A Trip on the Wayback Machine  

Man, that was some good old fashioned American ranting in that last post, wasn't it? Based on reactions, you'd almost think that it was an ingeniously-crafted ploy, whose sole purpose was to elicit comments/compliments from the wide webs of the world. That or I am a bit of a whiny bitch. No comment on either theory at this time.

Moving along, I'd like to point out that today is a day of great historical significance to my humble blogging career. Not only was it the day that I started my first blog in 2005, it is also the one I "signed off for good" in 2008, deleting the entire history of those erstwhile pages with a click of the mouse (plus four confirm screens). After that, it took less than 6 months for me to rise from the ashes in triumph and create this site, although it was really closer to crawling back on my hands and knees than it was rising from the ashes.

Regardless, as I'm not a complete idiot, I did manage to archive all of those old posts prior to that ultimate act of deletion. In honor of this pseudo-blogiversary, I'm bringing you a retro post from February 9, 2006, wherein I expound my short-lived career as a panty thief. Enjoy!


As often happens in our expansive world of blog-on-blog action, reading someone else's story has inspired a tale of my own. Today's mishap from the past is brought to you by Lizzle, and the roving laundry bandit loose in her building.

Back in the good 'ol college days the only thing I disliked more than studying was doing laundry. Apparently college kids are keen on "pranking" other people, which involved such pointless acts as stealing your laundry, or the always favored tossing of a ballpoint pen into the dryer. Having been a victim of both, I began to sit and watch over my clothes. Cramped in a humid room in an already humid South Texas, it was easy to equate laundry time with the seventh level of hell.

One laundry session in particular stands out from the many mottled days and nights of lint tray duty. My mood had just picked up, because the last load was in my arms and out of the dryer. I dumped it into my laundry basket, eager to get home and back to more important things, like playing 007 on the Nintendo 64.

As I was getting the rest of my things together, a girl came through the door in a hurried sort of manner. For the sake of mental imaging, I should mention that this girl was really good looking, and donned the typical South Texas bikini top summer uniform. I tried not to ogle her, yet couldn't help but notice when she kneeled down and practically stuck her head inside the dryer I had emptied only minutes earlier. She then stood and made a sort of huffing noise and headed back out towards the door.

It was right then that I noticed it. A tiny fleck of deep crimson, velvety fabric was protruding from the mound of clothes in my basket. I knew that whatever it was couldn't be mine, because I have more of a summer complexion and crimson does nothing for me. I proceeded to pull the item free, revealing a tiny pair of panties. Their true owner was immediately obvious to me.

Now for whatever reason, it struck me as no big deal to stop hot girl by calling to her from across the laundry room, "Excuse me, were you looking for these?!" She turned around, along with the other three people (all girls) that were also in the room protecting their clothes from evil-doers.

From the look on her face you would have thought that I had pressed her panties to my nose and taken a big whiff. Hot girl immediately went on the offensive. "Were you going to keep those?!" she yelled, her voice carrying across the sound of every washer and dryer.

"No, of course not, they were..." I stammered, pointing to the dryer. "Here," I said, and extended the hand that was holding her panties. Quickly she snatched them away, and gave me the eat-shit-and-die look that only women are capable of producing. In her last stand, hot girl called me a fucking pig and knocked my box of laundry detergent on the floor -- spilling its contents everywhere -- then stormed off.

It took me a minute to catch up to reality. Did I just try to do something nice and get shit on? Why were the girls still there now giving me the eat-shit-and-die look? To make matters worse, the laundry room floor was too gross to salvage any of my jumbo ten dollar box of detergent.

Final score, Life - 1, Jay - 0, MVP - Hot Girl.

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