Ode to the Thong.
Based on the fact that she had chosen to sing "Because I Got High" earlier that night at karaoke, I arrived at the preconceived judgement that she was indeed seeing things, and hesitated to even look in the direction towards which she indicated. However, because she was hyperventilating and there were no paper bags on hand, I indulged her by begrudgingly looking towards the gas station to our right. Sure enough, right there in the parking lot beside us was a man wearing a thong. This person had gotten out of his truck to- get this- WASH THE WINDSHIELD, donning nothing more than a cut-off white tank top and women's underwear. It actually took my beer-logged brain a couple of seconds to realize that the individual I was looking at was indeed A MAN. To make matters worse, this person was not wearing just any thong. It was a woman's thong; a G-STRING. This is the type of thong that even
I wouldn't wear, for fear of a yeast infection or worse, anal chaffing. This particular item was nothing more than a pirate's eyepatch on two elastic strings, the kind of underwear that are most frequently seen on strippers or Britney Spears. To make matters worse, the man in question was not the youngest or most attractive of gents, as evidenced by the fact that mother nature had obviously had her way with his flabby, translucent buttcheeks. This dude had quite literally been repeatedly ass raped by gravity. I could see the rippling waves of flesh adorned with silvery stretch marks glistening in the moonlight. I could see dimples and cottage cheese. I could see anal pubes.
I tried to take a picture, but in my state of inebriation, my sausage fingers could not activate the camera in time. I have come to realize that contrary to popular belief, heavy machinery and electronic devices are not intoxication-friendly. My roommate began honking and wildly indicating for the drive-thru attendant to come validate the situation as a tangible circumstance instead of a drunken hallucination. By the time he arrived, the thong bearer had retreated to his vehicle and pulled into traffic, his fellow motorists oblivious to his semi-nudity.
My question for you all is this: what was this man doing washing his windshield in a thong at 2:00am? Was he receiving some sexual favors from an underaged prostitute in the front seat when he suddenly noticed that the windshield required his immediate attention? Was he perhaps using his pants to tend to the needs of his windshield, caring not that his ass was exposed to oncoming traffic on one of the busiest streets in the city? Does he simply like the feeling of silk between his ass crack, gender roles be damned? Do I possess enough foresight to conjure images from the future of Jessie's son at the age of 50? Had he just returned from a raging swingers' club which enforces a strict dress code requiring a lack of both moral ideology and clothing below the waist? Does he get some kind of kinky thrill out of scaring intoxicated McDonald's patrons in the wee hours of the morning by flashing his bare chassis? Was this a form of punishment from God for eating deep-fried hypertension with a side of early onset obesity at 2:00am? Life is full of so many unanswered questions. I guess this is one mystery that will remain unsolved.
To repeat: When are you coming to Hell Lay and OMG...we were both in Fort Walton Beach at the same time this Spring! LOL!
Also, I can't believe we were in Ft Walton beach at the same time and didn't see one another! It's not that big of a town. The weather was gorgeous and I had a blast! Was it part of your annual cross-country trip?
Drunk on a Tuesday night? Good girl. : )