LIFESTYLE                     Useless Information

Since the earliest recorded history, it is evident that fire has been a focal point of societies. It has delivered warmth, bolstered morale when spirits weren’t at their highest and guided people back to their homes. It has cooked food, heated water, been used in ceremonies and even featured as a medicinal tool. Fire has certainly been something that has journeyed with civilisation from the beginning of time to today. 

We could be mistaken for believing it has become almost redundant in our modern world, cast aside for replacement by technology but in fact it has just morphed into high-tech versions of its former self. The spark thrown by an electronic ignition for instance is just a tiny fire and as the rocket hurtles into space carrying the latest satellites, the great big Bic lighter at the back belches what? Fire.

If you look around, you’ll find it everywhere but some of its oldest uses still ‘warm’ me the most. I love cooking on it, I love finding my way back to camp by it and I love nothing more than sitting around it for hours being mesmerised by its constantly changing beauty. Some of the best conversations I’ve ever had have been around a fire and some of the greatest problems I’ve ever solved have been by its flickering light. Problems like this one that a mate and I recently created a solution to; you can thank us later. 

One of my mates I love to sit around the fire with, picking the scabs off a few tins and solving world problems with is Prousty. Prousty is a Bush Poet/comedian/quintessential Australian bloke and there’s not much about modern culture problems that Dave Proust hasn’t got a quick fix for. 

Normally Prousty problems were easily solved but there was something troubling him when he came to the fire that night, something that he needed a hand with. 

You see, Prousty had identified that a selection of the youth had taken to wearing their pants below their bums. “Easy fixed old mate,” I announced. “Yeah, just tell the dopey little buggers to pull ’em up,” he replied. “That’ll fix that eyesore,” he stated. But then he threw the curveball. “What about the old farts with their strides pulled up too high? We need to establish a standard, a rule, for the acceptable wearing of duds.”

He had a point, a very good point. We tend to focus on our young, would-be gangster with the gravity-defying lower garments. The one who’s hips appear to be just below his knees and who’s underpants have morphed into “outer pants”. The offender we haven’t given enough attention to is old Harry High Pants, airer of the ankles, displayer of the socks and he who chooses to separate the junk and jewels with the crotch of his chosen chinos for all the world to see. 

This was going to take some work, a standard, a rule, some parameters setting in stone the socially acceptable use of the trouser. 

I shouted beers, he shouted rums, I stoked, he stoked, we spit balled, think tanked then shouted and stoked a few times more before coming up with this;

“THE BUTTON CRACK RULE.”

If your bum crack is above your waistband, your pants are too low. If your waistband is above your belly button, your pants are too high. 

Pretty simple really, isn’t it? Now all you have to do is implement the rule in your life and spread the word. You’re welcome.

HIS PANTS

ARE HOT

Since the earliest recorded history, it is evident that fire has been a focal point of societies. It has delivered warmth, bolstered morale when spirits weren’t at their highest and guided people back to their homes. It has cooked food, heated water, been used in ceremonies and even featured as a medicinal tool. Fire has certainly been something that has journeyed with civilisation from the beginning of time to today. 

We could be mistaken for believing it has become almost redundant in our modern world, cast aside for replacement by technology but in fact it has just morphed into high-tech versions of its former self. The spark thrown by an electronic ignition for instance is just a tiny fire and as the rocket hurtles into space carrying the latest satellites, the great big Bic lighter at the back belches what? Fire.

If you look around, you’ll find it everywhere but some of its oldest uses still ‘warm’ me the most. I love cooking on it, I love finding my way back to camp by it and I love nothing more than sitting around it for hours being mesmerised by its constantly changing beauty. Some of the best conversations I’ve ever had have been around a fire and some of the greatest problems I’ve ever solved have been by its flickering light. Problems like this one that a mate and I recently created a solution to; you can thank us later. 

One of my mates I love to sit around the fire with, picking the scabs off a few tins and solving world problems with is Prousty. Prousty is a Bush Poet/comedian/quintessential Australian bloke and there’s not much about modern culture problems that Dave Proust hasn’t got a quick fix for. 

Normally Prousty problems were easily solved but there was something troubling him when he came to the fire that night, something that he needed a hand with. 

You see, Prousty had identified that a selection of the youth had taken to wearing their pants below their bums. “Easy fixed old mate,” I announced. “Yeah, just tell the dopey little buggers to pull ’em up,” he replied. “That’ll fix that eyesore,” he stated. But then he threw the curveball. “What about the old farts with their strides pulled up too high? We need to establish a standard, a rule, for the acceptable wearing of duds.”

He had a point, a very good point. We tend to focus on our young, would-be gangster with the gravity-defying lower garments. The one who’s hips appear to be just below his knees and who’s underpants have morphed into “outer pants”. The offender we haven’t given enough attention to is old Harry High Pants, airer of the ankles, displayer of the socks and he who chooses to separate the junk and jewels with the crotch of his chosen chinos for all the world to see. 

This was going to take some work, a standard, a rule, some parameters setting in stone the socially acceptable use of the trouser. 

I shouted beers, he shouted rums, I stoked, he stoked, we spit balled, think tanked then shouted and stoked a few times more before coming up with this;

“THE BUTTON CRACK RULE.”

If your bum crack is above your waistband, your pants are too low. If your waistband is above your belly button, your pants are too high. 

Pretty simple really, isn’t it? Now all you have to do is implement the rule in your life and spread the word. You’re welcome.

HIS PANTS

ARE HOT

LIFESTYLE                     Useless Information

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