"Crotchmosphere" by Mr. Banana Hammock (not Omari)

Deep thoughts by Omari.

One of my favorite actresses is Robin Tunney. Whether she is Sarah Bailey in “The Craft,” another Sarah in “Julian Po,” Annie Garrett in “Vertical Limit,” or doing a hot sex scene with Lou Diamond Phillips in “Supernova” it doesn’t seem to matter. I suspect it is the freckles that get me. Those ephelis spots of wonder just give me the warm fuzzies in my nether-regions.

The word freckle comes from the Middle English freken, which, in turn, came from the Old Norse freknur. Freknur means "freckled." I figure these fair-skinned speakers of Old English and Old Norse must have had a tendency to developing freckles hence refer to themselves a freckled.

True freckles pose no health risk at all. They are all absolutely harmless. Some unfreckled people actually want to have them. For instance, in the non-fiction bestseller, Freckle Juice, by Judy Blume, Andrew buys a recipe to grow freckles like his friend Nicky so that his mom won’t know whether or not his neck is dirty. Needless to say the results are disastrous!

What amazes me about Freckle Juice, truly amazes me about Freckle Juice, is that Andrew's allowance is just ten cents a week. Ten cents a week? What’s that going to get you? A handful of Bazooka Joe’s? Geesh. Cheap parents. Though that is probably not the lesson we’re supposed to derive from Andrew’s story. I think it is probably that we should learn to love ourselves for who we are and not what we are not.

So in that spirit, I guess I should love myself for what I am not: I am not up on fashion. I was having a conversation with a female friend the other day about needing to buy new pants for work. My office is business casual, so I probably only need to get a few pairs of Dockers. My old Dockers are becoming a bit frayed. She says, “Don’t get pleats. Pleats are out.” And my response is something like, “But I like pleats. And I have a body-type that can wear pleated pants: generally slim, high-waisted, and tall. I am definitely not short and stumpy.”

The she say’s again, “NO PLEATS” and the only thing I can think of is that the flat front pants are going to be crotchally restrictive when I sit down. There will be no billowing of the fabric around the crotchal area. I won’t look as well endowed as I did before. Without pleats there will be no crotchmosphere.

What do you prefer on your men: crotchmosphere or no crotchmosphere? I have to go pants shopping this weekend. And maybe, just maybe, you'll also want to fantasize about what is crotchmosphere and what is actual crotch. Email me and let's chat about it...

He gets letters:

"I have to say, you made me laugh! That was the most random yet well-organized and somewhat informative post I've seen in a while. Nice work! Can't say I care to find out about your crotchmosphere but good luck finding someone who does. Just wanted to complement you on your writing style."