There's a good chance this will happen.

Tomorrow's Tax Day and everyone knows what that means: time to give/get atomic wedgies to the old man who lives next door.

I love Tax Day. It's my favorite fucking time of the year. I know Old Man Jensen hates it; can't rightly blame him. He's the one who gets the fuck ripped out of his underwear and his butt hole all torn to smithereenies. Of course there's always the chance that you yourself could get your undergarment snatched nice and tight like up your own shit crack. There is a chance of that, but it's so unlikely nowadays that I hardly even think about it. All I care about is getting my hands on Old Man Jensen's elastic waistband and pulling the shit right out of it. I might even bite him this year. It's frowned upon in most Tax Day circles, but I say "fuck'um."

Hopefully, the butt-face looking dude who lives upstairs doesn't get to the old man first. There is a good chance that will happen. I overheard Dr. Butt-Face talking to his daughter-in-law about how he just bought this new chair and how he was going to sit on it all night long waiting for the Tax Day bell to ring. He'll more-than-likely shit in the chair too because his ass is so big turds have a hard time staying inside his stomach.

Unfortunately I don't have a chair for my turds to jump into. I don't even have a tree that I could make a chair out of. I'd give up half a wedgie if I could get my hands on a good chair building tree. There's only two chances of that one ever happening which are slim and none. The trees around here just aren't made for chair building. They're too tall and the wood is too hard. Most of them are even covered in this real tough looking shit called "tree skin" that I'd just assume avoid.

My game plan for getting to the old man first is a simple one. First, I'll be wearing a disguise. It's an elaborate get-up complete with a wig and fake mustache. There's also a fake road sign that looks like it's sticking out of my right leg and a rubber hammer glued to my left leg. Both my ears will be glued tightly to my head making hearing anything virtually impossible. I decided to actually shave my head instead of wearing one of those corny bald wig things. Those always make me look stupid. And the final piece of the custom, the piece that turns this from ordinary to extraordinary, are my fully functioning rocket skates that'll strapped to my feet. I haven't tried them out yet because the the guy who sold them to me said there was a better than average change that I'll blow my feet off the first time I use them. I hope Old Man Jensen get's to be the poor sucker who sees that!

Part two of my plan is call him first and ask him nicely if he'll let me rip his underwear up his butt. If he says no, I'm fucked. If he says yes, it's game on. Fuck right it is.




And here is the rest of it.