July 10, 2014
Cargo-ish-type pants were made to not be ironed, right? (Please agree. Otherwise, I'll be forced to drag the creaky old ironing board from a closet and drop the leaky iron on my foot, at which point I'll also be forced to curse all kinds of punctuation marks and dash out of the apartment, down the street, through a cave, by a river, through a forest, all in old-fashioned Hanna-Barbera cartoon form, which will noticeably loop/repeat , eventually landing atop a snow-capped mountain, where I'll hop on my "good" foot and roar a Fred Flintstone-like, "Yeowwwwwww!!!" while damning Barney and/or Wilma.