Well, I’m two years deep into wearing my Icelandic necropants now and all I have to say is this: I’m going for a third in a row. A year ago I wasn’t so sure I’d stick it out for 2023 also. I mean, two years of wearing a dead man’s epidermis (including the scrotum) as your outer lower-half layer is probably enough, right? But therein lies the conundrum: I’ve learned that it’s not possible to take the necropants off.
I may be somewhat delusional, but I enjoy telling myself that I’ve got what it takes to always wear my necropants everywhere I go—to the post office, to the grocery store, to family gatherings where young children and grandparents are present, etc. It takes real grit and resiliency to wear the necropants while shoveling snow out in front of your house as the neighbors watch, but I’m not a quitter.
That said, I can’t quit wearing the necropants even if I wanted to, since they’re a permanent fashion accessory once you put them on. I’ve been too embarrassed to admit this before, but it’s one of the few downsides of using arcane Icelandic sorcery to adhere human leather to yourself below the hips.
Once a necropants-wearer, always a necropants-wearer.
To be honest, I still really enjoy the scrotum. I’ve begun to have my doubts about how fond other people might be of looking at it, but that’s beside the point, because it’s just so cool. I’ll never get tired of how money magically appears in it. And with the out-of-control inflation that 2022 has given us, the dead man’s scrotum is now my most prized possession. My only real complaint is how itchy it can sometimes be.
On the downside, I have gotten tired of how my necropants drive every dog I ever see utterly insane. The sniffing and licking is just so tiresome and it usually tickles. A small price to pay, but sometimes enough is enough.
And at this point, I really do wish I could take them off on occasion. Not like I’d never want to put them back on again, mind you (because they’re awesome), but it’d be nice to be able to take a proper shower now and then, or sit at a coffee shop and work on my laptop without everyone staring at my unique below-the-waist item of clothing. I suppose it’d be flattering in certain contexts, but I’m never in those.
Sometimes I wonder if anyone ever sits in the same chair right after me when I get up and leave the coffee shop. Or maybe one of the baristas swoops by and sanitizes the seat with some of the disinfectants that have been so commonplace since 2020? It’s fun to think about how my special necropants have the potential to touch other people’s lives.
At any rate, I’m upping the ante with my new year’s resolution this time around. Not only am I going to not stop wearing the necropants, but I’m going to do some fun, exciting new things in them that I haven’t tried before. Tinder, here I come! The online ladies won’t know what hit their dating profiles. And then there’s the upcoming Iceland trip. I can’t wait to explain my necropants to the passengers who sit next to me on the flight to Reykjavik. I expect I’ll look extra fashionable strolling around the Leif Eriksson statue next to the big church there. Hell, I might even visit the Museum of Icelandic Sorcery & Witchcraft just to be ironic.
I’m really looking forward to 2023. The necropants haven’t failed me yet.
