As you know, here in Tallahussy, the political capitol of Florida, we tend to dress rather conservatively. After all, we love it when republicans cream all over our pecan pie. You pusillanimous Miamians like key lime, but WHATEVER. Laura Bush wearing a pastel izod polo is our version of porn. However, answer me this: do women in South Beach let their bellies hang out from their low-rider jeans? I'm losing sleep over this. Please respond!
Sincerely,
Mrs. LL Cool Babe"
Dear Mrs. LL Cool Babe,
Honey, I might have to call Horatio at Miami CSI. You've cracked a cold case. I don't even know if you are psychologically prepared for the answer to this question. This isn't just about pie, it's about dressing the proverbial PIE, sweets!
And like Horatio, I will take great pains to be compassionate -- not to mention the ten minutes to say five words while I place my sunglasses on my dramatically raised eyebrow. Go ahead, sit down, pop the cap off a cold Pabst Blue Ribbon. Yeah, go ahead. Old dogs on the coffee table and take a few gulps.
Here's the low-down on low-riders: not only do women let their bellies hang out of their low-riders, they let it ALL hang out, baby. Have hanging body parts, will wear jeans. And the more synthetic, plastic-surgeon applied, the better! In South Beach, NOTHING is left to the imagination!
In fact, South Beach fashion has practically obliterated the 'sex' out of sexy. Yes, I've seen women wear their thongs on the OUTSIDE of their jeans! I kid you not.
Manola actually prefers this highly obnoxious fashion trend over the subterfuge of showing a peak of rectum. At the end of the day, there's a certain philosophical honesty and integrity -- a particular 'je ne sais fuck' about it.
You just never know. You could be sitting at a Lincoln Road café eating a salad and suddenly a woman's butt crack peaks out of her ill-fitting low-rider jeans, thereby ruining your taste for that risotto you'd been hankerin' for all week.
Oh, and while biting on an arugula leaf slathered in olive oil, what could be better than peering into the bung hole of a tight-assed man wearing a translucent white speedo, showing every well-meaning unshaved follicle of his rear to humanity, as he cycles down Lincoln Road while I try to digest my food?
As I am obliged to choose between the worst of two butts, via two publicly displayed exterior rectums, I'd rather see a thong over a pair of jeans than a zoom-in colonoscopy. Call me crazy, but ass and food just doesn't mix.
So it is with this completely hapless logic that I conclude: underwear-cum-outerwear may be declassé, but at least it's straightforward and honest. " 'I'm going to wear my sex in your face' is better than 'I'm going to sort of try to wear my sex in your face but sort of hide it in my pedestrian low-class Jerry-Springer taste, failing miserably in good taste and style.' "
It breaks the brain, really. Really. It does.
HUH?
Am I misguided? Judgemental? Maybe it's the fashion du jour preference for your average proctologist to enjoy seeing the environs of someone's poop park while dining among other humans, but quite frankly, Manola finds gazing at anything ASS while consuming nutrition completely unappetizing.
[Ouch. Manola is a real snob, aint she? Go ahead and give her big white ass a good spankin' ... ]
Manola 180's bottom line:
• the utilitarian purpose of thongs is zilcho
If you have a decent, worthwhile vagina, that thing, that thong WHATEVER is just icing on the cake. A thing-thong covering your ample pudendum is like trying to put a tarp over the entire state of Florida after a hurricane. Really. Only thing that should be covering your HIGHNESS is the passion of your lover. Fabric? Are you kidding? Fabric in the way of a hero and his sought-after prize? The prince cutting the thicket with a machete hoping to awaken that sleeping beauty is more like it, I tell ya! Who are you kidding? Fabric just doesn't cut it. Especially if your clitoris is aroused. Move over, thong, thing, thong-thing, WHATEVER ...
Now, talk about stylish hurricane repair ... if you'd pay $100 a square foot to cover your damaged roof with Vicky S frilly thongs, that'd be another story ... ! Aint no man in the world who would approve of this. Nor would said archetypal neanderthal fix-it man approve of his woman wearing underwear made of blue tarp, no matter how Gone With the Wind things got after a hurricane ...
• mama manola knows
Come on, even Manola's mother, who's strong as an ox and quite sharp-witted in her mid-seventies -- a woman who buys acre-wide underwear by the bushel at K Mart -- recently said: "Grasshopper, why do you wear those things? What's the point? Why bother wearing panties at all?"
Damn straight! And if you happen to leave the house without panties, OMG ... what if you have an accident? Don't you want to be wearing clean proper panties?
Beg to differ if ... your rescuer is pouty-lips and perky pecs Delco from CSI? Wouldn't want to be caught dead in K Mart grandma girdles, would we now?
But if you're dead in an ambulance, who TF cares what you're wearing? Ah, the pride, the PANTY PRIDE digs deep, doesn't it? Apparently, even in death I must have a perfect mani-pedi, a clean thing-thong and look like I just gave my hairdresser a blow job, leaving my flaxen tresses straight and squeaky clean. Oh the pressure ...! Pass me a tranxene with a Smirnoff, will ya?
• feminists: burn bridges, not bras ok?
Mama Manola makes a good point. It's like that line from Bamby: "If you're not going to say anything nice, don't say anything at all."
Ladies, why do we need an extra swath of cloth to cover our already ample, sweet and luscious areas of interest? Isn't this the best piece of real estate only your lover can buy? Sure, maybe interest rates are high, but returns are guaranteed. A good investment. Well, if your man is good to you, Manola says: BE GOOD TO HIM AND DON'T DRYWALL SHUT THE ENTRANCE TO THE AMUSEMENT PARK.
• butt floss is high maintenence
Boo-boo about boobs? Think about it, your 'property value' can stay tight in Miami's fluctuating market. You've heard of lagging real estate values but you'll never be culpable of sagging nipples, will ya?
Let's put the 'panty' back in panties, shall we? Panties are supposed to protect your pants and loins from your excretions. Back in the day, panties may have had this role in addition to veiling a woman's modesty. But in South Beach? Modesty is word unknown.
Ladies and gents, admit it. No one is exempt from poo-poo and just think about what happens when nature calls and you carry on with the rest of your hot and sweaty South Beach day wearing butt floss.
• crack act vs. class act
Even Manola owns a pair of low-riders, but since she has CLASS, she makes sure that when she sits down, she's covering her crack -- with shirt, jacket ... whatever. Men and women in South Beach: I don't want to see crack. I'd like to see some class.
Next time I venture out, I will carry a jar of spackle. I will personally cover your offensive butt hole with a cheap plastic spatula from Home Depot. Spackle dries within 24 hours. Think about it ...
Frolicking on the beach? Manola expects to see all ... all kinds of holes come and go with the tides. But when dining surfside at a swanky joint? When enjoying a human moment with other human beings in a human place? Please keep your genitals at home.
• cranklusion
So, based on the scientific findings, I hereby declare the THONG to be the most frivolous, unhygienic, impractical piece of apparel EVER. While easy to wash, they serve no other purpose than the fact that guys like our asses in thongs. Gospel truth, I swear. Go without, I believe.
In the spirit of our impending hurricane season, here's the only crack Manola wants to see! And I do have a leak in my kitchen sink! Anyone want to come over and work on my leaking crack ... ?
bunion notes
Fanless, you need to do a paparrazi hunt on thong styles, please.
Don't be embarrased if you haven't watched Miami CSI ... but do click for a classic Horatio sunglass moment. Plus there's Delco ... all pouty with pecs, ya know?
In a perfect world, the man you love also has a Man Camp. Here's a crack you don't mind as he's fixing the backyard hurricane -proof BBQ, attached to the ground by thick steel girders. Any man who can concoct his own camp in my territory is sponge-worthy. Y'all have to clone yourselves!
4 comments:
Ah, thongs. You know, I used to work for an inventory service, and Victoria's Secret was one of the main customers. I always dreaded having to count the backroom where endless bins of snarled and tangled thongs waited for me, each one with its own little tag I would have to separate and scan with my trusty barcode gun. Some of those thongs were downright bizzare (perhaps I only thought so because I wasn't dating much at the time).
I remember one that had these flat, transparent plastic straps and a tiny triangle of fabric half the size of my palm. As I zapped the barcode I thought to myself, "Is this a thong or an eyepatch from the future?"
Thanks for sharing your wisdom...I was wondering why all those bellies were hanging out on South Beach...I thought it was just me? Maybe they were just taunting me sort of like sticking their tongue out at me and then running back in when no one was looking. Now I see it's everyone. Whew.
Ah, thongs, they make my ass hurt just thinking about them, but you know I wear them for the chef, at his request, at times.
I prefer a bikini or nothing.
I also can't help but think there are a great number of tallahassie lassies who are wearing low rise jeans who would look better in something else...ANYTHING ELSE.
I like thongs.
But I don't expect everyone else to like my thongs. This is why I keep them in my pants.
Either way, they're well out of fashion over this side of the Atlantic. It's boy shorts for every bottom this season! They're cute!
PS: That guy's bum is way too pasty. St. Tropez beckons. :)
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