Boxers are hot, and by boxers I mean guys who box, not the underwear. So get rid of 'em!
And I don't care if you're talking about things that are true, you're still talking about my personal life. How about I go peek in your window, take what underwear you wore last night, whose husband you were fucking, and shove that in the megaphone throughout your neighborhood? How does that feel? It's none of your goddamn business.
Bes had indeed put on his ugly outfit. He climbed onto the roof of the limbo and stood there, legs planted, arms akimbo, like superman-exept with only the underwear. I wasn't sure what to say except: "Put some clothes on!" "These children are under my protection," Bes insisted. "I don't know you," I said, "I never met you before today." "Nonsense. You expressly asked for my attention." "I didn't ask for the Speedo Patrol!
Jordan followed, buttoning his jeans and muttering about how there was nothing strange about having a pattern of dancing penguins on your underwear.
I remember an era when you could get your nose sliced off for sticking it too far into another man's business. Now you can find out anything about anyone with the click of a button. There is no privacy and no consideration, and everyone is prying into things that aren't their affair. You can probably check on the intertube and find out what color underwear I have on today.
What would you pack for Armageddon? Sunscreen and shades? Flame-proof underwear? Maybe a travel guide to the Underworld?
I like to promote fitness by walking around home in my underwear.
If I want to walk out in the desert and heat up a can of beans on a fire, I still can. In those movies like Gattaca or whatever, the space age stuff is always all there is. But in the world there is never just one way of living. It's more like a big junkyard. Put it this way: I'm not afraid I'm going to end up on a space station in aluminium-foil underwear.
Heat radiated off Henry's face. Salty snot ran down his upper lip. A majestic fart propelled him to the top of Section 12, just at the springing of the stadium's curve. He slapped the sign as if high-fiving a teammate. It gave back a game shudder. He was crusing now, darkness be damned, stripping off his sweatshirt and his long underwear top without breaking stride.
You know why I feel older? I went to buy sexy underwear and they automatically gift wrapped it.
I know something you don't....and that is.... I'M NOT WEARING ANY UNDERWEAR! We're gonna get sexy for a minute!
That so-called feminine ardor for clothes shopping had been flagging for some time. Between 1980 and 1986, at the same time that women were buying more houses, cars, restaurant dinners, and health care services, they were buying fewer pieces of clothing-from dresses to underwear.
The word ‘grunge’ became a household term, and fashion runways were filled with flannel shirts and long underwear. Oh, how we laughed… Every now and then when I’m feeling a little nostalgic, I put on my ‘grunge tuxedo’ - flannel shirt, long shorts with long underwear underneath them, and a pair of Doc Martens - and dance around the house to Tad records.
I love Calvin Klein underwear. That's the only kind of underwear I wear.
That tag - underwear model - I just can't get rid of it. And it's such a bizarre, specific thing - underwear. It's like I never modelled clothes.
My father – who I know is up there right now, with a big pot of gumbo, he’s got a lemon meringue pie, he’s probably in his underwear, and he’s got a cold can of Miller Lite – and he’s dancing.
All that running around in my underwear put money in my pockets. I can focus on working in interesting movies without having to worry about supporting myself.
Why? You want to know why? Step into a tanning booth and fry yourself for two or three days. After your skin bubbles and peels off, roll in coarse salt, then pull on long underwear woven from spun glass and razor wire. Over that goes your regular clothes, as long as they are tight.
Bodybuilding is men on a stage in their underwear wearing brown paint showing other men their muscles. It is training for appearance only, and at the contest level requires a degree of vanity, narcissism, and self-absorption that I find distasteful and odd
Benji usually tries to match his hair with his underwear, and you know how he had the pink hair for a while well we caught him in a pink thong one day!
We learned this week that Mitt Romney is building a car elevator in his house. An elevator for your cars. I get the feeling this guy wants to be president so he has a place to live while he's remodeling his beach house. ... I'm not worried that this guy is out of touch. I'm worried he's Batman. I could see Mitt as Batman. He hears about a robbery, he changes into the magic underwear, he rushes to the crime scene, and he helps the crooks manage their new money.
Hey G-Town Gal: turn your underwear inside out! Then u only have to do laundry every 2 weeks—saves on detergent & trips to Laundromat!
I never changed anything, except my socks and my underwear. And I never did anything to glorify myself or improve my lot. I took what came and did the best I could with it.
Domesticity has to mean nesting. Otherwise, six months go by, and you don't know where your underwear is.
Be optimistic. Always put on clean underwear if you're going on a date.
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