I happened to catch a program the other night called, “Poor Man’s Bikini Beach,” (that’s right folks- I have cable!) I’m not sure what compelled me to leave it on this particular program, what can I say, it was late, “Ice Road Trucker’s,” wasn’t on.
Initially there were a gaggle of girls bouncing around on a makeshift stage/boxing ring in a bar I quickly surmised to be named The Sleazy Parrot or Beach Bums. The girls were all wearing a similar uniform: tiny bikini, belly ring, monster implants and the requisite lower back tattoo. The frenzied dance style suggested a need for some sort of relief that only a sticky pole in the center of the ring could offer.
The production value of the program did not sway far from the title and it was hard to follow what was happening. Maybe this was an intentional ploy to instill the viewer with the sense that they had also just been roofied.
The frenetic dancing then turned into a competition. I can only guess the girls were competing for the coveted trucker hat and possibly a case of Chlamydia.
After a short commercial break, which oddly seemed to feature some of the same girls pleading for you to call them and chat because they were lonely, the contest moved into the audience participation phase. I call this “The Mushy Banana Dance.”
During this phase of the competition, a fresh- faced tattooed girl is in the ring with a young gentleman, chosen from the audience. It’s not made clear how he was chosen, if it’s a random drawing or if cash exchanged hands.
First the young lady peels the banana, then she covers herself generously with whipped cream. Next she hands the banana to the kindly young gentleman who I suspect smells strongly of Drakkar Noir and vomit. I notice they exchange a few words over the pounding beats of dance music during the “banana pass.” Next he places the banana on her body and pushes his muscular frame into her tiny one. While I’m imagining the various date rape scenarios bound to play out in his Dad’s Escalade later, the screen goes to black. A cheesy graphic quickly comes up to inform me that this mushy banana dance is “TOO HOT FOR TV!”
As the graphic flashes on the screen I can’t help but wonder what they were saying to each other during the “Banana Hand-Off.”
What exactly is the etiquette required in that situation?
“Hi I’m Brittany.”
“Hey Brittany, wuz up, so do you care where I put the banana?”
“No way! I don’t have boundaries! I lost those when I was 12, LONG STORY.”
“This is fun eh?”
“Fun? This is for my career! You can’t just break into hardcore porn ya know. You gotta work your way up.”
