I have no fashion sense. I won’t go into detail about this because I have an idea for a future blog entry where I will disclose all the no-brainer fashion “no-no’s” I have been guilty of committing in the past.
I went to Loras College in Dubuque, IA. I partied a lot with one of my longtime friends from high school. His name is Nick Breuer and he went the University of Dubuque. He is a unique character. If I were to attempt to describe him, it would probably result in its own blog entry. Hell, if I were to write a story about the many adventures of Nick Breuer, it would probably end up being as long as Atlas Shrugged, which is what, 1000 pages or so?
Anyways, one thing about Breuer, is that he has pretty good fashion sense. For someone from Iowa, he is always right on, in terms of what is trending. Sometimes he will wear items of clothing that you never see other Iowans wearing and I’ll think to myself, “how the hell did he come up with that outfit?” A few months later, I will be out on the town and see an abundance of people wearing the same outfit Breuer was wearing 3 months prior to. Iowa is considered to be behind the times in terms of trends and fashion, but Breuer sure as hell isn’t and he has gotten some positive female responses as a result.
Unlike Breuer, I don’t give a shit about what is trending. My goal is to somehow wear what I like (regardless of whether it came from the MC Hammer era or not) and not look like an idiot in the process. Breuer has been very talented as being my fashion consultant. Lord knows it’s probably a rough job.
In general, I am usually just a t-shirt or polo shirt, jeans and shoes or loafers type of dude. You rarely see anything flashy from me, unless I am dressed up like Rick “The Mullet Man” Suave and that’s only for blog entries and special occasions.
So one night, Breuer and I made plans to go to a bar in Dubuque, IA on the Main Street strip called Bartinis. Out of the 6 or 7 bars that were on that strip, Bartinis was the classiest. It was the cleanest, the drinks were more expensive compared to the other bars, they never had drinking specials, it was small, the normies were elitists and everyone there seemed like they were dressed for a freaking wedding. I always knew there were better alternatives in terms of fun shit to do, so I usually dreaded going to that place, but I did have a couple good times throughout my 5 years living in Dubuque. Bartinis was one of the bars we went to spontaneously, just to break the routine.
I think Breuer actually liked partying at Bartinis.
Poff and I met Breuer and his friend, Burken at Breuer’s house. We planned on pre-gaming there. After saying our, “wassup man’s,” Breuer said to me, “dude, I am not going to be seen in public with you wearing that.” If my memory serves me correctly, I was wearing something along the lines of a dress shirt, khaki cargo shorts, brown loafers and a pair of white Hanes ankle socks. “What are you going to do then?” I asked. “I am going to grab a pair of nice jeans and you are going to wear them,” Breuer replied. I’ve borrowed Breuer’s clothes since high school. We have been close to the same size as each other our whole lives. Breuer ran into his room, grabbed a pair of jeans and threw them at me and told me to take care of them because they were his favorite pair of jeans. I quickly glanced at them before putting them on. I noticed they were BKE brand. I had never worn a pair of BKE jeans until that point because I could never justify spending $70-100 on a pair of jeans. I admit though, I felt pretty cool wearing them. Before departing for the bars, I looked at myself in the mirror and remember thinking to myself, “damn Swaff, you are rockin’ those jeans. They definitely look cooler than my usual Lee or Old Navy brand jeans.”
When we arrived at Bartinis, the place had a decent sized crowd, but was definitely picking up at a rapid pace. There were only a few tables left, which I was eager to grab one of them because I had no intentions of walking around and mingling with the suited up crowd that was accumulating there. We sat at a table near the entrance. My chair at the table was facing the entrance directly. I was leaning back in my chair, legs spread wide open with a beer in hand. Poff, Breuer, Burken and I discussed a variety of topics ranging from beer, women and sports. How’s that for fitting a male stereotype?
After two hours of drinking over-priced beer at Bartinis, we decided to go to a different bar. The place was packed, but in no way fun. We were surrounded by many people who had probably spent all day playing croquet. Not my thing. The atmosphere in general was dull and snooty. It definitely wasn’t a college bar. Maybe I would like it more now that I have been out of college for almost 5 years.
Prior to stepping off the chair to leave, I reached down to readjust myself. I do this routinely because I wear underwear usually and I hate walking around with my undies riding up into my groin area. Not to mention, something didn’t quite feel right.
What I felt when I put my hand down to readjust my junk ended up catching me totally off guard. It felt like a couple of Cadbury eggs in a furry, loose leather bag. I wish that’s what it was. It ended up being my balls hanging out of a hole in the crotch of the jeans that Breuer let me borrow. My underwear rode up my groin to the point of severe, yet unnoticed wedgie. It was so severe that my frank and beans had escaped. The weird thing was that my shaft wasn’t hanging out. It was just my balls. My shaft was probably too large to fit through the relatively decent sized hole in the crotch of these jeans. My balls were hanging there as if they were a couple of carefully placed Christmas ornaments. I wish my shaft would have made its way out of the hole because then I may have noticed my wardrobe malfunction immediately. It surprises me to this day that as close as we were sitting to the entrance that I never felt a breeze hit my exposed testicles.
In a panic, I said to Breuer, “dude, your jeans have a hole in the crotch!” Breuer smirked and replied with, “haha yeah, I forgot to tell you about that.” I replied, “shit man! My undies rode up to the point where my package escaped! It’s possible that my balls have been hanging out of these jeans since we got here 2 hours ago because I haven’t moved from my seat!! Not to mention, my seat is facing the entrance, therefore every smug fuck that has walked into this bar since we sat down probably caught a glimpse of my balls! They were probably appalled!” Breuer’s mouth made the transition from smirk to full-fledged smile before he said, “I know dude…I saw that!” Then he started laughing hysterically. I inquired, “how long were my balls hanging out of these jeans?” “I noticed it shortly after we got here,” Breuer said between chuckles. “You mean to tell me that my balls were hanging out of these jeans for the entire 2 hours we were here and you didn’t tell me?!? Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “Because it was fucking hilarious,” Breuer said.
It’s fair to say that my friends enjoy messing with me if they get the chance. I’m delighted that my balls being exposed to at least 100 strangers can bring so much joy to the lives of my friends.
Even the naturally laid back Poff noticed it. You may remember Poff from the story, “How Swaff Pissed Poff Off,” which you can read by clicking here. I pointed at the hole in the jeans and asked Poff, “hey, did you see my balls hanging out of this hole?” Poff, whose expression and demeanor hadn’t changed since we arrived, shrugged his shoulders and said, “yeah… so what?” I asked, “well shit dude, why didn’t YOU say anything either?” Poff responded with, “I didn’t think it was a big deal. I also thought the ladies might like it. So I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to salt your game, man. I was hoping that some ladies would come over and talk to us because they were turned on by your balls.” “That’s just great, thanks for looking out for me, man,” I said sarcastically while shaking my head. In college, Poff’s method of picking up chicks was unorthodox yet simultaneously effective to say the least. This claim is evidenced by him literally thinking that the snooty chicks walking into Bartinis would be impressed by being greeted at the door by the seductive site of me sitting in a chair, spread eagle with my balls hanging out of a hole in my jeans.
To this day, I wonder how many people saw my balls that night.