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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.


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 -




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