FLASH
Exposing the seamy underside of Dallas nightlife
Here’s the extended forecast for Planet
Dallas. The highs will be
cocaine and ecstasy with lows of Valium and Xanax.
The humidity will be beading up on the outside of your glass of
booze and the wind will be blowing through bleached blonde big hair.
Groundhog
Day
Everyone’s
familiar with the hallowed traditions of Groundhog Day.
(And if you’re not, rent Groundhog
Day with Bill Murray immediately.)
Last week, Punxsutawney Phil came out and saw his shadow, which
means six more weeks of winter.
Or, in layman’s terms, a giant rodent came out of
his hole in Nowheresville, Pennsylvania, in front of tourists with too
much time and money or too little brains and sense, and predicted at the
beginning of February that there would be six more weeks of
winter in a state that will be lucky to clear 60 degrees before May.
Well, you may not know it, but Planet Dallas has
it’s own Groundhog Day tradition.
(And it’s not just that nothing ever changes, day after day
after year after year after…) Of
course, Planet Dallas doesn’t actually have groundhogs.
Instead, Miss Dallas comes out of Neiman’s, sees that her
shadow blocks out the sun and realizes there’s only six weeks until
bikini season.
You see, in Planet Dallas’ version of
Groundhog Day the emphasis is on the hog.
All across Planet Dallas, girls are sitting on asses that put the
stretch in stretch pants and wondering why they don’t have a date for
Valentine’s. They never
consider that the winter widening of their ass might be to blame.
This winter widening is somewhat perplexing
since Planet Dallas really has no winter to speak of.
Putting on some blubber to get you through those long cold winter
nights seems reasonable in states like Pennsylvania.
On Planet Dallas, it just seems like too much Tex-Mex.
So, like lemmings to the sea, a mass migration
of Planet Dallasites heads to gym about this time every year. One good thing about this migration is they miss the rush
caused by the January stampede of resolution retards who have by now
given up on that pledge.
With her new workout outfit and a sweatshirt
wrapped around her waist, Miss Dallas heads to the gym to meet boys and
generally avoid sweating. (Who
do they think they’re fooling with that sweatshirt?
We all know it’s to cover their fat ass.)
Miss Dallas is easy to spot at the gym; she’s the one wearing
makeup.
Of course, women aren’t the only ones who
succumb to the winter widening. Guys
pack on the pounds as well. In
fact, most of them don’t limit themselves to ballooning up during
winter. They start expanding at twenty-five or when they get a
girlfriend, whichever comes first.
And guys don’t care about bikini season.
Miss Dallas will at least get presentable before heading out to
the pool. Not guys.
They’ll be poolside with a belly that looks like Buddha wearing
a toupee and not care.
They get away with it too. It’s an unfortunate double standard, especially if you’re
out at the pool when Buddha shows up, but women are judged by the size
of their ass (and tits), men aren’t.
Instead, men are judged by the size of the wallet in the pocket
covering their ass.
Maybe that’s why Velveeta Kings are almost
always in shape. In fact,
they’re so concerned about their looks they’d be considered gay in
any other city. They must
realize that their Lexus-leasing, empty-apartment-living,
credit-card-charging asses better be buff since the heft of their
wallets isn’t enough to outweigh a beer gut.
P.S.
If you really want to get those pounds off to be
ready for bikini season, read Flash 25
for the diet all of Planet Dallas is talking about.
And as always, the views expressed here don’t
necessarily reflect the views of anyone else on the planet, much less US
Exposed.
- Flash
-
flash@usexposed.com
