Is that a piece of chewy in your pocket or…

What the fuck is going on? I woke up this morning and slipped into my favorite jeans to find that there’s a piece of chewy stuck in my pocket. After spending the best part of a minute 4 hours picking the fucker out, I started thinking. Note: the only thing going through my head while I was picking out the chewy was how ridiculously good I would look in my jeans.

So, how’d the chewy get there? There’s no way anyone else would have been wearing my jeans (Baggy/ Aladdin pants are so 1992). Actually, you don’t know these days; some onelove fag could have broken into my house and stolen my pants for the night because the old fashion we’d all rather forget is cool now. That might explain the chewy too. The kid would have been chewing his face off at a funboy club and his boyfriend would have slipped his chewy into his pocket while he suc- Bad thought!

And there’s no way I would have put the chewy in my pocket. Firstly, when you look as good as I do you don’t need chewy to impress the ladies. Who gives a fuck about bad breath when you have arms like fucking freight trains? Note to my smaller readers: don’t leave your chewy in your pockets; hide it under one of your ribs or something.

Secondly, why the fuck would I put something in my mouth that a) doesn’t get me big, b) doesn’t contain protein and c) doesn’t fulfill my dream of changing the earth’s gravitational pull so that I can go back in time to 1955 to save the Doc from being shot by plutonium terrorists in the future?

Thirdly, there wouldn’t have been enough room in my pockets for a piece of chewy. My pockets would have been filled with 100s of bits of paper with girls’ phone numbers on them.

My pants were definitely stolen. I’m throwing them out only if there are spunk stains.

Oh, and here’s photo evidence:

I only posted this photo to show off my ripped mid-section. The tattoo and dope photography skills are simply a bonus.