Wednesday, October 12, 2011


By Jonathan Byrd

A man’s pants decided to take a walk one fine day. They simply got up from the heap beside the bed and left the front door wide open. This left the man embarrassed with his willy-wang exposed to the air as he lay in bed. This also caused his wife much grief. And because of this grief, she got angry.

“Why did you let the pants go?”

“How could I stop them, look, my willy-wang is hanging out.”

“Do you know how much those pants cost?”

“$29.99, on sale.”

“You should have ordered your pants to stay. They are your pants.”

The man’s willy-wang grew as she yelled.

“This is not exciting. Your pants have walked out.”

The man’s willy-wang continued to grow.

“You’re hopeless.” She left in a huff.

Outside, in the fine day, the pants strolled down the sidewalk. The pants met a bad person. The person pretended to examine the spectacular person-free pants, then made a grab at the small wallet in the back. The pants were frightened by this ugly attack and ran. They crawled under a bush, pulling long green grass stains across the knees as they did so. They watched the sidewalk, shaking.

After a while, the pants felt it safe to emerge. They continued walking down the side walk until they ran into a group dressed in all black pants. The pants, tan by nature, found these black pants to be cool, exciting and a little dangerous. The black pants offered them a cigarette. The black pants took them into a store where none of the people pictured were wearing pants. The black pants took them to another store where they stole items of a valuable nature. The shop owner chased the thieving group with a broom. The pants became separated from the group, probably for the best.

The pants made their way downtown on the sidewalk. Once downtown, the sidewalk turned into a nightclub. The music was loud, and the rhythms were thumping. The pants lost themselves amidst the bodies. On the dance floor, the pants met a very nice skirt. They tried to strike up an acquaintance, but the legs sticking out of the skirt kept getting in the way. Finally, the legs shimmied away with the shirt, leaving the pants alone in the crowd.

The pants were turned out into the street when it was discovered that they didn’t have any more money. The pants wondered the street alone, contemplating the fine day they chose to walk out in. Suddenly, a voice shouted at the pants.

“Don’t move pants.”

The pants feared the shop keeper, but the voice was female.

“I finally found you.”

A talon like hand closed over the waist band.

“Now you’re coming home with me. You need to cover my husband’s willy-wang.”

The pants’ day was now over.


BIO: I began writing strange and bizarre stories in the 4th grade. That year, I was referred to the school psychologist after writing a story mimicking Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tale-Tell Heart. Over the years, I have let my “sick mind” (quoted from so many authority figures) have its way with pen and paper. I tell people that I am a relatively new writer, which is a nice way of saying I am unpublished.

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