Something for the Weekend: Underwear That's Not Underwear

Are you trying to tell me this stuff is underwear? Because it's totally not underwear. For so many non-reasons that I can't even count but I'll try so you believe me. I need you to believe me. Even if you don't. This stuff is not underwear.

1. It doesn't provide any sort of coverage that a minimum of 51% of the population would recognize as underwear. It more closely resembles a handkerchief that fell down and stuck to the body, held up by a mysterious wind or magic or body grease.
2. Nobody would wear it under anything. The most these are worn with are boots or sneakers. Maybe a whorish ankle bracelet because only he-whores wear ankle bracelets.
Their prices are inverse to the amount of fabric. Less fabric. More expensive.
3. The care instructions are to "Tongue wash and hang to dry."
4. The fabric is made from recycled lube bottles.
5. They are specifically outlawed in cities with adult populations below 500,000. Some measure of anonymity is required because even knowing someone who knows someone who knows someone who wears one of these brings deep sexual shame upon that person and their brethren for generations to come.
6. Even underwear fetishists would prefer a basic pair of plain white or black briefs. Yes, I speak for all underwear fetishists. However, I don't speak for rich underwear fetishists, otherwise I would own all three of these. Obviously. Because I doth protest too much, right? Yes, I doth.

So this weekend, totally wear something that's not underwear but is called underwear. Consider it underwear adjacent. Then get your cock to be mouth and ass adjacent and you'll be all set. The goal is when someone who just can't handle your obscene side asks how your weekend was, you get a private smile and say "Oh, it was fine. I went to the farmer's market and bought some chard and yams and beets and asparagus and an artisanal popsicle." Instead of the obscene truth.

But you'll know.