By Baliverne
As I step into the hallway, I am confronted with the sweet pain of stretchy blackness enveloping the legs of so many girls. If only I too, could somehow join in this black-panted merriment. Alas, that useful appendage of mine prevents me from indulging in that elastic decadence; for movement alone in those evil pants is enough to cause a quite awkward situation.

My honest opinion is that this nouveau obsession will soon grip us like a venomous plague. The dark fabric has already begun its slow strangulation of our school. We have no choice but to take a stand, and abolish this destructive fashion faux pas. I'm sure the death of me will come from this fabric, woven by the fates.

If that wasn't enough, all of my dedication and heart-felt toil has been wasted in my effort to be a pom pon girl, since I have come to the painful realization that my protruding manhood would make quite a mockery of the elitist pomgirl stretch pant society.

I now see that as long as I have this copulant organ, I shall never pom. By no means do I wish to abolish my masculinity, but I would like to get in touch with my twisted feminine side. I don't know, maybe this is all just a jaded cry for some fashion advice.

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