My pants deny my existence. They have forsaken me, locked me out of out he house and taken my wife and family for its own. I lie here in the gutter, pantsless and crying. Passers by taunt me and throw me gnarled twigs. I catch and eat them, but they do not satisfy. As I gnaw on my fibrous shame, I feel a prod in an area of my body that excites me... Could it be? Have my pants returned! No. It is only a squirrel.