You Disgust Me

I spent the last week in Mexico and I realized two things: A) I have a freakish inability to tan. I mean, seriously, if it’s possible, I left Mexico whiter than when I arrived. And Two) somebody needs to regulate the sale of skimpy bathing suits. —-

Skimpy swimwear, like Speedos™ and bikinis, are like WMDs. In the right hands (or on the right body) they have the power to persuade, cajole, deter or get people to do things that they probably don’t want to, but suddenly find is in their best interest (“buy me a drink?”). But anywhere near Kim Jong Il and people begin to cringe, shudder or just run away crying in terror.

Now girl (or boy), you is beautiful just the way you is, but if your stomach looks like Kuato from Total Recall, or your ass has a beard, you should probably invest in a burka.

Seriously, the Bill of Rights provides the right to bear arms, and they are heavily regulated, so why shouldn’t bathing suits be? (There’s no constitutional protection for that shit).  

If you want to buy a bathing suit that covers 5 percent of your body or less, you should have to register with the government, undergo extensive background checks, psychological profiling, body mass indexing and a five day waiting period before you are allowed to take it out of the store.  

This doesn’t even begin to touch on the permits needed to wear them out in public. You’d need a license, registration card, concealed carry permit if you plan to wear it under shorts or a sarong or something, plus a five hour training course to receive certification in safe and responsible use. There would also be an additional surcharge if women plan to go topless (there were so many topless women who, frankly, shouldn’t have been). This trip to Mexico was the first time my 13 year old little brother saw real, live boobs, and his reaction couldn’t help but call to mind Kurtz’s last words in Heart of Darkness: “The horror!  The horror!”

On a side note, Mexican TV is awesome. They have an entire channel dedicated to CSI in all its variations. All CSI, all the time. It’s too bad a TV screen can’t tan you…

On a less awesome note, I met a girl who spent 20 minutes telling me how much she loved CSI: Miami and how awesome David Caruso’s character is. She wasn’t being ironic.

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