In the past few years, the button-up fly has stormed onto the fashion scene with the audacity of the first girl in middle school with boobs. However, this newest accessory does not give me a mega-boner in math class.
Instead, this unfortunate invention has caused me to audibly curse an item of clothing at the mall. What was wrong with the zipper, anyway? Was it too easy? Too convenient? The top button was already pushing it. Now, I have an arsenal of fasteners to complete before I am able to hit the bars and (eventually) saturate my pants with warm urine.
To the most common anti-zipper argument: getting your dick caught. Has this ever actually happened to anyone not in a Farrelly brothers’ movie? Chalk this up to another thing Ben Stiller has ruined for us, along with museums and Judaism. If you are stupid enough to not have realized that the penis goes inside the pants, not outside, you have larger problems to worry about than how your fly stays together.
The only benefit I can see to button-up flies is giving women a taste of their own medicine. Since before that hoochie Victoria opened her catalog, I mean store, men have been fumbling, ripping, and biting at bra straps in an attempt to break through and unleash those wonderful spheres of boobie blubber lying beneath. Now, when we’re lucky enough to have someone groping drunkenly at our crotch, any semblance of fluidity in the hookup is lost when the girl is forced to give the ol’ awkward laugh before asking for assistance.
This type of “innovation” is akin to going back to manual window rollers. Or pagers. Or Alta Vista. This new fly, like breast-reduction surgery, is a classic example of fixing something that isn't broken.
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