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Now blogging over at Onemanmanyplans.com.au

It's been real, thanks Blogger! Hey thanks for checking out this page! After 10 years of posting here and over 600 posts, it's time to try something new at over possibly greener pastures. Which means you can now find me and all my random adventuring ways over at One Man Many Plans . 

Concealing shotguns comfortably - a fashion guide

Hallelujah, the occasional bouts of iron throwing out in the back shed finally seem to be paying off. For a start there's slightly less of me but the bits that haven't been flame torched off from deadlifts and amusing exercises that start with the name 'Zercher' have started to get a might stronger. The wife seems to be enjoying what she's seeing, the dog cowers in fear when I stroll by and everyone at work wonders if I've gone on an extreme diet or have been using black magic.

However there is one downside to scooping up all those swoles that used to fly by and that is that my wardrobe has taken an unrecoverable cruise missile hit. I put on a pair on my old jeans the other day and realized that I could easily stash a fully loaded Mossberg shotgun in each leg and still jog comfortably..

My jeans (when viewed on acid)

Yep, while I can't ever claim to be a walking keg on legs, obviously once upon a time my pins needed enough material on them to build a sizable circus tent. Here was I thinking that men's 34 meant inches but nay, it was the amount of sweat shop workers needed to bolt a pair of them together to go around my massive ham hocks. 
I wish I could tell you that previously my legs were titanium forged pistons that were great for kicking holes in tanks but no, they were (and still are) just legs. A little bit stronger from the squats possibly but ultimately normal sized in the end - somehow though I ended up wearing pants that could pop out a couple of clown cars when you least expected it. With a belt strapped around my shrinking gut, they started looking like draw string hessian sacks.

Forget Mexicans, I could smuggle other borders across the border in these things.
Hoist these bad boys up on a flagpost and watch them blot out the sun. Etc etc.

So for the sake of not blocking the view and finally matching my jeans to roughly the same level of snugness of my t-shirts, I finally bit the bullet and shopped for some skiny(er) jeans. Amazingly only one size down (33) but a different brand and they make all the difference. For a start, I can't fit a whole arm in there sans belt which is good. I don't look like I go to Kris Kros's tailor anymore and for all of those ladies in the past disappointed they could never see my bum in my pants before, you can now.   

I look more like this. Please note the lack of the word 'exactly'

But what about my old pairs? Well rather than throw out a whole acreage of denim, I'm donating them to charity. Somewhere in hot hot Ghana some kids who have gone without will finally get the two million sun shades their village has struggled without until now..

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