These routine activities provide comforting stability despite life's turbulence, acting as shock absorbers for the monster-truck wheels of modernity. However, there are certain habits that have become so ingrained in our consciousness that we do not even realise their impracticality. Things like eating peas with a knife and fork, shaving, and giving money to charity are all pointless endeavours, but many still plough ahead and do them anyway. The horrendous custom to which I am referring, of course, is the act of wearing underwear. Firstly, let me make it clear that I don't have a problem with all undergarments.
Brassieres are fine, as they serve a specific purpose.
Braless women should be confined to National Geographic documentaries and certain Seinfeld episodes. But for every Jeff Bridges there is a brother Beau just around the corner. And so we come to the bottom, in all senses of the word. Even if this is not the case, though, is underwear really going to help, as the excrement will most likely squeeze through the gaps like Vegemite through a Salada. And the risks are many.