Stop Telling Me To Wear Clothes

This is such a big, wide world. I love it for both of those reasons, as well as some others. The food. That's another one. Trust me when I say food is everywhere, because I've been to everywhere. They have far more food than you can imagine, but only slightly more than you can eat. I'm full and ready to burst right now as this plane takes off, whisking me skyward for a zero-G flight that will end with me eating pancakes right out of the air. I admit I lead a pretty charmed life. Most people have to eat pancakes off plates that don't even hover toward their faces. But please, I'm writing this to beg people to realize that it's not all glitz and glamour I'm shoving down my throat. There's pain in there, too, and it hurts. I'm not as adored as you might expect. Some decisions I've made have not been popular, but they were necessary, and I'm here today to beg you people to stop telling me to wear clothes.

How often do you stop and admire the world you live in? I bet it's never. I bet you don't even know you live in it. Forgive my assumption, but I've got some experience here. Right now you're probably sitting there at least partially clothed and staring at a computer screen. How long did that outfit take you to pick out? Two days? Three?! And that's not even the worst of it. There's time spent dressing and shopping and caring about the clothes you wear, when instead you could be jumping out of high things or into low things! It is impossible to truly appreciate the earth and all its gentle creatures if you're too busy wearing their fluffs or whatever you call them.

Who here was born clothed? Unless your biography reads like a tall tale, you weren't. That was a rhetorical question. While all of you were mimicking your parents and spending what adds up to years getting dressed, I was off inheriting the lottery and bungee skiing. I didn't even bother learning the terms for those things you put on. I just made up my own based on the syllables that appeared in my head the first time I saw someone wearing a given item. Living au naturale affords me time to gallivant and traipse and jaunt, so please don't ask me to give up those three different things.

Just the other day after landing a biplane on the streets of Prague, I tried to board a train back to my hotel where I had stored my other biplane, which I was going to land on top of the other one. I was met with nothing but scorn from the passengers on the train, though, as I squeezed into the tightly packed car. "Bez kalhot! Bez kalhot!" they yelled, pointing at my readily mentionables and passing out. I don't see any Czechs landing biplanes on biplanes! If they had actually accomplished something in their lives, I'd value their opinions, but as it turns out, their country can't even stay unified for more than ten minutes. And who are some of the most well-dressed Czechs in the world? The Czech Republic ones, of course! I think you see what I'm driving at.

Even though I find your particular method of dressing and undressing appalling and wasteful, I don't walk up to you and ask you to remove your spelchuks or zimdots. Thus, I would very much appreciate it if you'd stop asking me to put on some urblims. Do unto others, you know. So, if this can be accomplished and my life can maintain its current levels of love, gluttony, and awe-inspiring wonder, maybe I will try harder to keep my genitals off your shoulder.