By Frosty Wooldridge
Exclusive To Rense
10-18-22

Yesterday, while painting my house, my pants fell down around my butt because I forgot to put a belt onto my waist. From what I could tell, it was a different sense of myself as a new-age "Woke" kind of person. I've noticed so many young "Woke" people waddle around Denver with their pants down under their buttock's, so I let my pants hang or drag at the appropriate level while I dipped my paint brush into the can, and then, began to imitate my rendition of the "Karate Kid" with Mr. Miyagi...back and forth, back and forth...up and down, up and down.

“Whoa, that’s a new feeling,” I muttered to myself. “Maybe these “New age Woke Kids” have something to offer with their buns hanging out for all to see.

Of course, when I tried to climb the ladder to get to the higher points of the front of my house, my new “Woke Sag” pants caused me to almost trip and spill my paint bucket. Somehow, I got to the top of the ladder where I began my back and forth, up and down.

Finally, after finishing the left side of the house, I climbed down the ladder with much difficulty as my pants, at that point, had fallen down around my knees.

At that moment, one of my neighbors, a female jogger, passed by with a disconcerting eye at my fallen pants and exposed Jockey underwear underpants.

“What are you identifying as?” she asked.

“A new-age Woke hip youth,” I replied, jesting.

“Oh for God sakes,” she yelled back. “You need to grow up….”

“I am grown up at 75,” I yelled back to her. “I’m just trying to be cool in 2022.’
“What the hell is happening in the world?” she yelled back as her face grimaced at my low slung pants.

With my paint can in one hand, and a brush in my other, I tried to walk over to the corner of the house…I didn’t make it. I tripped over my low-slung pants. My paint brush hit the grass and my paint can poured paint onto the sidewalk.

After cleaning up the whole mess, I decided that my “Woke” days were over. I pulled up my pants, put a belt through the belt loops, and finished the job. I can now walk, talk, paint, hold a paint can…all at the same time. It’s called “Work” but the “Woke” generation will have to learn THAT lesson in good time.

One reader said, “The experience can take on a whole new meaning if you’re running from the cops….”

Meanderings of a 75 year old “Non-Woke” baby boomer with his pants up around his waist secured by a belt. Life is good!