Go Commando

The summer heat has arrived in Oslo with temperatures pushing 30 C. Long may it last. Unfortunately, there is a 16 C monsoon lurking around the corner. This is typical for the weekend. The weather will be fine by the time I am in the office on Monday.

I am a big fan of hot temperatures with low humidity. I dream of living in the desert one day. The thought of travelling by cheeky camel tickles my hump. I would name it ‘Bob. Bob the Camel’.

I am less keen on hot temperatures with humidity. Many a time in South East Asia I have taken a taxi from hotel to office for distances under a kilometre to avoid becoming overly moist. When taxis were unavailable, I paid locals to carry me over their shoulders to my destination.

I honed this technique in the islands of Fiji where I required to be carried nightly from the local watering hole back to my bure, rewarding my porters generously.

Fiji is where I first started going commando. The only item of clothing required on the islands is the sulu, the traditional national dress worn by both men and women, not the lieutenant helmsman of the USS Enterprise.

I wore only a sulu for months and experienced such an overwhelming feeling of genital liberation I swore off undergarments. To be fair, while frolicking in this ocean playground, I swore off many things: urban life, politics, office work, traffic, pollution, monogamy, and wine gums. The road to hell is paved...

I lived in the UK for many years and considered wearing a kilt but had trouble sourcing my tartans and did not want to offend my tribal ancestors. In addition it was difficult to find a sporran big enough to contain my wallet, mobile phone and house keys. I probably would have looked a bit out of place in the office anyway.

No doubt the strong winter north westerly’s would have troubled the lads, they like it hot.

Britney and a gaggle of IT girls took to going commando a few years back. Girl Power eh! The thought of the fairer sex going commando clothed only in a delicate dress sends most men wild with excitement, as long as world class grooming techniques have been adhered to.

One of the best things about this time of year in the Northern Hemisphere is that I liberate the lads and once again go commando on a daily basis. After a ski season of being of being trussed up in woollen briefs, well cashmere briefs, they can once again frolic freely.

Unfortunately a physicist blogger has recently drawn my attention to the correlation between no underwear and no brain, http://dorigo.wordpress.com/2008/05/29/no-underwear-no-brain/.

I shall have my penis contemplate this further and discuss it with the lads.

Beaverboosh