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Ass Culture: A Short History
Copyright 2019 by Martin Goldberg
Why I Wrote This Book In the fair summer of 2018, I released a video entitled “The Problem With Ass Culture” on the YouTube.com forward slash video. There was a mixture of derision, hilarity, and seriousness that crested in its wake. Some folks were personally offended, others couldn’t take the context forcefully, and still some viewed it as a profound problem. Were we as human beans engaged in rapid decline, or was this simply the latest iteration of a Beatles era reactionary, upset that time had conspired to keep him alive and well under bold new skies? The answer, one might say, is lost in a torrid maze of jiggling fat. While the debate may continue to rage on, it inspired me to consider how deep and tightly gripped our cultural fixation with the female behind seems to be. One cannot watch a music video, see a film, or indeed observe homo sapiens at the mall without getting a whiff of the social deification which that lovely spot enjoys, at times coming at great loss to other vaunted sections. Many countries now hold competitions to judge the superiority of the offering. A famous reality television star built at least some of her illustrious career over having an enormous behind, which she maintains is 100 percent natural to countless jeers. Women have taken it upon themselves to pursue plastic surgeries, specifically with the intent to inflate an otherwise reluctant or sagging layered posterior. Even in regions far from the shore and warm weather, the proliferation of yoga pants has resulted in a broader awareness surrounding how the shape looks, with some doing great justice, and others providing a singular yet empowering disgrace. In either case, the booty is an epic symbol, one that both expresses the charm of the wielder and can pass submission into the beholding eyes. Cars stop, coffee spills, conversations interrupt,
all to ensure a duly registered glance at the event of the day. Each action may be resumed, but not until the casting beam has fully rescinded, the face is reeling from a slap, and there is nothing left to distract aside from a distant memory, somewhere in those callipygous fields. I assure, you, I fully grasp the bubble of cringe that will no doubt accompany this writing. I am the first and last person expected to be capable of putting quill to word processor and producing this bizarre, shapely creation. I am the alpha and the omega of the posterior, laying down fateful recordings for the love of the world. I am both the scornful spectator to a pair of gyrating womanly hips, and a growing devotee of their eternal tapestry. In reply to the sniveling demands that the female butt be segregated with shades of fabric, I will be trumpeting the call of a Civil Rights Ass, because wherever beauty rests in nature it must have the freedom to celebrate above all. That is my mission, and I can do nothing less. Before all is said, I wish to impart that I am constantly growing in my knowledge and appreciation of the subject matter. To cultivate further the world’s wondrous culography, I remain eager to hear from others who might provide insight into the workings of tushy in our civilization. Please feel free to contact me with additional research material which might contribute to future revisions of this work. And as always, make sure to give the seat ample love.
Early Years One of the earliest symbols of the female behind’s significance lies in the famous Venus statue, which depicts a buxom woman with a scaly pattern over her head. Often noticed are her grandiose breasts, which jut out confidently in an almost divine manner, indicating richness, and preparation for the hunger of the world. Just like a mother nurtures her child with milk, the goddess provides bountiful health to the universe and her followers within. Particularly in areas of food scarcity, a woman possessing larger provisions was likely to be better fed, and perhaps birth stronger children. We cannot establish this as a dead set rule, but neonatal physicians advise women to choose their diet carefully during pregnancy due to the importance of feeding children. It seems like our forefathers welcomed such a principle openly. Size is also associated with the quantity of milk one generates, so it is understandable that ancient people might have perceived fertility in this manner. Lest we lose sight of the target, however, there is another exaggerated cushion in the room: Venus’ splendid ass. The deafening onion darts out confidently from her lower figure, openly challenging both the world surrounding and its northern tier neighbors. Her behind claims a bold devotion to life, as though nothing in the dramatic form above can ever bear to overcome its pummeling ripeness. For while milk spoils quickly, the divine ass is forever young. We can approach different conclusions over the dazzling size of her hindquarters. Some frequently speculate that larger behinds were linked to fertility and child-rearing; I can somewhat accept this in the realm of food scarcity as noted before, but obese people are not seen as being radically healthy, and so we must further separate the definition surrounding a behind of healthy size and your typically
wide, flabby butt. Clearly these are not the same, and one should consider that the mere presence of additional flab on the female does not automatically imply quality. I must pause here in respectful deference to my fellow African-American brothas, who may vehemently degree. Their views are perfectly reasonable, because everything is fair in love and squeezing. Perspective remains a paramount virtue. No, I feel we can garner better insight into the portrayal of Venus’ posterior than these simplistic opinions suggest. The booty must not only be viewed under the primal scope; it is as much spiritual as an article used for the making of welfare dependents. It fills the sweating of hands as a man draws his woman in towards himself to engage in the love affair. The soft tone he grips and slaps with sound and glory communicates a uniquely female energy. Her caboose also unifies the reproductive area across a rounded (or pancake) bridge, supplying the needed lust fuel that will lead to the creation of fresh, enduring life. Its seductive shadow, its midnight split, they beckon fervently to the man’s eyes. “Place thine purpose between the lady’s cheeks, and bring forth a future lawyer,” the vessel seems to say. This implied messaging may help us understand the attitude which men may have had towards the female ass in earlier days. The tushy was not only a physical article used for the suppression of lust and the driving of reproduction, but also an altar celebrating humanity, in purpose and continuation. While men have long done battle over possession of the opposite sex for physical reasons, a greater principle surrounds their drive: a quest to let the ass save their souls. Perhaps the grandest conflicts throughout recorded history can be wisely explained using this careful lens. European crusades were launched not merely to certify control of sea ports and sacred lands, but more so to determine who would possess the honor of grasping the Booty Grail. Decades later, the Seven Years War erupted with similar zest, as great effort was drawn over preferences for bustles versus pancake skirts. One can see the
estimated figures denoting how many poor souls lost their lives in these magnificent skirmishes with a quick Google search; the realization that they died in order to defend the honor of their women’ backsides adds further clarity to our journey of understanding. Fast squatting into the more modern era, we see yet more glimpses of the ass’ influence on world politics and battles. Many of you are at least casually aware of the Third Reich’s military tactics during World War II, including the lightning assault method used to swiftly neutralize enemy positions and expand Lebensraum for the empire. Slightly less well known is the SS’ secret plan in the lead-up to the Battle of Britain: Blitzarsch. This deft and uncompromising maneuver was expected to be employed as part of the Nazi scheme to lift the broader cream cheese population in superiority against the Carebears, whose women are known for possessing lively upper provisions, but lack in other regards. Sometime later during the Cold War, Henry Kissinger advanced the doctrine of Mutually Assured Derrieres, helping to forge a prevailing settlement which shepherded the globe through a treacherous cavern of tension, this against a backdrop featuring Jackie Kennedy Onassis, and the frozen tushies of empowered Russian women. More recently, the crisis in the Middle East has been exasperated by similar “Battles of the Booty.” The long-running dispute between Israelis and Palestinians is formulated not so much in opposing views of who owns the Holy Land, but rather the insufferable desire of the males in both camps to possess each other’s’ women. As everyone knows, the Jewish booty is specifically prohibited in the Muslim Holy Book, the Koran, which notes without any reservation, “These asses are haram.” Concurrently, Talmudic Law establishes a penalty of 10,000 shekels for any Jewish man weak enough to succumb and enjoy an Arab female’s behind, which is as far from kosher as one can possibly imagine. Any man breaking this rule will be further denoted as a traitor, and perhaps too, an AntiSemite.
Tensions in the region have spilled over to American interests as well. For years, Saddam Hussein conspired to use his personal methane gas on the Kurds, and attempted to build a nuclear bum. The U.S. responded by launching Operation Enduring Ass Freedom, a monstrously successful campaign that removed Saddam from power and replaced him with a liberal, booty-conscious regime. A similar standoff is presently underway in Iran, as conservative Mullahs desperately attempt to shield sweet Persian tail being eyed by Western barbarians for merry-making. So, what are we to conclude about these events? Are human beings bound to continue battling eternally over physicality, despite all our efforts? Religion and ethnicity are the useful excuses to distract us from pure evolutionary and metaphysical causes, but these latter factors do not vanish merely because they are inconvenient. Can we really pretend the Irish Booty Troubles were the result of religious and ethnic disputes, or is the rather larger explanation protruding before our very eyes? Much in the same way, revisionist historians have attempted to explain away Hindu-Muslim conflict over Kasshmir by pointing to sectarian struggles and colonial inheritances, when we collectively understand better. There is a sinister machine at work trying to evade the specific reason which ultimately binds us all, and only by examining it thoroughly can any progress be made. In line with our spiritual considerations, the role of the female behind as a product of conflict is more readily comprehended. Men of earlier days worshiped the tushy just as they do today, even if the terms and conditions might appear markedly different. After Pharaoh famously refused to deliver the Israelites from bondage, a plague of tortilla flab viciously infected Egyptian women, becoming the final deciding factor that broke the stick on the camel’s hump and freed the Jews. The rulers of the Nile thought they were strong, but no measure could counteract the prevailing need to bow down and give
thanks to the rounded female artwork. An empire tried, but it could not transcend the booty. Other religious instances have fared not much better. Islam for example is renown over the manner in which it spread – relentlessly —across the Middle Eastern desert. Scholars postulate that this movement had spiritual drive leading its edge, and they are right, to a degree. The Prophet Mohammed was well-regarded for his sexual appetite, which allegedly outpaced even Bill Clinton. While debate remains raucous, there is ample evidence to imply Mohammed encouraged expansion to further his own goals of finding increasingly finer ass. Whether this posterior belonged to humans or other mammals is still a question of rigorous and rippling discussion. Buddhism operates under a different, but still notable pretense of spirituality. As some might know already, the philosophy hinges on a commitment to attaining harmony with the universe and cosmos, including the broader objective of reaching a Nirvana state. Nirvana is more than a generic concept, of course. Further probing reveals the ultimate sacred truth: the person must strive to live in such a fashion that will allow him or her to become one with the ass. Of course you might be confused, because the truth appears less familiar than others; the explanation is in fact quite simple: entering oneness with the booty is such a gigantic challenge that it is often left by the wayside in order to avoid discouraging existing followers. After all, it is easier for a manatee to pass through the eyes of a fidget spinner than for a fatty to enter the booty. Lest one might imagine the spiritual value began to sag under its weight as the centuries passed, the strange case of Mormonism must be also respected. The backstory understood by society is that Joseph Smith believed a lost tribe of Israel had ended up in the United States, making it a consequential location for the establishment of the new faith. Amidst his process of spiritual wakening Smith is believed to have discovered multiple golden asslets, which he deciphered and used to make the Mormon religion
all about that base. Evidence supporting the centrality of the booty in traditional Mormon history is revealed in passages from the Book of Mormon itself, which begins over one thousand sentences with the glorious line, “And it came to ass.” Today, the Mormon religion employs fabled methods in the interest of protecting the spiritual devotion of its adherents. These include Special Gotham Protection underwear, and an army of loyal Bond agents helping to spread the word faithfully and cultivate an endearing legacy. There is yet one final stop (at least for now) on the onion train. During the 1940s, an immensely talented speaker by the name of L. Ron Hubbard launched his scientific-religious movement Scientology, which would go one to develop a widespread following amongst both common people and celebrities. Hubbard pioneered the use of Dianetics to cleanse the mind and body and achieve a new wellness center for his followers. A common tool involved in this process is the E-meter, which reads electro-dermal signals on a person’s body, providing the auditor with invaluable information that can be passed on to better the subject’s condition. Here too the influence of the tushy comes into play. In order to establish hierarchies within the church, E-meters are carefully applied to garner readings on the electro-thermal activities of the subject’s behind. Jiggling rapidly leads to progressively higher readings, and a consequentially superior position for the woman. This helps explain Tom Cruise.
Anti-Bootyism Throughout history, there has been an aggressive conflict between the rear-positive majority and a small group of detractors. These ruffians may be motivated by hatred, jealously, or perhaps financial gain, but on every front they pose a marked threat to our otherwise dedicated compact with the tail. Nicki Minaj, arguably the greatest weaponizer of the ass in recent history, highlighted such biting attitudes when filming the Criterion Classic tune, “Anaconda.” This video depicts Nicki and her crew courageously flaunting their wares to the music while several dead-voiced, and perhaps flattened women remark, “Oh my God, look at her butt.” Minaj proceeds in the song by demonstrating the value and density of her behind, while the spectating females are left to sulk with pure envy. Perceptions are everything here. While the women might react in disgust or jealously over Nicki’s rump, they are rapidly waved into silence by the sheer majesty of her performance. As an article alone, Minaj’s ass takes on metaphysical importance, for while at one time large female behinds were sources of amusement and glee, they now occupy a respected place on the deep plane of gyration. The lyrics bleed on, “My Anaconda don’t want none if you ain’t got buns, hun.” In this case, the man desires a large and round tushy, and will accept nothing less. From the standpoint of mating, a serious problem is generated for the detractors. Whether they have refused to perform squats or simply allowed cottage cheese to encroach on the once-great mantle, the reality remains: they have Nicki’s shiny mocha ass to compete with. The options are to remain sullen and scornful (and single), or firmly start pumping out squats in a viral chase to snag those holy buns. Not long after Minaj’s famous Bootyton Abbey performance, Meghan Trainor released a song and music video which would serve to further bolster the sandbags against rear negativity. In “All About
That Bass,” Trainor takes her stand against the silly conspiracy of the cover girl industry and its preference for slim, in-shape models. She notes, “I won’t be no stick figure silicone Barbie doll, so if that’s what you want then move along.” With this line Meghan takes nails to the shakeoff, eyeing carefully the chicken bone tushies who dare to mock her fat ass. Furthermore, she wards off any males seeking to delight in the Skinny Cow version of femininity. Her immensely empowering song also includes the line “My mother always said don’t worry about your size, she said boys like a little more booty to hold at night.” Dat’s right. Trainor lays the sculpting work for brave new conceptions of the body, where her large round rear is a vital asset in the war against shapeless figures. The gravity of the piece is unquestionably strong. One must remember that until the song was released, persecution of the booty in Western Culture was endemic and deadly. Thousands of women, PAWGS, sistahs, and Latinas alike were subjected to vicious oppression on the part of their beanpole overseers. They were mocked as they tried to fit into clothes from Victoria’s Secret and Petite Sophisticate. They cried as their pants ripped at the seams, exposing panties that were as good as thongs on their fine, extravagant, cabooses. They suffered within as men gushed over their slim counterparts, carefully pausing only to say, “Those bones! Damn gurl!” The legacy of the fight for thick thighs reached a critical point in 2012, when Jennifer Lopez unleashed Puerto Rican fury on the music scene with her single “Booty.” This immaculately-named song proclaimed a new physical and poetic age with its lyrics, which have never at any point in history been rivaled in pure quality. J-Lo sings, “Big big booty, yeah you’ve got a big booty,” and proceeds to repeat the line multiple times. Each word, each spandex-loving jiggle of her ass under the creamy red light of the video; they all affirm an incomparable and holy status to bump Zuckerberg of such glory. As the rhythm heightens, J-Lo ceases to be a singer and no longer has the makings of a visible face. Her ass supersedes all, squatting like a late summer sky over the auspices of our universe. When the Viking peoples look up, they no longer say, “The sky is Falling, by Odin!”
Instead, their mouths lie agape, unable to comprehend true perfection. “Heavenly Bootyfire!” a starstruck voice calls out, and by all fair measures, they are correct. Lopez’s status as an icon of the hindquarters must not be in any way undervalued. Prior to her fame, when she was working part-time as a hotel maid in the big city, the allure of her sculpted seat was enough to fell Republican Senator Tom Riddle, who chose to valiantly risk his career and raise her annoying son in order to “Preserve, Protect, and Defend the Booty of the United States.” One can only speculate as to whether he “primaried” her before committing, because the Non-Aggression Principle does not apply to a Latina’s ass. At any rate, the result has been a wonderful offspring in the form of George Lopez. Iggy Azalea is another prime sirloin example of advocates for the female form. Besides appearing with J-Lo in her impassible song video, the Australian-born rapper has made a name for herself by fighting negative stereotypes around the world. During a special documentary segment filmed in South Park, Colorado, she aggressively took to task fellow Aussie Lorde, whose famous mustache arrived for the battle. Iggy repeatedly jabbed her finger at her behind and accused Lorde of being jealous of “This Booty!,” to which Lorde could only meekly respond and discuss a cooking show. Less shapely women like Lorde apparently go to great lengths in their quests to delegitimize the rump’s relevance; Iggy just shoves a bit of silicone into the crack and gets back to business, society’s flatness be damned. The seriousness of this prevailing question ought not to be evaded, for it has found its way to the very hallowed chambers of America’s Supreme Court. In a disco floor-breaking 5-4 ruling in 1996, the Court upheld the sanctity of the human ass against a prochoice challenge filed by “Ironing Board Lives Matter,” which was initially inclined to mitigate the influence of Sir Mix-A-Lot’s music. A fateful moment during the hearings occurred when Mix-A-Lot
solemnly proclaimed, much to chagrin across the nation, who saw it as a modern Washington and the Cherry Tree scene, “I like big butts and I cannot lie.” The Dread Booty v. United States decision was a contentious one, but it laid spandex for an expansion, both of AntiBootyism, and its favorite proponents.
As a Cultural Weapon With tolerance on the rise towards tushy acceptance, there has been a fresh movement to legitimize its symbolism as the strongest vehicle of liberation. For example, recent debates over immigration in the United States highlighted the sharp partisan crack between Democrats and Republicans on the issue. Whilst the GOP has argued for a wall against illegal immigrant booty, Democrats insist these asses are simply undocumented, and deserve taxpayer money to cover implants, as a well as citizenship. Conservatives reject this, instead positing that there is a shortage of LEGAL Indian female behinds which can be addressed with the visa process. Failure to solve these problems could create a catastrophe throughout the economy, potentially destroying America’s primacy in favor of Brazil. The contours for this tragedy came forth in the 2019 State of the Union Address, when Donald Trump begrudgingly complimented Democrats on their successful election of women to the House of Representatives. In response, the Democratic females, all clad in white dresses or pantsuits, stood up to triumphantly cheer and slap each other’s’ asses. Nevertheless, Trump firmly declared that America would never be a bootyist country, drawing grimaces from advocates such as Bernie “The Booty” Sanders.
BGBM No discussion of ass culture is complete without tenderly gripping the water-falling influence of Black Girl Booty Magic. This concept of untold power serves to explain the bulk of the victories achieved by the pro-tushy community over the past several decades, alongside the other milestones of human empowerment. To start, we must establish the general supremacy of the Black Booty. Though some may argue valiantly for Latinas – and with good reason – there is reasonable consensus in the National Association for the Advancement of Gluteal Rights that black women set the tone and agenda of cultural bootyism. Without them, the world would not know how to #slay or #datsrite, two of the most critical academic principles known to the human race. Furthermore, while black booties were once oppressed as objects of ridicule in the circus, they now stand powerfully, turning back the vicious evil foisted by the planet and leading women towards glorious freedom. This shared cultural legacy means the black butt has singularly shown its ability to endure, through famine, fire, and childbirth. To demonstrate the full extent of this weight, consider that many women are desperately pursuing butt lift surgeries to reach rounded splendor. In contrast, black women can smile and let their booties rest, knowing all is at peace with the planet. The first instance we must consider when examining BGBM is the Miley Cyrus standoff of 2013. As it happened, Billy Ray Cyrus’s “Achy Shaky Ass,” tune was taken too literally by his daughter, who got up on the VMA stage with Robin Thicc and performed a classic Tyson chicken strip twerk maneuver. Her performance garnered millions of views from outraged fans who fondly recalled her days as Hannah Montana, a folksy country girl with a small behind on the
Disney Channel. Some condemned her transformation, while others drooled like Gerber. But the bigger splash was yet to come. A small coalition soon boomed into one towering voice, as black women fiercely decried the cultural appropriation of twerking on the part of privileged whites such as Cyrus. Indeed, the aftermath of the VMAs showed this to be a problem, as countless white girls partook in grainy, several-second Vine videos, desperately trying to mimic their Perdue Skinless idol. According to the outraged and empowered sistahs, the act involving gyration of the hips, particularly while the woman wears a thong, or nothing at all, is a profound and unique activity native to black and African cultures. If we are objective, the gripe is more than legitimate. Twerking is not just what it is; beyond the shimmering bounce of the ass lies a spiritual purpose which this vapid air scraping can never equal. When a white girl twerks it is a scrawny snarl for attention, barren of class. Yet when a black woman twerks the earth is made to rotate faster, ensuring people in China don’t die from lack of sunshine. Children are also saved, for otherwise they might starve, and the intense, vibrant jiggling sends direct signals up to satellites, helping to power our GPS system and cellular phone plans. Were it not for the black booty, today we would not have the majesty of the Great Pyramid at Geeza, modern healthcare, or Chipotle. This may not be evident to the reader, but at some point in the future the federal government will proudly stand to proclaim Booty History Month, firmly repulsing the hateful holidays which are presently being commemorated. Does our discussion end here? Oh no it doesn’t! Cultural application of the black ass cascades into the subject of police brutality and social activism. Following Mickey Brown’s shooting at the hands of a Ferguson, Missouri police officer, the city erupted in violence and rioting as innocent citizens attempted to demonstrate their commitment to peace by smashing store windows, destroying
cars, and picking out the free specials on Air Jordans. Naturally, law enforcement officers were called out to subdue the helpless victims with batons and tear gas, both hallmarks of racism and oppression. But they did not get very far. As the gaunt phalanx of riot shields and face masks glistened softly under flickering streetlights, their determined skeletons were met with something else. Spanning wide across the main street, their shadows casting a “You go gurl” aura on the universe’s spine, were lines of empowered sistahs, sassy expressions and confident bodies ready in position. Slowly they began twerking, their gyrating hips calling on a bitter seismic storm that lapped angrily over the street face, hurling its malice into the waiting police. It was the first light of the fifth day, and everyone looked to the east, where a smug Whoopi Goldberg mounted on horseback gazed down approvingly. Inuyasha’s backass wave move exploded from the thin tushy line, and the oppressive police were blown all the way back to Kansas. One booty to rule them all.
The Eternal Standoff We have already established the centrality of Nicki Minaj’s work to safeguard her as an article of activism and liberation. Less well-known perhaps is the struggle she underwent with fellow performer Cardi B. Cardi has a similarly massive butt, albeit of the lighter tone variety than her forerunner friend. Whether for jest or in seriousness, the two recently engaged in an aggressive fight to prove the superiority of their seats. Despite being a relatively new figure, Cardi B has shown no hesitation about defending herself in the mosaic of fame. When conservative media star Thomas Lauren condemned the rapper, telling her to “Get your butt under control,” Cardi responded by saying, “I will dog walk your ass, bitch.” Few people could comprehend anything she said, but the forcefulness of the language was so empowering and incredible that no one really noticed. Earlier on in her career, Nicki Minaj released the song, “Moment 4 Life,” which includes the line, “I wish that I could have this moment for life, cause in this moment Cardi B is Wayne Knight’s wife.” Her fans wildly cheered the diss, particularly when she made it while wearing a pink thong and crawling mischievously on the ground, her behind stuck high into the color of her room. It took a while, but eventually the dust settled. Cardi B was stunned, and yet not beaten. She proceeded to collaborate with the “Yeah-eh” singer Adam Levigne for the video “Girls Like You.” Between the lyrics Cardi raps of her desire to gain spirits and marry Levigne, even though he is of course occupied already. She barks, “All the other girls are too gazy,” taking a clear shot at the dominant Nicki. It continues, “Who you gonna call, Cardi Cardi, revving my ass like a Harley, Harley!” With this seminal line, the human race is reborn. The mushroom cloud of goodness shimmers forth as the
purest of visages, touching our hearts and waltzing with our souls. Not only is Cardi B making her strong statement opposing Nicki Minaj; she also unequivocally skewers the doubters and heels of our world, ferociously declaring that her ass is superior, and worthy of worshipful adoration. Though the evidence is yet foggy, some have actually claimed that Cardi’s brave move with those precious lyrics resulted in the birth of Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez from a Quaker Oatmeal dinosaur egg. Finally, let us consider the far reach of the black booty in electoral politics. Many readers will know that Barack Obama was elected president of the United States in 2008 after running a tough campaign against the Republican nominee, Angry John. What is slightly less well known is the true power behind the Chicago politician: Michelle Obama’s empowered black booty. While the aforementioned figures did much to lay the squats and advance our modern people, no one has done more for BGBM than Michelle O. Where they were dreamers, she became a builder, forging the comprehensive booty reform that her scrawny husband would later take credit for. The first place we see her impact is in the category of dieting. Historically, the U.S. Food Pyramid was slanted towards propancake industries, emphasizing the merits of carbohydrates, bread, and Eggo Waffles. All of these foods ae endearing and tasty, but they do little in service to the fat deposits needed to sculpt a healthy round booty. This was inexcusable to Michelle’s spread of experience, which includes a Juris Derriere from Harvard Law School, and she fast went to work, slapping and patting the pointed shape into a more agreeable circle, which ultimately became the healthy plate model. Although this move was exceptionally bold, it ran up against the problem of an ever-present food supply issue. Naturally, the First Lady had a solution: solemn self-sacrifice. She sat down, put out a plate and utensils, and proceeded to devour the remaining unhealthy foods in the nation. Chips, cakes, soda, frozen,
processed, bacon, pop-tarts, and candy. She went for it all. Helpings turned into feasts, banquets into a food revolution. By the time she was finished, the Gluttony Association had to be shut down, for the world was but a barren wasteland of pain to them. In the aftermath, critics were swift to dub her “Moo-chelle,” pointing out how the excess food had all concentrated in her highly presidential booty, which grew larger as Barack’s boring presidency droned on. They only said these things because they were jealous, of course, but Michelle’s booty was hardly finished. For decades, America’s women struggled against horribly elevated healthcare costs that ham-stringed their capacity to flaunt and expand the size of their jeans shape. Evil millionaires and fatcats (with flat asses) on Wall Street conspired to charge thousands of dollars for operations once available at just pennies on the dollar in North Korea and other places. In Colombia, for example, a woman can have cotton balls immersed in her butt and pay about $50 all in, with perhaps a 25 cent tip thrown in to help save the whales. A similar procedure in Southern California will run empowered women no less than $165k, although luckily they don’t have to pay the 25 cents, which is freaking amazing. Barack Obama, with his special purpose lashed tightly to Michelle’s booty, understood this to be a problem, even as Racist Republicans blocked him at every turn. The president’s nimble navigation, combined with his wife’s masterful wielding of her behind, resulted in the narrow passage of the ACA, or Affordable Care Ass. Since the legislation’s enactment, there have been numerous attempts to undo its hallowed impact on the American female’s caboose. To start, Republicans filed hundreds of lawsuits to challenge the constitutionality of the Act. A final showdown at the Supreme Court in 2012 was expected to result in the ACA’s slapping, but the dynamic, last-minute decision of John Woberts bailed out Moochelle’s beautiful legacy by defining it as a gluteal tax, legal under the terms of the Commerce Santa Clause.
Undeterred, American conservatives launched a fresh electoral campaign to undo the ACA, with the tagline “Repeal and Replace.” The GOP further proposed the concept of a Balanced Booty Amendment, intended to rectify the disproportionate billions of dollars price tag applied by its promulgation. Passage of such controls proved difficult due to a lacking legislative majority, yet Republicans eagerly worked around the problem by repeatedly voting to defund Obamacare, with the Honorable Ted Cruz (RAusstin), heading up the efforts. In a fiery television interview, Cruz passionately sounded the alarm, warning of a bleak future in which “Texan teardrops and cottage cheese will be dragged before death panels to be ground up and consumed in the interests of creating more big government socialized silicone!” Countless efforts were put forth, but the prevailing need to fund greater priorities resulted in Obamacare being preserved—for the time being. Fast forwarding to 2017, the Republicans had taken House, Senate, and Presidency. Legislative leaders helped shepherd the Tax Jobs and Cut Ass Act through the two houses, landing it on President Trump’s desk, where it became the law of the land. Deviously, the tax bill included a provision repealing the Individual Mandate, also known as the “Pancake Penalty,” which applied to all women who refused to signup for silicone care. This move dealt a crippling financial blow to the ACA, depriving it of critical revenue streams and effectively “sagging the ass.” Nevertheless, the overall structure underpinning the healthcare act remains in place. More than that, Michelle Obama’s BGBM has courageously pushed on through the Democratic Party’s Medicare For All platform, which would expand implant coverage to millions of oppressed women in the Continental United States.
Future Possibilities Looking ahead, there is a plethora of options to explain how the booty will shape human progress and civilization. For starters, scientists and politicians have been up in arms for several decades over the matter of global warming, a phenomenon caused by methane emissions that rise up to the sky and choke out the little people who reside in the Bozone Layer and make a living by sprinkling marigolds down on us all. Researchers are terrified of the potential for increased temperatures to boil the oceans, thus creating hurricanes that will whisk all polar bears and diabetics into the depths of San Francisco. Various proposals have been belched out to resolve the problem before it becomes insurmountable, much like the larger behinds happen to be. On the political Left, shrill helium voices have demanded the institution of taxes on methane emissions, to be collected based on average household production. However, Republicans counter that this policy is blatantly racist, as it would disproportionately affect homes that consume copious amounts of Mexican food. Lobbyists from Taco Bell have also blasted the concept, which they claim would destroy empowered job creators throughout the nation, plunging our country into decades of economic stagnation and methane socialism. Another leftist proposal entails conserving water supplies by limiting the number of toilet-flushing instances permitted every day. They summarize this concept with the brilliant aphorism “If it’s yellow, it can mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down.” Damn. For a time, the water reduction idea enjoyed broad bipartisan support and had gained nearly 67 votes in the Senate, a clear two-turds majority. An amendment endorsing the cooperative and centrist merits of eating ass was also attached, gaining multiple co-sponsors. Passage seemed certain, but last minute changes love to make themselves
known. Paradoxically, the making of a political coalition grew from entirely unpredictable places. On the one hand, Bed Bath and Booties filed a discriminatory lawsuit, claiming the proposed legislation would annihilate the toilet seat market, which relies on frequent flushing and wear plus tear. A joint lawsuit was processed on behalf of the Obese Overeaters Group, chaired by Jerry Nadler. OOG representatives tearfully sputtered in congressional testimony that the suggested climate fix would result in millions of fat people dying due to a lack of “hard drive space.” Their heart-wrenching words caught the attention of Florida congressman Avi Gupta, who immediately launched a presidential campaign (3 years early), specifically with the intent of blocking the possible solution. Gupta’s movement caught the attention of the Internet.com, which popularized the “Avi gives a crap” meme, now one of the most popular to grace the surface of the web. Senate leaders still made an attempt, but the legislation collapsed, receiving only 59 votes out of 100 in the chamber. Such is majoritarian democracy. Now you might ask, what about the Right? Good question. The hallowed Republican Party of Harriet Tubman advanced its own creative solution, called the Path to Proctology, written by Congressman Pole Whyan. His bill cuts taxes on job creators and Wall Street small business owners, while drawing back methane regulations to their pre-1840 levels. According to GOP egg-spurts, these dynamic moves will lead to asstronomical GDP growth and flood the atmosphere with methane. Is that a problem? In the words of conservative Larry Craig, “LOL, we’ll see.” As you might now grasp, the situation is exceptionally perilous, regardless of who steps up to the plate and seizes the political futbol. That’s where our sacred female seat comes into play. Congress can continue to battle for decades on end about the appropriate ways to solve the tremendous climate crisis. They will squawk, break sacred decorum, and blame the Atlanteans. Nothing inherently shall change
in the channels, no matter the party in control. The future will seem eternally grim. Don’t worry though, cause it’s booty time. A team of advisors and political AIDS have proposed a special program to repair the Bozone Layer called the Rounded Silicone Initiative. This approach theorizes that we must harness the ice cold of space as a quarantine zone for all the toxic gasses being emitted annually on earth. Scientists believe we could benefit immensely by installing 1 million Latina booties in the atmosphere, thereby erecting a symbolic Lord Commander of the Ass Watch to filter toxins effectively. Methane would still rise towards the heavens and enter the atmosphere, but it then would be promptly jettisoned out into space by the BootyStar Galactica team. Assuming successful deployment, the setup would ensure poisonous substances are not at work viciously destroying our way of life, rapidly cool temperature levels, and provide a longterm, Maginot Line which can safeguard the world’s humble future. Best of all, the solution would be one fueled entirely by gurl power, thus making certain that the wage GAP and systemic sexism are eradicated under the light of a new sun. The other critical issue of our world concerns growing fears over job automation, which is estimated to be as many as 50 percent of existing occupations currently worked by innocent human beans. On this front, candidates like Andrew Yang with his “Fistful of Cash” program get it wrong. What we don’t need is an expansive welfare program costing hundreds of billions, because this is wasteful spending. Instead, Congress can simply earmark $500 billion for a universal employment program to provide jobs for poor and constipated persons. Across the nation today lie copious asses in despondent need of massages and spa treatment. Due largely to discrimination, these oppressed tail feathers have been forced to remain tight and knotted, all because they have no advocates. I am already changing that horrible injustice with this book, but it is still up to the State to get involved and rectify this awful conundrum.
Resulting benefits are not difficult to quantify. An increase in comfort care for the female American booty will transcend normal conceptions of peace and tranquility. Single mothers will be able to develop meaningful relationships with their behind masseuses, leading to a dramatic uptick in the number of simp-like cucks taking care of other men’s children. The mental health crisis may decline as women gain access to the physical therapy today’s vindictive system does not provide to them. Adding to this point, the number of unsatisfied females will fall as their booty doctors offer the doting appreciation and love they have so long craved. America’s next chapter is waiting in the silhouette, and it’s all about the ass.
About the Author Martin Goldberg is a wonderful human bean. When he’s not chuckling at his own handiwork, he can be found working as an amateur gardener and fitness expert. He makes his home in Florida land. You can find him online pretty easily with a web browser search. There are no others like him.
Advanced Praise for ASS CULTURE
"Simply Asstounding!" ~ The Old Cork Times
"A relentless pounding of pure facts!" ~ Barvard Law Skewl
"I laughed. I cried. I ripped my pants." ~ Random PAWG