FABLE! Bob Dean and The Suffering of his Sentient Underwear
Bob Dean was in a terrible predicament.
He hunched on the toilet, his ass squatting over the void. His arms
were folded over his knees, and his hair stood on end. A cold sweat
had broken out on Bob Dean's grey, pallid skin. He wore only his
socks, held up by their customary garters, and a threadbare
undershirt, the pits yellow and stained. He was in agony.
He had a stuck doody.
"Oh why, why, why?" wailed Bob Dean. "I eat so much bran, and endured
so many coffee enemas! Why must I suffer this stuck doody?"
It was then that his underpants, balled up on the bathroom floor,
could take no more. The fabric gathered into a working mouth, and it
spoke, "How can you complain, Bob Dean? When I spend four consecutive
days smothered under your scrotum, having your leavings dribbled onto
me, or wedged into your poorly wiped crack, before I am granted the
mercy of a wash?"
Bob Dean's glasses, hearing this cry, themselves spoke out, "If we are
airing our woes, pity Bob Dean's glasses! We spend all day sliding
down his greasy nose, and being forced to look at all the stupid
things Bob Dean looks at. Plus, day and night we are showered in his
dandruff. Surely there is no fate worse than ours!"
At this, Bob Dean's sock garters felt the need to unburden themselves
of their grievance. "Imagine the torment of the sock garters! Night
and day, carressing his stubbly legs, never aired out..." but they
were interrupted by Bob Dean, who sputtered in shocked distress.
"All this time, my underwear had a MOUTH? What the fuck did I marry
that insane harpy for?"
And the underwear, glasses, and sock garters all nodded solemnly,
because they understood at last whose fate was the cruelest.