Post on shorts, comes up short...

I recently read a classless blog (probably written on a weekend), that quoted P. Diddy.  If there's one source I would trust for my source of class, chivalry, gym etiquette, and fashion, it's P Diddy.  Speaking of quotes, here's another one: "Haters wanna stop my lute, they don't want me wearing Sean John, they want me wearing lawn suits."  Don't listen to 'em Diddy!  Keep rocking your jorts!

Class.  All.  Day.

 Diddy seems to realize something that many "fashionistas" don't: you can't underestimate comfort.  We don't even need to start with crocs...the disapproving looks you get are way more uncomfortable than any "pillows" you have on your feet (they're almost as bad as Uggs...how's THAT for sacrificing style for comfort?).  Is style over comfort really worth it?  You really want to try to tell me you can pass the following on the street...

I didn't need Clarendon for this pic...look no further than Ryan Reynolds

  ...and you would congratulate that guy on the decision to wear pants that morning?  At a certain point you have to realize that jorts are even more classy than sharting yourself...excuse me...butt sweat (but who can really tell the difference?)

Although I'm sure the author of that blog is an expert on the class and style of the 1800s, am I really going to trust the inferences made about them?  I mean, "gentlemen" in those days were sexist, racist, and degrading.  Women, it was shameful to your family if you worked outside of the home.  You want to go back to those days?  You really want me to wear a top hat, if it means I'm going to beat you with my cane?

Joseph Ducreux only had to tell 'em once.

For a great way to see how to rock shorts...look no further than my good friend, and fellow Original, Stevie:

Ugh...you're killin me man.  What are you trying to hide down there?

Lets try that again...

"But they're by the ocean!"  Yeah, and I'm sure their about to jump in.  Ya know...after they run 200 yards, hop over the metal fence, take off the collared shirts (well...some of them) tennis shoes, and jump the cliff...

There you go...I can see some leg there!  And you know who cares?  Absolutely no one.  Well...except for maybe the one guy in the group who didn't mind sitting in a puddle of his own body fluid everytime he used a chair. 

Until next time, you stay classy readers (but never on the weekends)