I think I’ve read some DC Comics slash fanfic with this basic plot.
sorry rasta…I lived in Rochester, New York. But I’ll still send ya an email if you want 
I love this thread.
jarbaby’s underpants story, the third and final installment: the dog
My dog, marge, loves my underpants. She eats them, sometimes a whole pair, sometimes just the cotton panel. Anyhoo, sometime ago, I noticed that my finest hot pink Victoria’s Secret “Second Skin” bikinis had gone missing. This is a common occurance, so I didn’t regard it with much.
Until then next morning, when my dog was struggling to poop and I realized…she was trying to grunt out: SOME HOT PINK BIKINIS. Here’s this little hot pink piece of cloth, undigested, sticking out of her butt, and it was giving her great trouble, so like some macabre magic act, I was forced to actually pull my missing panties right out of my dog’s ass.
and no. I did not keep them.
jarbaby
Oh crap…did you really have to bring that topic up again?
By the way, the jig is up. We now know about jarbaby’s behavior at airports. 
jarbabyj, my (warning: Spaceballs moment ahead) ex-girlfriend’s roommate’s dog had the same prediliction. He’d eat any pair of underpants you put in front of him. It’s called “indescrimiate eating”. But you should never, er, “help” your dog out during the underpants evacuation. They could snag on something in there, and then you’ve to explain to your vet how your dog’s lower intestine got wrapped around your underpants.
[sub]I find it much funnier if you pronounce “underpants” like the underpants gnomes do, “unnuhpants”.
This is LaurAnge’s boyfriend, NewScott speaking:
NewScott here, being forced to relive a moment of mortification and embarassment merely for your reading pleasure.
LaurAnge, being the wonderful and amazing girlfriend that she is, is spending an afternoon at my apartment helping me clean up my room. While this is a very nice thing for most girlfriends to do, when you consider the state my room was in at the time, it ranks her as a superheroine in 17 countries.
It was a bomb blast zone of dust bunnies and laundry. If there ever was a test of dirty clothes warfare, it was done in my bedroom. So, on this particular day, (after amassing several pounds of change for the laundromat) the two of us are separating the lights and darks.
I playfully toss a pair of panties at her, saying “Here’s some of yours!”
“Scott, love,” grinning, “these aren’t mine…”
“That’s not funny, Lauren.” I’m not amused with her attempt to break up with me, again. She’s already tried twice this morning, once after finding some dirty dishes under my bed, and then again later for finding what was on them weeks ago.
“No, I’m serious, they’re not mine,” staring in disbelief at me.
“Well,” I think “they must be, cuz they sure aren’t mine!” Now I’m terribly upset, because I have NO idea how they got in my room, or who the hell they belong to. LaurAnge, being the fireball she is, will kill me and have plenty of place to hide my body in my now partially cleaned room.
After much swearing that I have no Idea whose they were or how they got into my room, I think my blushing and embarrassment prevailed (or she just tired of sticking it to me) and we were able to figure out that they must have gotten mixed in to my pile at the laundromat that last time I washed my clothes, some three months earlier (like I said, superheroine).
LaurAnge says:
I still think he’s hiding something from me. Whether it’s that he has another girlfriend, or a penchant for women’s underwear, I don’t know.
Maybe it’s more dishes.
There’s about eight or ten of us and we are celebrating someone’s birthday. It’s been a running joke to threaten to give tiger print undies [sub]Remember the tag line, “Rely on the tiger”?[/sub] for quite sometime. We get to the part where we give a little group gift, a tiger print scarf. We’re in the middle of the very packed and very busy original Ninfa’s on Navigation. She’s so relieved that she say’s “I just knew that was going to be a pair of tiger panties!”, just as the crowd quieted momentarily. She was of course mortified and we all burst out laughing.
When that moment passes, someone mentions seeing a pair of underpants on the sidewalk at the bus stop on the way in this morning and the humorous speculations start about how they got there and did the owner know they were missing. By the time the whole table hears the conversation, a big beautiful young black woman, speaks up. She say, “Oh girlfriend they were mine. It was a crappy cheap girdle and keep creeping down past my hips on the bus. I felt them slip down my knees as I was stepping off the bus and I just stepped out of them, kept my head up and kept on walking like nothing had happened.” Needless to say we all burst out laughing again and many underpants stories were told. None so memorable as that one though.
OK, first some underpants tales from the web. First, from news of the weird:
Singapore’s Straits Times reported in July that the health office in Muar, Malaysia, had shut down a food stall and arrested its proprietor because he was boiling dirty underwear in pots with food, which he said, according to legend, improved the taste of the food. Said a health official, “(T)his is an untrue belief and must be stopped.” [Straits Times, 7-4-01]
And another, from the most panty-obsessed country in the world:
http://mdn.mainichi.co.jp/waiwai/0106/010630panties.html
And now a personal story.
Long ago, I went to a pool party with my girlfriend. She had just bought me a rather odd pair of nylon briefs, which I wouldn’t really wear except as a favor to her. So when I get to the party, I change into my swimming suit in the bathroom, and tuck my briefs into my pants, roll up the whole thing, and head for the pool.
Hours later, I am sitting at the table, chatting and drinking, when a couple of really REALLY cute girls in really REALLY microscopic bikinis come up to me, and say, “we’ve been going around asking EVERYONE, we’re dying to know who wears underwear like THIS” and she held them up for everyone to see. I grabbed them and said, “hey! where did you get those!” They found them in the bathroom where they must have fallen out of my pants when I rolled them up.
For the rest of the party, those two women were all over me. My girlfriend was furious. Ah, if only I had gone to the party without her…
Holy Krakatoa!!!
That story nearly made me pass out. Don’t read it unless you want to hear about crunchy panties, jeez louise!
naughty naughty
somethings I’d like to remain ignorant about.
deep breaths
on a trip to san diego with my kids and brother, we went to the beach. now mind you, my brother is not a small person, he is also cheap. he wouldn’t pay $20 for a bathing suit, just cut off a pair of old blue jeans.
anyway, we went swimming in the ocean, and then showered off and put the kids and my swim suits in a plastic bag.
my brother, hoever, decides he needs to dry his out, so he put his underpants, then his cut offs on the antenna of the truck. then we head back down the freeway.
as we drive down the freeway, his cut offs go flying off. then he decides he has to find this cafe he used to go to when he was in the navy. and , of course he can’t find it.
have you ever driven around the greater san diego area for a couple of hours with this large pair of underpants flapping in the breeze?
when i suggested we take them off he says" do you think they think i don’t wear underpants?"
this was the same trip we were followed by a very interesting individual for two hours, because he thought my brother was jerry garcia, back from the dead. but that is another story
In fifth grade, my friend had a slumber party for his tenth birthday. Everyone gets ready for bed, and we’re wearing sweats or pajama pants. Then C walks out of the bathroom in nothing but tighty whities. We still give him shit for it.
Well, this was first semester of my freshman year at RPI. I was lucky enough to score a GF in the first two weeks, before there were all gobbled up (a 4:1 male:female ratio sucks major ass.) Anyways, we had been sleeping in the same bed together since midway through September, but always in sleeping garments. Well, she decides that tonight should be different.
With no warning, she forcibly rips off my boxers, and then throws them to the other side of the room, her roommate’s half. She demands that I sleep nekkid, for no reason than because she wants me to. Well, I comply, not wanting to disapoint her. We wake up in the morning, and I forget that I was sans boxers. I get out of bed and stand straight up, and quickly realize my nakedness, and jump back into bed, thankfully her roommate was still asleep.
Needles to say, the roommate wondered why my underwear was on her desk. I quickly came up with the excuse that I changed into a new pair the night before, in case I didn’t have time to run up to my rom in the morning, and have a habit of flinging my clothes across the room.
Well, you can be sure that we always made sure we had on all the proper attire before going to bed again.
Hubby & I got a major case of giggles during a MASH episode in which Frank complains about Pierce & McIntyre to Col. Blake, who retorts, “So what’d they do this time, Frank–sew up the fly on all your uniforms again?”
“Watch out, dear–I could do that to you,” I said. “Wouldn’t work–I’d notice right away when I got dressed,” he said. Oh, right… sigh.
BUT!!!, it struck me as I later folded laundry, he wouldn’t notice if I stitched up his briefs!!! No sooner thunk than sewn, and put on top of his underwear pile; and he wore 'em all unwitting the next day.
“Hi, honey, how was your day?” I asked. “Fine,” he replied.
Sweet revenge: he got a great charge all evening watching me damn near burst NOT asking about his day. My sanity–maybe even our marriage–was saved when a coworker’s wife phoned to ask how on earth I’d had that idea, and filled me in. He’d come back from the john doubled over with laughter and barely able to tell the guys why. “I figgered it out pretty quick,” he then admitted, “and beat it to a stall-- there’s only so long you can stand there fishin’ around for your friend without bein’ looked at peculiar.” It sure brightened up the morning, and the office spent much of the rest of the day wasting taxpayers’ money talking over ways he could get even with me.
Winning idea? Cut the strings off all my tampons.
While I was never crazy enough to volunteer for jump school, I’ve had several friends who were “mentally-challenged” enough to do so. One of them related the US Army Airborne underpants philosophy to me:
When jumping from a perfectly good aircraft, the second most important thing (for male soldiers, anyway) is to make sure that your “package” is not underneath one of the parachute harness straps. This can lead to pain nearly as great as that caused when you forget the most important thing: making sure you’re wearing a parachute before jumping out of the plane. The simplest solution to said problem #2 is to wear microbriefs so as to keep everything under tight;) control.
This is all well and good if a truck is waiting for you on the ground at the DZ but in the usual manner of things airborne, this is not often the case. Many times, a unit making a training jump will follow it with a road march of anywhere up to twenty miles or more. Now the microbriefs are a liability. When making a road march, there are only two time-tested choices for minimizing chafing: boxers or commando (this, I think, is the origin of the term). Since changing underpants on the DZ is not generally an accepted practice, my friend insisted that the common solution was to pull the side straps up out of the pants and cut them with a rigger’s knife, which has a inwardly-curved blade ideally suited to this activity. The underpants are then abandoned on the DZ. None of us leg (meaning too smart to jump out of planes) MPs believed Dave (a former infantry grunt) until he came up with a video made at one of his former battalion’s training jumps, a video shot by the battalion commander’s wife, no less. Captured in full-color glory was a group of about 800 men collecting up their gear in preparation for the march, about 2/3 of them disposing of their brightly-colored underwear in the aforementioned manner. Mrs. Battalion commander got a long slow pan of the field, complete with commentary. The best part? a close-up of a muscular 6’+ soldier, a M60 machine gun slung across his chest, ripping a pair of pink briefs out of his pants while yelling “Airborne!”.
Birdshit and fools.