I woke up late this morning, much like Jerry Mitchell in Three o' Clock High. I put on some work clothes, looked in the mirror real quick, drove to work. And when I sat down at my desk, I saw that the pants I put on had an enormous brown stain on each knee, like elbow patches on a jacket, but in stain form. I then realized that I last wore the pants on New Year's Eve, which means that the stains were either a result of drunkenly falling into mud, but more likely, falling to my knees on MJQ's beer-soaked floor.

I immediately walked to the bathroom, strategically blocking anyone's view of my knees with a red file folder. Inside the washroom, I took my pants off and start scrubbing the knees of my pants with soap and water. Everything seemed to be on the road to recovery until something began to smell... familiar. I leaned my nose forward to discover that the water re-activated a funk of forty thousand years. Walking around the office in my underwear was not an option, so I put my pants back on and looked forward to hiding out at my desk.

“Hey, Jay,” a coworker said during the trip back. “Can you come here and help me with something?”

“Eh, okay.” I took small strides, like that somehow prevented the scent of dive bar from wafting.

“Whoa!" he said. "What happened to your pants? Is it raining outside?” Eh, if you consider washing beer out of your pants ‘rain.'

He sniffed. “You wearing cologne today?” Eh, if you consider kneeling in a pool of beer a ‘cologne.'

“Let me, uh, do something real quick,” I said. “I'll be right back.” Eh, If you consider pretending to be on the phone for an hour until your pants dry as ‘right back'.