Let’s get something straight: I don’t consider myself a rebel. I watch every single show on ABC family, I’ve never handed in a homework assignment late, and everything I have eaten is from the good old U.S of A. However, there is one manner through which I fight the system. You see, it isn’t generally accepted for one to wear a certain kind of pants on a regular basis, yet I, being the semi-rebel that I am, disregard all social/common sense and wear them anyway. Now, I bet that you all are wondering about what kinds of pants I idiotically wear. Well, why don’t you try to guess? Here, go ahead.
Could it be jeans? Nope. Corduroys? Not a chance. Khakis? Excuse me?
Six hours later…
MC Hammer pants? If only I owned a pair. Somalian pirate pants? Where do you even get those? I heard the Gap sold out of them in like, eight minutes. Sweatpants? YES! About time! I can’t believe you guessed “no pants” and “flower pants” before you guessed the sweatpants. Oh. Sweatpants must be really bad. Man, you have no idea. But you see, this is my problem. I don’t understand why the concept of sweatpants is so frowned upon. They’re warm, cozy, they conceal my impromptu, um, happy times: they’re basically perfect!
However, some people have this weird problem with bashing the pants of the sweat. They seem to think that those who partake in the joyous celebration that is sweatpants and/or have a subscription to Sweatpants Digest are lazy and deserve to be shot/forced into other pants. Those people disgust me.
In the end, I wear sweatpants because they make me happy inside. When I wear them, I feel like I’m Neil Patrick Harris in Harold and Kumar, I’m just that awesome. I know how in the past, I’ve asked people to buy me things, namely V-Neck sweaters, but if anyone still reads this blog, know this: I want sweatpants. Even though I’m Jewish, I can celebrate Christmas. Just put them under a tree somewhere and I’ll find them. I’ll look for days, but with NPH as my witness, I’ll find them.