It was a 115 in Palm Springs, so the only thing that the midget was cooking was herself. And damn, I schmell tasty.
B and I left on Friday, fought the cluster fuck that is the 91/60/215 mash up and were checked into our hotel, The Caliente Resort and Spa, by 3:30 pm. We made a quick trip to Kentucky Fried Chicken for an early dinner (or late lunch), got into our pajamas (NO waffle textured robes?!?! Madness.), blasted the A/C, put on the t.v. and had our own private "let's see who can best imitate a comatose person" contest.
The next day we woke up around 8:30 am (that's sleeping in for me folks..), yakkidy schmackidy until around 9:30 am, took showers, ate breakfast, changed into our bikinis and proceeded to cook ourselves in the Palm Springs heat. About an hour into baking, we noticed that a few unsavory characters had begun to gather at the bar near the pool. By unsavory I mean I'm pretty sure the men and the women gathered around the bar were packing about a week's worth of crotch cheese.
Next thing we know, a bikini contest was being announced. Not just any bikini contest mind you, a "MISS WHITE TRASH" bikini contest. B and I looked at each other and smiled. Our vacation was about to get even better.
The rules were you A. obviously have to be white trash. But they never really got down to specifics of what would qualify one as "white trash." I sat there pondering if they had to go through some kind of background check to qualify as "white trash." (uses word "ain't" regularly? Check. Living in a beat down trailer? Check. Homemade tattoos? Check. Pabst Beer? Check. Been on the show Cops? Check.) and B. you had to be in a bikini and C. you had to jump into the pool at the end of your walk and walk back wet.
At this point, B and I put our lounge chairs at full upright position, ready for the show.
The first contestant was a mother of five who had a pretty decent body for someone who's had five kids. It was nothing spectacular and to be quite honest, I hardly noticed her body and her bajillion tattoos because her face resembled that of a foot suffering from jungle rot.
Fabulous. B and I were all smiles as we cheered on mother foot. Little did we know, mother foot would look like Jessica Alba compared to the next contestant that walked out.
Rotund would be the first word that came to my mind when I saw contestant number two. A solid fat who was round and tight in every corner of her body. She was the type who never turned down a meal (or a snack, or other people's leftovers or another glass of gravy.) and the words diet, exercise (and showers) were obviously not in her vocabulary. The proud white trash chunky took off her white SEE THROUGH shirt and white SHORT SHORTS (my eyes!) to reveal a black skimpy bikini that could barely contain her Fupa.
As if she wasn't already a sight to behold she then proceeded to detach her RIGHT LEG.
That's right folks. She DETACHED, REMOVED, UNSCREWED the bottom half of her right leg, placed her clothes on top of of the fake leg (multi functional!) and revealed her wiggly bottom stump that jiggled about as she hopped her way down the catwalk. Apparently, she had lost that leg to a 12 gauge shot gun during an altercation that she didn't go into detail about. I'm pretty sure the altercation involved throwing empty cans of Pabst beer at a guy sporting a fu man chu and a wife beater. She jumped into the water and created a mini tsunami at the shallow end which the little kids used to surf out of the pool, lest the one legged Orca whale decides she was hungry all of a sudden. (yes...there were KIDS at the pool and I'm pretty sure they know all need therapy now.)
...damn, I gotta get some work done...
To be continued bitches...