In July, America's finest Hooters Girls will gather at the newly renovated Planet Hollywood Casino in Las Vegas, where the one who best fills out a bikini will be given the coveted title of Miss Hooters International.
But first, the Hooters Girls from Indiana, Kentucky, Ohio, and Tennessee had to show their goods to a crowd of drunken idiots under a giant tent in a parking lot in Louisville.
I, although not drunk, was in that tent. Only in the name of research, of course. Here are some observations.
-The photo was taken off the internets. It's from last year's event, but not a lot has changed. The skimpy bikinis, fake boobs, and bleach-blond hair were in full effect yet again. Thank god.
-The bikini contest was judged by a number of "celebrities" I had never heard of before. The one exception was Hall of Fame basketball coach Denny Crum. I don't know how I feel about a Hall of Famer of any kind judging a bikini contest. It's kind of like Cal Ripken at a seedy Baltimore Asian Spa paying for a rub-n-tug; or Joe Montana walking bow-legged out of a Bay Area bathhouse. It just seems wrong.
-Why wasn't I drunk? I had two quick Blue Moon beers inside the restaurant, but outside the event was sponsored by Budweiser, so I had a choice between Swill, Swill Light, and Swill Select. I chose the Swill Select, which must have been "selected" from Satan's diverticulitic colon. In the true American spirit of drinking while watching hot chicks in bikinis, I did manage to down a few of those fermented abortions, but it wasn't easy.
-Who could almost ruin a Hooters Bikini Contest? The local butt-rock radio station, that's who. First they hired a hair-metal tribute band to play before the flesh parade began. These guys were horrible, and had the three ugliest groupies I've ever seen. In fact, I think the groupies were asked to disperse by local authorities, as their combined repulsiveness broke several civic ordinances.
Also, they brought along the two obnoxious, unfunny morning DJs. Why do these morons insist on screaming into a microphone? The microphone was invented for the expressed purpose of amplifying the human voice. Speak normally into it and it is your friend. Since Sam Kinison is dead, no non-singer needs to scream into a fucking microphone.
There will be two regional representatives in Vegas. The second will be chosen on June 1st. I have until then to steal the hair metal band's equipment, rip out the voice boxes of the DJs, and think of a way to sneak in some drinkable beer.
But first, the Hooters Girls from Indiana, Kentucky, Ohio, and Tennessee had to show their goods to a crowd of drunken idiots under a giant tent in a parking lot in Louisville.
I, although not drunk, was in that tent. Only in the name of research, of course. Here are some observations.
-The photo was taken off the internets. It's from last year's event, but not a lot has changed. The skimpy bikinis, fake boobs, and bleach-blond hair were in full effect yet again. Thank god.
-The bikini contest was judged by a number of "celebrities" I had never heard of before. The one exception was Hall of Fame basketball coach Denny Crum. I don't know how I feel about a Hall of Famer of any kind judging a bikini contest. It's kind of like Cal Ripken at a seedy Baltimore Asian Spa paying for a rub-n-tug; or Joe Montana walking bow-legged out of a Bay Area bathhouse. It just seems wrong.
-Why wasn't I drunk? I had two quick Blue Moon beers inside the restaurant, but outside the event was sponsored by Budweiser, so I had a choice between Swill, Swill Light, and Swill Select. I chose the Swill Select, which must have been "selected" from Satan's diverticulitic colon. In the true American spirit of drinking while watching hot chicks in bikinis, I did manage to down a few of those fermented abortions, but it wasn't easy.
-Who could almost ruin a Hooters Bikini Contest? The local butt-rock radio station, that's who. First they hired a hair-metal tribute band to play before the flesh parade began. These guys were horrible, and had the three ugliest groupies I've ever seen. In fact, I think the groupies were asked to disperse by local authorities, as their combined repulsiveness broke several civic ordinances.
Also, they brought along the two obnoxious, unfunny morning DJs. Why do these morons insist on screaming into a microphone? The microphone was invented for the expressed purpose of amplifying the human voice. Speak normally into it and it is your friend. Since Sam Kinison is dead, no non-singer needs to scream into a fucking microphone.
There will be two regional representatives in Vegas. The second will be chosen on June 1st. I have until then to steal the hair metal band's equipment, rip out the voice boxes of the DJs, and think of a way to sneak in some drinkable beer.
14 Comments:
I think it's nice that these girls come with their own flotation devices.
how to sneak in beer.
Those are not women.
They are fem-bots.
My 82-year-old mother-in-law LOVES Hooters. We have to take her there for Mother's Day every year.
I crap you negative.
I bought her a T-shirt.
She drives the octogenarian widower set crazy. If only their spinster daughters would drive them to the doctor so they could get a Viagra prescription.
i'm glad you can pick fake tits out of a line up. man, those are SO fake.
why are morning djs so often unfunny? it's just another reason i don't listen to the radio.
One, this post reminds me I need to buy new bras. Seriously. My cups runneth over. But that's a personal problem.
Two, we were subjected to horrible morning DJ's once as we were innocently eating lunch in a restaurant.
An exceptionally loud man burst through the doors and announced, "JoBo's in da house!" It was a Sunday afternoon in Downtown Chicago; we had just taken an architectural boat tour.
We were two of like six total patrons in the place. None of us were JoBo fans.
I'm pretty sure her tits are about to pop.
Lovely girl. Pity about her FrankenTits, though.
Also, messenger bags work well for smuggling contraband into rock shows. Not that I'd know anything about that...
Why cant the Seattle Hooters have waitresses like that? Oh well its probably for the best...I really wouldnt want a couple of silicon grenades going off over a plate of wings.
That beer belly contraption is the coolest thing ive seen in a while.
Thanks miss kendra!
Sooo over fake tits. Do they not look like flesh covered basketballs to anyone else???
This is bullshit. Women who look like that do not waitress at Hooters.
Hooters goes for B-C cups, girl next door types. I have no problem with that per se, but they take all the sex out of flirtatiousness. No nipplingus pleeze!
I've had the wings. I've had the hamburger. No reason to return.
The food sucks, the premise is silly but well-aimed at middleamerica.
Hooters Friday is a tradition around my office. Me and hte fellas go over there and sit at our favorite waitress Maria's table.
She is just working her way through college. I think that she is like 36, but she is smokin hot.
Don't judge me!
I would do her, but you knew that.
brooke,
in case of a flood, we would have all been saved.
kendra,
you are awesome. Thanks.
sysm,
I've never spent Mother's Day at Hooters. Thank god.
sizzle,
morning DJs, by law, aren't allowed to be funny.
ubie,
come on, nothing compliments an architectural boat tour like a healthy dose of JoBo. Was he giving out Buckcherry CDs and Budweiser hats?
tracy,
this JoBo gets around.
tits,
your name is tits and you said "tits" in your comment. What a country!
melissa,
there were a lot of cops at this event. Hooters must have hired them to keep the masses from rushing the stage and just running off with Hooter girls.
yellowdart,
you guys have baristas in bikinis. I did a post about it a few months ago. Some of those girls were fairly chesty.
steph,
there were some REALLY hot girls in this year's contest, but I didn't bring a camera. A lot of them were curvy gals with real tits.
al,
a lot of Hooters girls from the Louisville area are thicker, cornfed gals. But the one who one the contest looked a lot like this one. Oh well.
And despite your dig at middle America, there are a lot of Hooters restaurants on both coasts.
flounder,
how can I judge you? I was at their bikini contest.
cold hands,
well, I was hoping you would.
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