If you were thinking of buying a designer handbag made from the old Metrodome roof, there might be something even more collectible coming soon. Jim Carlson, owner of The Last Place on Earth, has been hurting for cash since authorities shut down his store for selling bath salts and other synthetic drugs. Always the entrepreneur, Carlson is looking for unique ways to pay his court costs.

“I have worn this pair of underwear every day for the past four years,” said Carlson, leaning slightly to the left to adjust himself. “They’re nostalgic Americana and they’re for sale. With all this controversy and my name in the papers, surely someone will pay big bucks for these sweet babies. There are little bits of me inside them. I’ve made sure of that.”

Carlson’s “tighty whitey” underwear, purchased at a Kmart in 2004, have never been washed. They became his “daily driver” underpants in 2009. The hardened, crusted material could be useful for a variety of functions, but Carlson suggests making them into ski masks people can wear over their face. Regardless of what potential buyers want to use them for, he promises they’re high quality.

“Do you know what’s in bath salts?” said Carlson. “Me neither! It’s basically poison for hillbillies. But the ingredients in these beautiful underpants are no mystery. It’s layer upon layer of my sweat and toil. They smell like hard work. You really have to touch them to understand, but for that, you’ll have to shell out the big bucks.”

Assuming Carlson can remove the underpants from his body without them shattering into crusty pieces, he plans to auction them on eBay with a starting bid of $16,000 and a reserve price of $3.2 million. The magic underpants were turned down by more upscale auction houses like Christie’s, Sotheby’s, and all 13 Fleet Farm locations in the state.

Jan Lundgren, a loyal customer of Carlson’s headshop for many years, seemed excited by the news of soiled celebrity underpants being made into ski masks.

“GAHHHHH! MY FACE IS MADE OF MOSQUITO BITES!” said Lundgren, pawing at her own skin until a thin line of blood dripped down her face. “BLARRRRGH! JIM CARLSON JESUS CHRIST FACEBOOK MESSENGER! CHIN PUSSY, SKOL VIKINGS!”

It’s unknown how much interest there will be in Carlson’s manly undergarments. Customers of his store tend to be impoverished drug addicts and college students interested in eating each other’s faces. Not exactly wealthy clientele. Yet they’re all finding some way to move on with their lives and keep themselves entertained since the store’s closing.

“Yeah yeah, real bummer about the store,” said Jim Odegaard, another frequent customer at The Last Place on Earth. “Hey man, you got a quarter? Hey! I’m talkin’ to you! Gimme some money, bitch! Struggling only makes it worse, pretty boy! Fancy little reporter man, asking questions! I’ve carve the answer on your eyeballs! Yeah, gimme that wallet, sucka. What’s this? Four dollars? You’re only carrying four dollars? You cheap son of a bitch!” [Stabbing and screaming sounds ensue.]

Carlson’s court case with the City of Duluth began this week. His federal case, where the major criminal charges and jail time resides, begins next month. In order to pay off his lawyers, he needs his “lightly used” butt huggies to sell for a hefty price.

“Smoke them, eat them, trade them with your friends. I don’t care what you do with my jocks, just gimme that wallet, sucka,” said Carlson. “I have seven different lawyers right now. Seven of them. The state has filed 63 counts against me and shut down my store for the past month. All I have left to sell is myself. Well, that and drugs. I have a ton of drugs.”

When told that the actual number of charges is 64, Carlson looked exasperated.

“Another one?” said Carlson. “Geez, so much hassle over nothing. All I did was single-handedly drive bath salts addiction in an entire region, becoming a millionaire off a drug widely considered to be more dangerous than meth or crack and less predictable than LSD.

Sure, I’m indirectly responsible for the deaths of multiple human beings in the city I call home and have taken a relatively obscure narcotic and made it into a household name, thereby increasing its abuse tenfold, but it’s 2013. It’s okay to be selfish these days. Banks don’t even pay interest to customers anymore. Why does everybody get all wanged out when I act a little selfish?”

So it was that the yellowed, hollow underpants were auctioned by the man with the yellowed, hollow soul. When asked if his long, rambling political speeches about personal rights and government overregulation allowed any room for regret or honesty, Carlson stopped for a brief moment, blinked hard, and continued as if he hadn’t heard the question.

“Selling jackoff magazines and urine cleaners only made me mildly wealthy,” said Carlson.  “People don’t understand that to get above that level of wealth, I need to be a bigger douche.

There’s no other way to make money, except to create something people actually want or need that doesn’t cause fits of unpredictable violence or cardiac arrest in 20-year-olds. Pretty unreasonable expectations. Creating something like that might take a decade of hard work.

Screw it, man. I wanna be
rich now.”