About every 6.9 years, a new workout fad hits the American female population with promises of results so quick that they can go back to eating entire pizzas in no time. Yoga, spin class, power walking (yes, that was a thing), Crossfit, Tae Bo, and, of course, the handjob-esque Shake Weight all made promises of small waists, flat stomachs, and firm asses and, depending on how much of a workout psycho the girl was, they may or may not have worked. I don’t really pay attention to that stuff, generally, because my toughest workout the past few months has been lifting a quesarito. What I do pay attention to is correlation and I have to say that every girl I’ve met who told me they go to barre has fantastic assets.
It’s really all about the butt, and everyone knows that. Girls who do barre, from my humble observation, have butts you can see chiseled through a denim skirt. Butts that could bring forth world peace. Butts that could stop traffic. Butts that you can bounce a quarter off of and get back a dollar. Tight, perfectly shaped derrieres that are more distracting and dangerous than texting and driving. I have to assume it’s the barre.
Don’t think I’m out here shilling for barre for profit. I didn’t even know what barre actually was until last week thanks to a crazy little website I like to call “Google.” It makes some bold claims, but I’m enjoying looking at the results, and now when a girl casually says, “I have barre tonight,” it’s instant points. I’m a butt guy. I think we need to make asses great again. Someone needs to do a PSA and come out with an ass improvement plan. Great butts make life so much more worth living, especially in the dark times in which we live. I don’t think Tough Mudder butt is going to do it. Barre seems to be producing great butts at an increasingly rapid pace. Good. This saves lives. Like the Dave Chappelle janitor skit about big fun bags making life worth living, that goes double for butts.
All that said, I do have to show my appreciation to the employed ladies of the world who take the extra hour per day to look fantastic. While I sit here hungover shoving spaghetti in my face to accentuate my dad bod and thinking about work tomorrow, some girl somewhere is swinging a kettle bell or running on a treadmill. Thank you.
So women of America, please keep doing barre. Bring a friend. Bring two friends. Hell, bring your mom. A country’s greatness is determined by freedom, economy, and butts, and I will be damned if we let America fall behind when it comes to behinds. .
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