RECONSIDERING PURPLE PANTS

I often find myself lambasting a certain color of pants at every available opportunity. I\'m talking about purple pants, naturally. Purple jeans especially.
My court-ordered psychotherapy (A result of a traumatic experience at one of my breakdancing lessons, during which, whilst spinning on my head atop a piece of cardboard, my life-inhibiting fear of licking cardboard revealed itself to me in all its ungodly glory, leading to a nasty spill which itself lead to self-realizing flashbacks of my theretofore unexamined life, the inevitable subsequent breakdown, and the enlisting of my erstwhile therapist, Dr. Pooter O\' Toot, who has been trying to get to the root of my fears, lead us, as many things do, to purple pants and my hatred of them.) Next we\'ll be tackling my attraction to run-on sentences that never end in my self-indulgent writing,...
For some reason, perhaps having nothing to do with my left-handedness or my raging inferiority complex, purple pants upset me a great deal. I\'ve nothing against the color purple (not the movie, rather, the actual hue), nor do I hate pants. But the combo of the two-- the unholy alliance of that particular color and that item of clothing-- just thinking about it makes me a bit queasy,.. even after all the therapy.
Kryptonite is to Superman as purple pants are to me.
I\'m not the only one who is enraged and disturbed by purple pants, either. Remember Dr. Bruce Banner? That\'s right-- the Incredible Hulk! More often than not, Dr. Banner was, for some reason, wearing purple pants. Then the rage would take over, and, well, bad things,...
Purple pants. Feh! Them bastiches weakened my mind, body, and spirit. Hurt me to my very soul! Ain\'t nuthin\' as ugly as purple pants, man! At least that\'s how I used to feel before my controversial psychotherapy.
At first, Doc had me do all the normal stuff: lie down on a couch; talk about my childhood; take off my shirt; ice my nipples. But when none of that worked, we moved onto more experimental measures. First, he wanted me to buy a pair of purple pants to wear for a full week! I damn near flipped out. I mean, I bought the pants; but putting them on was like holy water to a vampire. My pasty white thighs were chapped for months.
Deciding that was too far, we went to a department store and got me a pair of glasses with purple lenses. That way, everything, including all pants, would be purple to me. At first this sent me into shock. I was out of it for, I\'m told, three months. Total mental, physical, and spiritual paralysis. Once I came to, I opened my eyes to a purple world. (Dr. Pooter O\' Toot had left my purple glasses on the whole time during my comatose state.)
At first, I refused to look at anyone below the waist. Purple shirts, faces-- fine. But the pants were too much! Then Doc fashioned me a neck brace so I could only look straight ahead and down. I had no choice but to look straight ahead and down at all times. Many a person thought I was staring at their crotches, so Doc silk-screened me a t-shirt that read: \"I\'m not staring at your crotch.\"
These shenanigans may seem cruel and unusual to you, but they forced me to confront the issue; to look at people\'s pants,.. which were all purple in my eyes. You know what? After a few months, I stopped screaming everyday. And now, as it\'s been a year, I\'m actually calm around purple pants. No problem whatsoever. The brace and glasses come off tomorrow, and I\'m looking forward to a productive, normal life.