Win On Diagonals

I if I were to have a very funny bone tickling dream anytime soon; I hope it’s about Andy Rooney form the 60 Minutes show.  I see Mr. Rooney with two pairs of men’s briefs in his outstretched hands.  One pair would be a so called ‘boxer brief’ in red with no slot to facilitate quick and unembarrasing urination, the other a white brief also without a dick-hole.  The lament would begin with a close up of his profusely perspiring eyebrows lit up as if it were a stage for a rock show reunion in Ankara, Turkey and Don Cherry was alive again.  So much sweat illuminated with roving pinks and search light bouncing blue or Jacuzzi hot green illumination would still not dampen into matted flatness the nuclear fallout mutant hair branches of his brows. Rooney is standing on a burgundy swivel chair with two blindfolded people sitting against a library of books to his left playing PG 13 Footsy. 
Andy’s lament begins with a silent, almost Beckettian stampede of void blowing sound suckoffing of hyper bewildered dissatisfaction with these displayed briefs.  Andy then instructs the blindfolded ones to fling their blindfolds as he crumples the briefs and decants his spleen with the golden first line: “Sometimes you just want to unzip and pee anywhere you might happen to need too without jumping in a stall. Now either someone should cut off every dick in America or Asia, or men’s undergarment companies should stop caving in to effete trends in slotless underwear.  I just don’t feel like yanking down my trousers and underwear at a common urinal in Novorogod surrounded by nervous telepathists just to piss. This threat to our personal bodily freedoms is no painted burglar accidentally left stuffed in the willow tree in front of you’re house.  I simply can’t find a pair of underwear with a dick hole to save my life or yours.  I don’t wear boxer shorts, which would have solved the current slotless problem. 
I wear briefs, and unless you want to take your dick and curve it around under the elastic with the celerity of a sword thrower’s pre-barbiturate brilliant past, acrobatically maneuvering the dong’s return to it’s inner sheath without seriously tinkling your extremely expensive briefs or boxer briefs that you’re well meaning wife just charged on her overextended special addition Bank One care, you’re out of luck.  You know what else?  Do you know what completely eviscerated the camel’s back and cudgeled its dehydrated putrid sack back to before camels existed?  I will tell you.  Some of these would be men’s slotless briefs have a mock outline for the opening where the dick comes out of.  This of course only prompts one to unzip and two finger grab-move the penis into the zipper zone opening for zinging one in against the horrible whiteness of it all.  I just don’t get it, and I don’t remember why I was so mad until today on the chair with my makeup on it came to me like bugs rushing into a dead