Anyway my ass sags like a laundry cord saddled with wet sleeping bags.
Women generally like to be able to bounce a quarter off your ass, and if you do that with me, kiss that quarter goodbye because you may have well thrown it into a deep vat of week-old coagulated oyster stew.
So I bought these briefs, armed with the lastest in ass-puffering technology, and boy, has my outloook improved.
Drop some change? Hey, let me get that for you.
Need me to climb up that ladder for you? Sure, but don't act like you're a wolf and my ass is a dripping hot basted turkey for your selfish mongrel-like devouring.
Women want to touch my ass like it's a baby. They want to grab it, rub it, and stick their face in it, just like my Scout leaders did back in the old days. Fond memories, I tell ya.
The only problem I've encountered is you can't sit down, because the gel packs will burst, leaving you a pantsful of pasty, skin-searing gelatinous waste.
Just blame the egg salad.