A message to all pants-free subway riders in NYC: You are poseurs. I live the pants-free dream everyday. Or at least I did before this cold, arctic air rolled into town. Yesterday I reveled in the sub-tropical 18-degree afternoon by wearing Puma track pants and starting my car without it sounding like Han Solo’s frozen Tauntaun just before it dropped dead. When the temperature gets back to above freezing again, then the pants come and off and sweet freedom returns.
Amen, brother, amen.
Good use of ‘Tauntaun’, but following the link made me sad – nobody should ever speculate on the mating habits of a fictional creature. Ever. Unless it’s Jessica Rabbit.
“Puma track pants”? What are you, Ricky Gervais or something?
“Sign your life on the X
You exit, X-off, but what you really get:
A box of Newports, and Puma sweats”