The fashion world is a strange duck. The fame of the designers of Paris and the American coasts is well promoted and documented by the media. Most of their designs are freakish, apparently inspired by things seen in Sudan, on LSD, or received in messages from the outer universe.
These fashions show themselves to be fit only for faggots; those anorexic bundles of sticks that parade down the runways looking like they are suffering from having barbarous objects thrust into unmentionable bodily orificia.
Flyover country generally takes a more rational tack. Fashion form follows environmentally sound function; bib overalls, suspenders, and socks with sandals all reflect needs contained in the circumambiency.
Often these fashions are created by people in unrelated professions and so far ahead of their time that people are unable to adapt to the great wisdom of their functions. My dad was such a visionary.
By trade, Dad was a union pipefitter at the Janesville GM plant. He was of average height, stocky, and gruff. In his younger days he was a farmer, had tryed his hand at trapping, and loved to boat and fish. I never expected the genius of high fashion, precise function, and Earth's salvation to originate from a man such as this.
Back in those days, two major concerns dominated the times. Overpopulation threatened widespread starvation and war. Global cooling promised to preserve our dead bodies within glaciers to be studied by the future generations of those few lucky enough to survive.
Dad knew that electing a Catholic John F. Kennedy would only exacerbate the Earth's population problem so he loudly voiced his opposition. Obviously that failed. Kennedy was narrowly elected.
However, Dad was undeterred. As a solution, he turned to fashion design. This man, with calloused hands and lacking one fingertip, had to teach himself to knit. His idea would not only help make the inevitable global cooling more bearable, but also slow world population growth.
Dad diligently began knitting JB's Peter Warmers. These fashionable garments were knit in several sizes to warmly fit peters of any size and a rainbow of colors to match any outfit. It came standard with an attached but removable 'stocking cap' that allowed for sanitary urinary function. Included also was a knit pocket for the scrotum with a cinch string to allow for a snug and secure fit.
Dad was wise enough to know that his creations would provide comfort for the coming Arctic hardships and that the added testicular warmth would lower sperm counts to restrain population growth.
Unfortunately for Dad and the Earth, Ron Popeil rejected the idea in favor of the Veg-O-Matic, the Pocket Fisherman, Mr. Microphone, and GLH-9 Hair in a Can Spray. Popeil's lack of vision is responsible for the desperate condition in which our beloved Earth is now found.