Dear Mr. Thong Inventor,

I would like to preface this letter by saying that your work has made a large yet incredibly skimpy contribution to my adolescent years. And while I do believe in the nobleness of your cause, I am rather puzzled by the method to the madness of such an invention. As I hold up the tiny piece of fabric that is my underwear, several questions come to mind, such as:

Which came first: The thong, or “The Thong Song”?
The first time I heard The Thong Song, I was 11-years-old. Try explaining to a sixth grader, still under-clad with flower-print Hanes granny panties, the concept of a thong. Watching a leprechaun of a man do cartwheels on the beach doesn’t really do that good of a job of explaining the exact science behind the thong. In fact, I’m pretty sure I thought he was singing about summertime footwear up until 2001, when I realized I needed to wear this contraption to be socially acceptable.

Where the devil did you get this genius idea?
Was it a public service project? Did you see one too many VPLs (Visible Panty Lines, for you not-in-the-knows) and proclaim “I’ve had it! I’m inventing buttless underwear!” To you, Mr. Thong Inventor, going commando just wasn’t an option. Now that point I can understand, as I probably have not washed my jeans since the opening night of “Sex and the City.” And who really likes walking around with that, “I’m wearing the pant equivalent of dirty underwear” feeling all day? Yeah, neither do I. So really, Mr. T.I, you were the answer to my laundry-lazy, VPL-phobic prayers.

How the hell did you get it to catch on?
No seriously. It takes pure skill to get a woman to try on a permanent wedgie, let alone make it a long lasting trend in the sexy lingerie industry. Think about it: it’s a tiny scrap of cotton, satin, silk, or pearls (hey, I dunno what kinda stuff you’re into…) that is designed to chill between your butt cheeks all day. But women still go crazy for them! They even tease other women that don’t wear their underwear up their ass.

I remember my friend Emilie was the first of our 8th grade “group” to wear a thong. She finally caved in after much ridicule from her older sister regarding a tragically obvious VPL in a tacky polyester skirt (honestly, can you blame the older sis?). The day of her thong debut, she literally screamed in agony every time she bent down to open her locker. Even after witnessing her shriek six times before the end of third period, I still thought “Man, I gotta get me one of those!”

Even now, as a “mature” college girl, I will not be caught dead touching a pair of grannies, let alone wearing them during a hook up. You didn’t just sell them to the women of the world, you fooled guys into thinking they were the sexiest form of underwear. Yeah, I get the whole “more is better” thing when it comes to women’s asses, but that still doesn’t really explain to me why butt floss is an attractive option. You must have had to have some pretty solid endorsements to sell this baby to the masses. In this case, I think this product would even be a toughie for the OxyClean man (and that’s saying something – that guy could get me to buy anything). Was Sisqo dancing around a few lubed up beach babes really all it took?

Please find time in your busy pants-dropping schedule to get back to me as soon as possible. Seriously, we need to talk. I have a great idea for an invisible lingerie line that could really use a boost…

Yours truly,
Miss Thong Investor

[This story was originally posted by Elizabeth - UC Berkeley]

Likey? Don’t worry, there are plenty more faves where this came from.

You shower and dress yourself in your cutest green outfit (that you laid out last night) before heading out with the roommates to get in line for Kegs & Eggs (and a free t-shirt!) at one of the campus Pubs.

By the time 8am rolls around, you are chugging an Irish Car Bomb. By 8:30, your tongue is a bright shade of green, which you show off in the 26 selfies you take with your roommate.

The scene at the first bar gets old after awhile, so you grab your friends and move on. You stumble down the street en route to a house party giving a “Woohoo!” and high five/hug to every other St. Patrick’s Day celebrator on the street. You stop and heckle that kid who is clearly going to class. “What is wrong with you?! It’s OUR holiday!!”  You run into someone dressed as a Leprechaun and make him take a picture with you. (And think to yourself, “I’ll just tag him as Random Leprechaun Dude.”)

When you finally make your way to the party, you immediately hop on a team for green flip cup. Another Leprechaun Dude fills the cups with beer, but it looks different than the stuff you had at the bar. You soon find out that green beer is expensive, so these guys made it themselves by mixing food coloring into the cups/pitchers.

Three rounds later, not only is your tongue a nice shade of green, but your lips and chin as well from all that chugging. You take 14 more selfies with your flip cup team, which you have now dubbed “The Green Bearded Ladies.”

It is now 1pm and you are wasted. “KISS ME, I’M IRISHHH!” you scream at anyone who will listen. One drunk dude does (yes, even with your green beard), but closing your eyes makes you want to hurl so you pull away.

Another group of friends calls. They are at a bar. With food. You decide to head over there.

6 hours and a small pizza later (which you only know about because there is a pizza box in your bed and marinara sauce in your hair), you wake up fully clothed. With your shoes on.  The last thing you remember was an order of cheese fries and a green long island iced tea.

Your cell phone is in your hand, yet somehow you missed 11 calls and 22 text messages. You get up and look in the mirror. Your chin is green, your hands are covered in bar stamps and the shirt you are wearing is not yours.

Besides the cotton mouth, though, you feel pretty good. Your phone buzzes again – a text message. “Where you be, biznaaaatch? Come to the bar!”

You run your fingers through your hair, grab the final piece of pizza out of the box, and head out for St. Patrick’s Day Round 2.

Yeah, we’ve all been there. And it truly is the greatest day of the year.

[Photo courtesy of The Orion]

I would like to preface this letter by saying that your work has made a large yet incredibly skimpy contribution to my adolescent years. And while I do believe in the nobleness of your cause, I am rather puzzled by the method to the madness of such an invention. As I hold up the tiny piece of fabric that is my underwear, several questions come to mind, such as:

• Which came first: The thong, or “The Thong Song”?

The first time I heard the thong song, I was 11-years-old. Try explaining to a sixth grader, still under-clad with flower-print Hanes grannie panties, the concept of a thong. Watching a leprechaun of a man do cartwheels on the beach doesn’t really do that good of a job of explaining the exact science behind the thong. In fact, I’m pretty sure I thought he was singing about summertime footwear up until 2001, when I realized I needed to wear this contraption to be socially acceptable.

• Where the devil did you get this genius idea?

Was it a public service project? Did you see one too many VPLs (Visible Panty Lines, for you not-in-the-knows) and proclaim “I’ve had it! I’m inventing buttless underwear!” To you, Mr. Thong Inventor, going commando just wasn’t an option. Now that point I can understand, as I probably have not washed my jeans since the opening night of “Sex and the City.” And who really likes walking around with that “I’m wearing the pant equivalent of dirty underwear” feeling all day? Yeah, neither do I. So really, Mr. T.I, you were the answer to my laundry-lazy, VPL-phobic prayers.

• How the hell did you get it to catch on?

No seriously. It takes pure skill to get a woman to try on a permanent wedgie, let alone make it a long lasting trend in the sexy lingerie industry. Think about it: it’s a tiny scrap of cotton, satin, silk, or pearls (hey, I dunno what kinda stuff you’re into…) that is designed to chill between your butt cheeks all day. But women still go crazy for them! They even tease other women that don’t wear their underwear up their ass.

I remember my friend Emilie was the first of our 8th grade “group” to wear a thong. She finally caved in after much ridicule from her older sister regarding a tragically obvious VPL in a tacky polyester skirt (honestly, can you blame the older sis?). The day of her thong debut, she literally screamed in agony every time she bent down to open her locker. Even after witnessing her shriek six times before the end of third period, I still thought “Man, I gotta get me one of those!”

Even now, as a “mature” college girl, I will not be caught dead touching a pair of grannies, let alone wearing them during a hook up. You didn’t just sell them to the women of the world, you fooled guys into thinking they were the sexiest form of underwear. Yeah, I get the whole “more is better” thing when it comes to women’s asses, but that still doesn’t really explain to me why butt floss is an attractive option. You must have had to have some pretty solid endorsements to sell this baby to the masses. In this case, I think this product would even be a toughie for the OxyClean man (and that’s saying something – that guy can get me to buy anything). Was Sisqo dancing around a few lubed up beach babes really all it took?

Please find time in your busy pants-dropping schedule to get back to me as soon as possible. Seriously, we need to talk. I have a great idea for an invisible lingerie line that could really use a boost…

Yours truly,

Miss Thong Investor

[photo from www.environmentaltalk.com]

Oh? Is that just me?? No, it isn’t. I’m on a mission for two things: green beer and a leprechaun.

I’ve already found the pot of gold, and I’m spending last year’s treasure on this year’s beer, so I’ll leave some wealth for you all…::hint hint::…it has something to do with a rainbow (a slightly watery, chunky rainbow)…

Though green beer is delicious, in every way, it is not so delicious if there’s nothing to soak it up and then ends as green bile regurgitated on your friends shoes, if you know what I mean.

And who doesn’t enjoy an excuse to eat potatoes, or hearty stew?

Being that I am someone who has been vomited on, I would like to make sure that doesn’t happen to ANYONE, EVER. AGAIN. Please kids, eat a substantial meal before drinking green beer and green eggs and ham all day, I’d really appreciate it.

I will even assist you with some ridiculously good recipes. Deal???

You eat, my babies. No vomiting. Don’t drink and drive. And if you aren’t wearing green, I will pinch the sh*t out of you. Capiche?!

HAVE A PARTY! FEED YOUR FRIENDS!!

-Irish soda bread

-Shepards Pie. (Hello. Amazing)

-Beef and Guinness Stew

-Green eggs and ham

-Apple oatmeal crisp with Irish Whiskey cream

-Pistachio ice cream (cause, who cares if the Irish actually eat it, it’s green and delicious.)

And, in closing….enjoy a nice big bowl of: Lucky Charms!