Victoria's Secret

Some yuckster put my name on a Victoria's Secret mail list. I've been getting bimonthly junk mail from them for the past year. So thanks whomever you are. You're hilarious. If it turns out you're my brother, I'm kicking your ass when I see you in a couple of weeks.

Getting junk mail from Vicky's Top Secret is not as great as it sounds.

It would be one thing if they sent me catalogs full of nearly unclothed, hot models. They don't do that though. Instead, I get these little postcards. No hot, mostly naked model. Just a sales pitch and a picture of the article of clothing they want me to buy. I guess they think James Thomson is a she-male. Or a transvestite. Or a transsexual. Yup, James Thomson whizzed right by their quality control database software and proceeded straight to flooding me with ads for perfume, lingerie, thongs, and panties.

"Buy one pantie, get additional panties free!" the last postcard read. I turned it over and over for the accompanying model. Apparently she was invisible inside the pink pantie floating at the top of the card.

Rather than throw the cards away, however, I file them for a rainy day. I'm saving them in case my decade-away mid-life crisis degenerates into cross-dressing or gender reversal. If it does, I'll be set.

I pray to God everyday I go the other way and blow $60k on a Harley.