that my pants had been painted to look perfectly like my pale Caucasian legs. Every detail had been perfectly recreated, to the point where it looked like I wasn’t wearing pants at all. In a panic, I checked my other pairs, hoping that it was only the ones I was wearing that had been painted. No. Every pair was a perfect replica of my own legs. There was no other option. With my head hung low, I began my walk to class and was immediately arrested for public indecency. I tried to explain to the police that I was fully clothed, but I had to pay an exorbitant fine anyway for “wasting their time.” When I got back to my room, I knew I had to release a statement, and I began crafting the article you’re now reading.
Enough of this madness. My life has been ruined by these jeans-related japes. Again, I don’t know who is behind it. Some sick-minded freak? One of my many mortal enemies? Me, simply begging for attention? It could be any or all of them. I just ask for the mercy of these powerful pranksters, and please allow me to proudly parade my personal pants in peace.
