Literally.

I don't know what the deal is, but as I was heading outside for yet another cigarette, I realized that my hip-hugging antiqued blue jeans were starting to slide down to never-never-land. I guess I should've worn a belt, but the funny thing is that these things have fit me for ages. They're my favorite jeans. So now that I've made it back up the stairs having to hold them up by the belt-loops (looking dangerously plumber-like), I'm completely perplexed. Is a died rich in fried foods, beer, and pop tarts the way to go?

Should I call Dr. Phil and let him know?