ypsipanty aftermath

I was up late last night, packaging ypsipanties. I’m tired. I’ve got panty fatigue. I wasn’t in any kind of shape to handle the media onslaught. It almost killed me. One of my eyeballs popped a blood vessel and my back went out. I’m sure they’re both psychosomatic. Every time I get into a stressful situation, one or both of my eyes fill up with blood and my spinal column fuses. It used to freak me out, but it’s happened enough now that I don’t really pay much attention.

As for the panties, I think that things are finally starting to die down. The orders today are about half of what they were yesterday, and yesterday they were about half of what they were the day before. I guess that should make me sad, but it’s having the opposite effect. I didn’t want to be a panty millionaire… Yeah, it would have been nice, and maybe kind of poetic, if we could have financed Clementine’s college education on ypsipanties, but I don’t want her to grow up with lots of money. Kids that grow up with a lot of money are, for the most part, assholes. (That’s one of the 11 Things I’ve Learned Thus Far in Life… Look for the book soon.)

For a day or so, it looked like we might have hit the lottery. We were getting orders from all over the country. (one observation: Women in Colorado must not have access to panties.) I heard we made the front pages of a few papers. Both AP and UPI were broadcasting our story. Fox 2 in Detroit called to see if they could do a story on us. We didn’t know where it was going to end. As it turned out, it kind of fizzled, but that was mostly our fault. We told Fox 2 that we weren’t interested, and we didn’t respond to other interview requests. We didn’t discuss the decision. We both just knew it wasn’t right. I think that subconsciously neither of us wanted for our big mass culture moment to be built on panties.

We did say yes to one interview. A cable network in Philly wrote in, saying they wanted us to appear on their show, Art Fennell Reports. We’d never heard of it, but the guy seemed nice, and he said that they wanted us for a segment called “Big Story in a Small Town.” I don’t know where I got this idea, but I think that they have a genuine interest in the revitalization of urban areas. I may have just imagined that after 12 hours of straight panty stuffing though.

Anyway, I get interviewed tomorrow. I’m supposed to send them pictures of myself tonight, so that they’ll have something to show their viewers when I’m talking. I’m thinking that I’ll send a close-up of my blood-filled eye, but if you have better ideas, let me know.

[This post was brought to you in spite of the destructive force of porn and the men who killed Pat Tillman.]

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  1. Andy C
    Posted August 1, 2007 at 9:50 pm | Permalink

    Hey Mark, congratulations on your panty explosion. Hope the eye heals.

  2. Dirtgrain
    Posted August 2, 2007 at 1:00 am | Permalink

    You flow with the Tao well. It will keep you healthy and sane. (Damn, I sound like a fortune cookie–somebody eat me).

  3. Chelsea
    Posted August 2, 2007 at 9:09 am | Permalink

    Hey, congrats. Nice to see that success has not spoiled you.

  4. Ol E' Cross
    Posted August 2, 2007 at 12:26 pm | Permalink

    As tired as if you’d just humped two dozen guinea pigs, eh? I’ve been there.

    I especially liked the forced porn story.

  5. soph
    Posted August 2, 2007 at 12:59 pm | Permalink


    My friend Jim, saw your picture in the Washington Post on Tuesday morning.

  6. STEVE
    Posted August 2, 2007 at 1:01 pm | Permalink

    That guinea pig story reminded me of a scene in “tales of times square” where the author recounts an evening where al goldstein bet people that he could ejaculate something like one dozen times and then proceeded to do it.

    He probably also slept for two days afterward.


  7. oliva
    Posted October 13, 2007 at 1:23 pm | Permalink

    At the show last night at EMU’s Convocation Center, Elvis Costello wove in a line especially for the audience, something about hearing that the women in Ypsilanti don’t wear panties. Maybe he deserves, for his wife, to have a pair of Ypsipanties? So next time he comes here, which ought to be soon if we’re lucky, as it was such an absolutely worthwhile performance, he can update his line to note that the women here, when they’re wearing undies, choose Ypsipanties. (I wouldn’t be surprised if several of the fellas do too.)

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