i live to serve
i live to serve
yeah you are
I used to think I was funny until I met Kathy Griffin. Iím gonna have to call my mama and have her tell me how good I am. - ginger minj
Totally wickedly badassedry hilarity!!! Definitely fabulous!
Good morning, ducklings. Let's improve upon the disagreeable weekends that many of us had with a fabulous week, shall we? New post in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .
Gay Panda has magic underpants.
Many corners advise me not to weigh myself, but to judge the changing composition of my body by how my clothes feel. However, had I done so by this particular pair of undies, I would have concluded that I’d lost no weight at all and quit primal. I don’t understand how something fit fine at 217 pounds of panda and continues to fit fine at 188.6. They were not tight at the high weight, nor are they saggy at the low weight, and I suddenly consider that some magicians are actually just regular people who possess a magical object that gives them power.
Of course it would turn out that my magical object is a pair of skivvies. I think that Valhalla just gets bored and messes with me to kill its cosmic time. Not a wand, not an oil lamp, not a crystal ball or amulet, but blue Jockey underpants made of 100% durable cotton. I am glad to provide you with amusement, Valhalla, but that’s not even original. There already exists a young adult series about a foursome of girls who share a pair of magical jeans that fits all of them. But in divine gutter humor, Gay Panda has been granted underpants that fit the panda form at every size.
I am rather oblivious to how my body changes. My bigger jeans were falling off before I noticed that they had started to sag. I have no idea how people notice when they have put on five pounds or lose it; as observant as I am in some areas, there has been no carryover to this one. My hips seem a little smaller. However, the tape measure shows that they are actually much smaller. My waist seems a bit more pinched; my thighs appear to be the same Doric columns of the Parthenon as always. But the tape measure shows that they are not.
Lady Friend says that my cheeks have definition now, and I’m amazed to see that this is true. But I didn’t notice it much on my own. I should have taken pictures when I began primal, but I could not bear photographic evidence of my size. I flee cameras, for that reason and because Mother Panda told me at 15 that I smiled wrong, and sent me to practice new smiles in the bathroom. I have never felt more foolish than I did while standing at the mirror practicing new smiles. When I exited, she demanded to see my improvements. I displayed them obediently, and she shook her head in disappointment.
Since then, whenever someone lifts a camera, my first thought is that I’m going to smile wrong. So I dodge cameras, and there are many pictures of half of my face, or my back. I worried when my author shot was taken that I would look like an idiot, and people would pick up my book in the store, see the picture, and think, this can’t be any good, the author doesn’t even smile right! But Mother Panda issued many odd dictums, and I was also decried as a Communist for washing whites with colors. (What does it matter when they’re not new? Nothing stained!) Years later, I still mix everything into the washer like a defiant Gay Commie Panda.
Do other people lack the ability to see their bodies this way? Or is it just Gay Panda? I know that I have changed a lot, even if I don’t really see it. My bigger jeans had to be replaced with smaller ones. Some of my shirts hang off me in ‘80s fashion, which I find neither appealing nor stylish. Yet those magic underpants continue to fit as fine as they did before, and I wonder what weight it’s going to take before they admit defeat. But maybe they are primal underpants just shrinking with me, and one day I’ll be 166 pounds of panda and still wearing them.
Now THAT is customer loyalty.
I haven't even read the post yet, but anything that starts out with magic underpants is amazing.
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I have no comments on the magical pants I do however completely sympathise with the incorrect smiling.I too was criticised at the same delicate age..amazingly not by my Mother but by an older college boy.Ever since this experience 98% of photos with me in it are with a rather dour look on my face.Damn those who ruined us for photographs..damn them!!!!!
For those of you who poo-poo psychology as a pseudo-science, I present the results of a proven and respected branch of science in their astrology thread:
33% Fire Signs: Aries and Leo, but not Sagittarius. I can't wait to tell Lady Friend, a Sagittarius and not on the Myers-Briggs list above, that I am confident she is not a furry. However, a friend did my astrological chart, and my Saturn is in Leo.
33% Air Signs: Gemini and Libra, but not Aquarius. Feeling more doubtful about myself now, as I am on the cusp of one of these represented signs, I take solace in the fact that INTJ did not appear in the Myers-Briggs thread. So I must not be a furry. Right? But then again, I have four planets in this particular air sign. FOUR.
17% Earth Sign: Only Taurus. But one of my planets is in Taurus, too. Jupiter? I stare at the legend on my chart as I type this, wondering why I took AP Biology in high school when AP Astrology would have taught me so much more about myself. I am growing ever more concerned.
17% Water Sign: Only Scorpio. Dammit! My Mars is in Scorpio! Am I so deeply in the closet that I do not know that I am a furry?
Astrology has been around since the third millennium BCE. And although Freud is credited with the invention of psychology, its origins truly lie in Aristotle's pondering of the human mind. Aristotle was born in 384 BC, making psychology a lot younger and less proven than astrology. After doing some fancy mathematical calculations on my iPhone, I realize that the probability of my latent furry-ism relies more on astrology than psychology. My Myers-Briggs type accounts for only 4%, my astrological chart for 96%.
Dear sweet Valhalla. I'm a furry.