Just last night, I had the distinct privilege of attending one of Kansas City’s hottest clubs (read: ego-driven meat market) for several hours with a few friends of mine. A friend of mine and I were supposed to get tattoos, but the guy was booked up for a while, so my friend figured what would be better than spending a night in a club driven by bad techno music, scantily-clad overweight females and the men who clamor to attain them?
Besides being given an acid enema by Adolf Hitler while being forced to rape his mother, of course.
Now … as a non-club kinda guy, I really didn’t feel much like going, but I really didn’t have much else to do. A life? What’s that?
Something I’ve noticed lately — ladies, are y’all (y’all — I’m still trying to get rid of the backwoods Texas lingo) completely unable to find a pair of jeans these days that are not hip huggers? Don’t get me wrong… some of you women look really good in ‘em. I mean, real good. However, there are only a select certain few of you out there who can pull it off (BUT OMFG J. LO WEARS THEM AND SHE IZ DA BOMB LOL!!111)
Case in point: I’m sitting there bored out of my fucking mind watching some guy try to impress everyone doing the glow stick thing. You know who I’m talking about. It’s the raver maniac that’s always in the club where there’s HIGH ENERGY DANCE MUSIC.
Raver Maniac Guy has never ceased to amaze me. He’s usually very effeminate-looking, which of course, makes all the chicks go nuts over the guy, if only because of his superior dance skill.
It’s usually the same guy in every club. Now, I’ve been to clubs all over the world and I swear, RMG is following me everywhere. If he didn’t change the color of his glow sticks, I’d be freaked out. At least he doesn’t wear hip huggers.
So I’m watching the guy and my eye spies a girl clad on one of those halter top things and a set of light brown hip huggers shakin’ her groove thang on the dance floor. (Question: why is it that all the fatties out there can get down more than any white girl would ever think of?)
Now, she was a bit overweight — actually, saying that is like saying Pol Pot was a bit eccentric, but I’m writing this, not you. Well … in the process of groove thanging, she starts bending over … her back is to me … and I noticed this dark area at the bottom of her lower back. Since lower back tattoos (or what a tattoo-clad guy like me considers “chick tattoos”) are ever so popular these days with chicks and since I like tattoos, I’m trying to make out what this tattoo is from across the dance floor.
Until I realized something. This chick is slightly bending over. That’s not a tattoo. That’s an ass crack.
That is, unless it’s a tattoo of an ass crack on her ass crack. (OMG THAT’S JUST LIKE BEAVIS AND BUTTHEAD LOL CRACK KILLS LMFAO!11)
I motioned to my friend to take a gander at this human bag of crap held together in a two-sizes-too-tight pair of hip huggers. He said, “What’s that a tattoo of?”
The bartendress with us said, “I think that’s a tribal, isn’t it?”
So much for low-light viewing.
I wondered why the hell she was wearing the things in the first place. I wanted a pencil right then. I had to see if it was a convenient way to carry around writing utensils. At least I would’ve understood the premise of hip huggers after that. Our eyes roamed the room looking for various things to toss inside. Cigarette butts became our missiles of choice. I hadn’t played basketball in a while except for my patented spin-in-the-office-chair-make-the-shot-with-my-back-to-the-trash-can shot. This was too good of an opportunity.
Please. I know people have no common sense these days, but am I really expected to believe ass-crack displays are part of a new fad? Am I expected to believe that this girl did not know her ass crack was showing?
OK. So maybe that wasn’t her intention. I still say it’s her fault for exposing her crack to the world.
Ladies, all of you can’t be hip hugger wearin’ clones of _____________ (fill in the blank with any popular singer these days … and no, Amy Grant still doesn’t qualify as popular). Some of you just don’t … hmmm, how should I say this … some of you could stand to run around the block a few times.
The overexposed gunts caused by the inability to wear pants that — oh, I don’t know — don’t show off more rolls than a bakery (LOL THAT JOKE IS SO OLD AND THERE’S NO MOMMA IN IT!!!11) aren’t exactly something to be showing off. Well, unless about 98.43726% of you out there are women pop singers.
Then again, maybe it’s just me. Kansas City does have the dubious honor of being one of America’s top “fattest” cities — whatever that means. Guys, stay away.
Keep the butt crack covered, ladies. I don’t care how sexy MTV or AOL says they are. Death to the hip hugger.