Once upon a time there were only two kinds of men’s underwear – briefs and boxers. But only fuckbois wore briefs. So really, there was one kind of men’s underwear: the boxer.
Boxers are a type of billowy undershort made out of shiny, frictionless plastic. People often described them as being made of silk, but any close encounter with an open flame would reveal them to be synthetic by the tell-tale sign of napalm dick.
This material was reflective both of light rays and air molecules trying to enter, as well as excess heat and gooch sweat trying to escape. The only things that seemed to have no problem slipping in and out were the cock and balls.
Compounding this frequent wardrobe malfunction was the way they moved completely independently of the surrounding pants, which could never find any purchase and were forever sliding down towards the ankles. As such, throughout the day the wearer would need to make constant adjustments, lifting the pants back up to position at the waist with one hand while lifting the genitals back up to position in the underwear with the other.
Given how much the boxer would thus be on public display, it presented the perfect canvas for tasteful artistic design. But instead of that, the space was occupied exclusively by cartoon characters and innuendos about the massiveness of dick that was threatening to pop out from either leg at any moment.
It was a blessed relief when underwear manufacturers came together and decided to just extend elastic cotton briefs down to the length of the maligned boxer. Somewhere in the most rancid corner of hell, a toxic pall of black fumes spews from the mountain of abandoned boxers consigned to burn there for all of eternity.
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