I am not senile! And, yes, I'm wearing pants now.

Yes, I know I'm inviting scorn and brickbats from all sectors, both private and otherwise, by writing this, but, well, I have a compulsive need to play the clown.

Alright, this is one for the books. Today I found myself stranded in the middle of Buffalo sans pants. You see, I recently bought these boxers which look like bicycle shorts. They're made out of shimmery, reflective fabric and, well, I must have thought I woke up wearing bicycle shorts today (even though I never have, nor will, wear bicycle shorts), because I showered, did the hygiene thing, rode my bike three miles to the bus stop, waited for the bus, realized one wasn't coming for a while, so I hung out in the outdoor-style indoor diner at Tops, drinking OJ and eating Herb-Seasoned, complimentary croutons, and reading about Harper's. Then I returned to the bus stop, got on, rode out to Buffalo, walked a good five miles up Main Street to the volleyball program I was supposed to be covering, when, eek, I felt a draft up my tuckus (or however you spell that), and realized I was walking through a suburb of one of the country's biggest metropolises (metropolises? metropoli?) in my underwear. I probably should have realized when I put my wallet in my front pocket, but I don't keep my wallet in my front pocket, I keep it in my bowling ball rucksack, since I don't like three pounds of cow leather and an anti-pickpocket chain thumping up against my agates every time I take a step. It also didn't help that these were, er, rather conforming (read: Trinity's shellacked leathers in "The Matrix" conforming). Anyway, long story short, I had to cancel my interviews and get home toot-sweet. And, yes, I am now wearing pants--khakis--but no underpants. Just thought you might want to know.

What's a thong?

No, seriously, I don't know. Is it like a speedo? And, if it is, doesn't it restrict sperm motility (is that the right word?) No, they weren't button fronts, they were open flaps and, if it weren't for the fact I was wearing a toga of a tie-dye shirt that day, I would, no doubt, be ensconced in the pokey this very moment. Incidentally, some girls from our area were arrested for streaking when I was in college, but couldn't be tried because, apparently, women have no "external genitalia" and, thus, can't be charged with indecent exposure. Also most intriguingly, I had a dream last night after watching "MASH." It was modeled on the scene in which Painless "commits suicide." Only, it took place at Hogwarts. Dumbledore couldn't seem to wring any magic out of his, er, wand, and, thus, the staff was putting him away in much the same manner. Just imagine the farewell dinner, only with Dumbledore in Painless' place and Prof. Flitwick singing "Suicide is Painless." And Professors McGonagall, Trelawney and Madame Pomfrey are given the task of awakening the fair slumbering prince. Hmm, I wonder what Freud would make of that.

Thongs:

I'm still not quite sure what the distinction is between a speedo and a thong, so I'm going to buy a tube of each and spend a day wearing one of each around. Now, where exactly does one go to purchase these..."thongs," if they even exist?

- L.J.

No, I'm not.

My only other question: do they come with frills? I don't own nearly enough frilly apparel. I'm thinking of going on up to catch the latest Rocky Horror exhib at the T, so, I think, frilly thongs are a requisite for admittance, no?

P.S. Nobody else use the little, black ice shades-wearing Blue Man icon. He belongs to me now. I call dibs. I usurp him. I own the monopoly. [Chortles like lunatic Viking]. Har, har, har.

You...

...'re a hedonistic pagan? I'm a paganistic hedon. It's a pleasure? And as for that laughter-induced bladder loss problem, my grandsire happens to recommend a very affordable brand of adult diaper. And, I'm guessing, in your case, laughter isn't the best balm, hmmm?

- Jack