February 11, 2011


I was on Austin's famed 6th Street with a group of friends. We were going to an Indian dance party hosted at one of the local clubs. There was a long line to get in, because Indians love their Bollywood music. Walking through the line, we see a lot of girls styling fashionable outfits. Not a bad view. We take our place in the back of the line. Not a good view. Why? Because of the backless shirts and dresses.

Every one of these girls sporting the backless had bacne. And look, it was dark and there was a lot of commotion--so we aren't talking about a light blemish. I mean, one of these rotund women--her back was like the Pacific Ring of Fire of puss volcanoes. One glimpse of that and I was done for the night. I told my then-girlfriend that we had to go. She protested. She wanted to dance.* I told her my reason and she didn't understand. I calmly explained to her: What would happen if this pumpkin of a woman rubbed her bacne against my arm or something? I'd have to amputate. And then my ability to sexually pleasure my girlfriend would be greatly diminished.

She agreed that this was a weighty risk. We decided to rap our arms in extra Wal-Mart bags that I kept in the car. It was an okay night, but it was really hot in those plastic bags. I sweat through my favorite shirt. Fucking backless.

Some of you may think I am being overly harsh on women. No. Same with men. When I go to the gym, I often encounter these roided-out gym rats who wear some kind of ripped, cut-off up under shirt. Much of their back and inevitable bacne is exposed. It's awful. You know what's even worse. The other day in the locker room--this fucking meathead was naked and he was talking about his sacne. Yeah--that'll make a mess of your lunch.

*: See my previous post Women Don't Actually Like To Dance--They Just Like To Say They Like To Dance.