“I blame it on his pants.”
“. . . he lies on the couch with only his pants, boots and bandages wrapped around him. I thought about taking off his pants and boots when I sprayed the blood off him in the shower, but decided that I wasn’t here to make him comfortable.”
“His voice wore no pants.”
“Jumpin’ Jehosafats, I think I just creamed my pants,” Annette whispered, staring at Luke. Luke’s eyes locked on me. He lifted his hand and crooked his finger. “I was wrong about before. Now, I’ve definitely creamed my pants,” Annette breathed.”
“He unzipped his pants and his brains fell out.”
“I can’t say I altogether blame the man (which is doubtless a great relief to his mind).”