The Story of No Pants

I have some friends from Canada staying with me at the moment. Their names are Scott and Geneva

This is The story of no pants:



So we decided to go to go out in the City. We all looked nice. I was in a dress, Geneva was in short shorts, and Scott was in white jean shorts, cut off before the knee. Big Mistake.

As testament to my incredible partying lifestyle, I'd completely forgotten that pants were a MUST for  guys. We spent about $50 on cabs, just driving around the city, trying from one place to another. Scott just wasn't allowed in anywhere! It was incredibly frustrating!

It got to midnight and we were incredibly fed up. We were at the Cross at this point, waiting in line. The bouncer came up to us, pointed at Scott's shorts and shook his head.

Desperate measures had to be taken.

Scott and I went for a frustrated walk. We began by scouring for any open shops. There were none. It was midnight. The Midnight Pants Store was inconveniently closed due to technical difficulties. Scott started asking men on the street for their pants. I told him to stop if he wanted to live.
We almost had success! A very fat gentleman (VFG) stopped on the street when Scott asked him if he wouldn't mind swapping.

Scott: Excuse me sir, would you mind swapping pants with me?
VFG: What?
Scott: Swapping pants...?
VFG: Well I don't know... I don't think I'd fit into yours.

Scott: Oh... you would. You could just leave the fly undone? maybe?
VFG: I... well. Yeah. Maybe. But then you'd need like...a rope to keep these ones up.
Scott: oh yeah... never mind. Well thank you!
VFG: Good luck to you!

We were getting even more desperate.

Up ahead, in a brilliant daze of purple neon lights, we saw a sign for a 24 hr gym. Full of hope and optimism we ran up the stairs, past the security guard and tugged open the glass doors...

...and they didn't move. They were locked.

"Do you guys have a key card?" The security guard asked suspiciously.
"No..."

Then, we decided to try out a brilliant suggestion of my cousin Rosie.

"Look" I said to the guard. "This is my friend from Canada, he literally jut got off the plane today and doesn't have a pair of pants. we can't get into anywhere. Is there the slightest chance you could let us in to look through your lost property?"

We held bated breath as the security guard pondered.

"Sure... be quick though"

And Scott was. He ran through the doors and about half a minute later we heard a pounding of tin as he was opening lockers. Three minutes later he came back with the grimiest, smelliest pair of track pants I have ever seen.

"If I'm allowed in with these, but not my shorts.... I'm going to be so mad".

So we ran back down the stairs and into an alley for Scott to get changed. Typical boy, he wasn't wearing underwear. He stripped off before I even realised what was happening and I got to see the full moon on a cloudy night. I turned away and stood in front of him so that no one else could see, and I expected him to be done in literally about 30 seconds. He wasn't.

"What's taking so long!?"
"THESE ARE DEATH PANTS. I JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW THEY WORK!!!"


I still have no idea what the hold up was but I know that Scott bare-butted most of Kings Cross for a good 5 minutes before he finally managed to get the pants on.

And this was the story of how a well dressed Canadian man was not accepted into any clubs in Sydney until he looked like a grotty bogan.
THE END