Puddin', schmuddin'.

I went to Las motherfuckin' Vegas and got in the middle of an Extreme Panty Off. 

What can I say? They call me Mr. Lucky.

You want hurt? You want to be sickened? You want to know what it's really like to eat at the kewl kidz table, to have your number on the winning ball in the clique-keno game?

Read 'em and weep, losers:

Is that Freaky Troll dashing out of the frame, top left at about 11:00? Note the fine little blue matched set there. I know the lucky guy who got to see and feel that number filled up with a fine specimen of womanity. Let me just tell ya, you don't have to be in Vegas to win big.

I have to make a little disclaimer here. These are just iPhone pics. The whole Panty Off was quite spontaneous and - believe it or not, innocent for the most part - so I had to act fast. Before I knew it I was strolling down another long hallway to another bar for another Super Fun time with a buncha people I hardly knew.

I could have lingered, I'll admit, over that lacy green thong a while longer, though.

Look out below. I mean, just, Look. Out. Below.

If some woman who ever wanted to love me would wear something like that little sheer white number sometime, I'd turn into a leaky-roof fixin' fool in a hurry, let me tell ya.

This was the judges' overall winner, for a combination of sheer fabric, excellent use of purple and pink and exquisite embroidery.

The first runner up and all I can say is it's just a damn shame somebody has to lose in these things. Though in those things couldn't nobody feel like nothin' but a winner.