Not gonna lie folks, my ass is dragging today. Angry Baby decided to channel her inner Mt. Vesuvius and buried everything in vomit. Since 1:30am, homegirl has been ralphing with a timed precision every 30 minutes.
Because nice pillows are expensive and vomit in my hair is something I haven’t been good at since my early twenties, I decided to stay up with her. I’ve had a total of 2 hours sleep and been subjected to a television marathon of that whiny little f*cker, Caillou. But enough about my glamorous and devastatingly fabulous life (eat your heart out!)
While I has wearing my child like a cashmere throw, I decided to scour the internets for the best topic to waste your time with today. Luckily, I found a sexy and sweaty story that will truly have you cheering for more. Enjoy, and feel free to play Donna Summer’s “Hot Stuff,” in your head whilst you read it.
Bevy Of Beefcakes Beat Off Burglar
Many of us have enjoyed the well-chiseled thighs of an Adonis twerking his way through grad school. Not me personally, because I can’t imagine anything worse than a bunch of stripper glittered peen-pouches jingling in my face, but a ton of you tramps can’t get enough dancing dudes in the buff.
Chippendales, Chunkendales, the men of LeBare, Hot Cops, the list of all-male exotic dance groups is exceedingly high. One of the “hottest” in the ho-stuff hoofing game is a bunch of oiled panty droppers from Australia called, “The Thunder From Down Under.”
The trampy troupe currently headlines a show at the (always classy) Excalibur Casino and Resort in the lovely Las Vegas. Earlier this week, a man trespassed into their dressing room and attempted to steal from the men with abs of steel.
An unidentified man entered the backstage area of the theatre wearing a SWAT hat and a firefighter’s shirt, concealing a thick pistol. At first, everyone thought this intruder was “the new guy,” and just assumed he was supposed to be there. Because male exotic dancers are some catty b*tches, they went about their business and ignored him.
Only when the men noticed make-up and costumes were missing, did they realize new guy was a bad guy and several confronted him. The would-be burglar then whipped out his gun, while several burly bros wrestled him to the ground (and hopefully into a vat of baby oil.)
In true cat-fight cliché glory, the gun went off during the struggle. Thankfully, no one was hit by the bullet, and they detained the assailant until cops arrived.
The Thunder Down Under didn’t let the attack cramp their marble buttocks, because the fellas went on to perform their scheduled show the very next day. Crime-fighting AND show-unstoppable? These topless hunks of he-men are true heroes.
In closing, what kind of person breaks into a seedy backstage dressing room to steal make-up and “costumes” (AKA dong-thongs)?
Was he hoping to hock the stuff or sell it off as memorabilia? How much can one get for a half-used palette of pancake make-up and a tube of industrial strength butt-zit concealer? Is the black market clamoring for crotch-sweat crusted bedazzled loincloths? What a poorly thought out crime revenue stream!
Besides, if there’s anything tramping it up in discotheques and attending Southern Decadence has taught me, it’s this:
Never get between a go-go boy and his makeup/favorite dong thong.