Somewhere on a battlefield in a distant land a humorless general stands atop a tank, finger in his ear to block out the sound of helicopter blades and falling bombs as he barks into a walkie-talkie, “But my men can’t fight without underpants! Where are the supplies from Pluot?!”
The battle will be lost and then the war as men are forced to fight with the diminished sense of security and low morale that comes with going commando. In a last-ditch-effort the president will order Pluot to launch a missile strike, and the red button will be pressed—the missile will struggle to work its way through a thick layer of tightie-whities and fail, and the missile silo will explode.
As the flaming briefs rain down over Pluot the Commies will smile seedily, and know that they won.
/dead