TotD: Okay, this is somewhere in the late ’80’s. What do we think, girls?
Monet: This was before we were born. I feel like I would have put a stop to it. Tried to, at least.
Chloe: Are those Bobby Shorts?
Monet: I don’t think so. I think Bobby Shorts are strictly jean shorts.
Chloe: So what are those?
Monet: They’re just shorts.
Bobby: Now, uh, what you gals aren’t realizing is the amount of storage space those babies had. I could carry a dozen peoples’ stashes in ’em. A solid short. Obviated the need for a fanny pack.
TotD: Chloe, these are Bobby Shorts:
Natascha Monster: Oh, my God. Snake Tee-Shirt! He’s still around here someplace, isn’t he?
Bobby: I think he’s in the room where you wrap presents.
Natascha Monster: We don’t have one of those, hon. You’re thinking about the Spelling Mansion.
Bobby: You got a room just for wrapping presents, you live in some swanky digs. We live in a nice neighborhood, but that’s real high-end.
Monet: Dad, concentrate. This was before you married Mom, and way before we were born. So, like, we didn’t know this guy. Tell us about this guy. And help us understand his choices.
Bobby: So, uh, as you can tell from Uncle Mickey’s wife-beater, it’s pretty hot.
Chloe: Don’t say “wife-beater.” It’s a problematic term.
Bobby: Okee-doke. As you can tell from Uncle Mickey’s spouse-beater, it’s pretty hot. And I just wilt in the heat, man. Much prefer a temperate clime. And, uh, don’t gimme any of that “dry heat” horseshit. Humid heat is worse than dry heat, but any kind of hot is awful. That’s where the shorts came from. Plus, you know: someone had to be the eye candy.
Chloe: Ew. Did girls in the crowd ever, like, throw their underwear at you?
Bobby: Not that I recall. And that seems like something I would recall. And, uh, a lot of the women who came to our shows couldn’t throw their underwear cuz they weren’t wearing any.
Monet: The boots, Dad.
Chloe: Dad, the boots.
Bobby: You see the circumferential bulges? Those boots were an experimental temperature-regulation system called Podiatherm. They wick sweat away from your feet, distill the water from the sweat, then cool and circulate the water. They were based on the stillsuits from Dune. But, uh, just for your feet.
Monet: Did they work?
Bobby: Very well, very briefly. Then they heated up to an alarming degree. Which you’ll recognize as irony. Precarious had to cut me out of ’em right onstage. As you’d imagine, none of your uncles shut up about it for months.
Nixon: Dammit, boy, who taught you to dress yourself?
Nixon: This is how you wear shorts. Genie-style! Never let your enemies see your bellybutton. That’s not an option for men like us.
Chloe: Dad, where did Nixon come from?
Monet: WHAT THE FUCK?
Nixon: Silence your daughters, Bob. Join me in Puerto Rico. You don’t even have to change your money. They take the dollar here. By God, they take the dollar here. Other islands, tropical locales, they’ve gone straight Red. Terrible situation. But the, uh, Puerto Rican is by nature family-oriented. Familia is their word for family, I’m reliably informed.
Monet: Where’s the gun!?
Bobby: –are you familiar with the concept of semi-fictionality?