Guest Steatopygist Posted April 12, 2013 Share Posted April 12, 2013 [bEEEP! BEEEP! BEEEP! BEEEP! BEEEP! ] You hate Las Vegas right now. You grope for the alarm clock, but it's not on the hotel nightstand. You hid it last night, so you'd have to get out of bed to turn it off. There it is, on top of the TV. Shit, shit, Shit! It's already 9:45, and your flight leaves at noon! O God! You feel like someone hit you over the head with a margarita machine. You stagger to the bathroom, stopping to kick your idiot boyfriend awake. He watches hopefully as you get in the shower, but you're in no mood for a quickie. You tell him to go find you a tee shirt and your grey stretchpants, and pack everything else in the suitcase. You'd think he could handle such a simple task ... but no. When you get out of the shower, you see he's laid out a tube-top (Hell, no!) and your old silver disco-pants (WTF!) You explain those are not the stretchy grey pants you meant, and that he is a fucking moron. Just to make sure he understands, you throw your wet towel at him. He dodges it, and it knocks over the room service tray. A stale rainbow of beer, salsa, guacamole, and tortilla chip crumbs from last night gets dumped right into the open suitcase. Everything inside is soaked. Fuck! Now you have nothing to wear. Nothing, except the stupid disco pants, which probably won't even go on. WTF were you thinking to even pack them? They were skintight the last time you wore them, and that was Halloween. Before Thanksgiving. And Christmas. And Superbowl Sunday. And now Las Vegas, where you've spent all week playing slots, pigging out at the buffet, and guzzling beer. Son of a bitch! They go on. Barely. It takes you and your idiot boyfriend twenty minutes to stuff your fat, fat ass into these motherfucking disco pants, and it feels and sounds like they might explode at any second, but they are on. You tell him you will castrate him in his sleep if he gets a hard-on, but he has one anyway. Good, because he's not getting any for the next month! Idiot! He puts shoes on your feet and helps you slide off the bed. You hear threads popping, but somehow you make to your feet, out of the room, down to the lobby, and onto the airport shuttle without blowing a seam. Thank God they let you ride standing up. You don't know what the hell you're going to do when you have to sit down on the plane. You're just praying the fabric will stretch out by then. God, you hate McCarran Airport. Your flight is going to leave in thirty minutes, and you're not even through the security line. You can feel everyone staring at your dangerously overstretched pants, including your idiot boyfriend behind you and the TSA creep at the checkpoint ahead of you. You make him get in front of you, blocking both their views. Finally you make it to the checkpoint. Your idiot boyfriend makes it through, and now it's your turn. You put your purse in the bin and start to walk through the metal-detector, when the TSA creep blocks your way. "Ma'am, I need you to take off your shoes and place them in the bin as well." Is he fucking kidding?! There's no way you can bend over to undo the straps, and your idiot boyfriend has already disappeared through the metal-detector. "Um, I ... can't bend down. Could you undo them for me?" "No Ma'am. If you can't or won't remove them, we'll have to detain you for a full search." Fuck that! You're NOT going to let them take you to some windowless room for a grope-down. "Ok, ok, give me a minute!" Shit! How are you going to do this? You can't bend over forwards or you'll bust the zipper open. You try curling your leg backwards, but you can't raise your foot high enough to touch your shoe behind you. You'll have to bend your knees and crouch down as carefully as you can. Slowly, carefully, your fingertips make it to your knee, your calf, just above your ankle, and ... VRRRRIIIIP-PP-PPP!!!! GOD DAMMIT!!! The entire back seam of your pants bursts wide open. A cool gust of air refreshes your fat exposed ass-cheeks. Everyone behind you is howling with laughter, and you hear cellphone cameras clicking. You angrily unbuckle your shoes and throw them into the bin. You hurry through the metal detector and slump against the nearest wall. At least your flight is delayed. You have enough time to send your idiot boyfriend to the gift shop. He brings back a Las Vegas beach towel, large enough to wrap around your fat ass and hide your busted-open pants. You make it to the departure lounge without any more disasters. You'll be home in a few hours, you will go straight to the gym tomorrow, and this will all stay here in Vegas where it belongs. That's when your idiot boyfriend gets bored and checks YouTube on his phone, where today's viral video "Fat Hooker Pants Fail" (uploaded 40 minutes ago) has just passed 100,000 views. You really, really fucking hate Las Vegas right now. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest inowhenitsnotbutter Posted April 12, 2013 Share Posted April 12, 2013 I found this fucking hilarious, I'm not sure why. Maybe it's really funny, but I am feeling slightly delirious. Anyhow, nice work Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest inowhenitsnotbutter Posted April 12, 2013 Share Posted April 12, 2013 ha just pressedf back and then saw the name as well, sending me back into reels of laughter. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Steatopygist Posted April 12, 2013 Share Posted April 12, 2013 I found this fucking hilarious, I'm not sure why. Maybe it's really funny, but I am feeling slightly delirious. Anyhow, nice work Thanks! It was fun to write; scenarios like this have always been a fetish of mine. (Maybe the missus will agree to a Vegas trip this year... Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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