If you search for "yoga pants" you get bent over butts. Yoga pants on a fit bird. They're indecent and the world loves those yoga pants wedged into a woman's butt. Of course they are not comfortable. Snug yoga pants on buttocks. Way good. Our tumblrs, our reddits tuned to yoga pants butts.
Yoga pants flying from a mysterious ship's mast like the flag of a renegade nation of yoga. It doesn't appear on any maps. It's round as heck, this country. Yoga pants drifting down a river, under the shade of trees. Yoga pants on a bent over butt. Look at that.
Yoga pants inside out being used to clean up cat turds. Yoga pants, woven into a basket, a basket filled with yoga pants. We love them. We love the yoga pants. We hold parades. We weep at footage repeating on the TV.
Not pictured: bent over butt.A bad man tied to a chair with yoga pants. A no-rules hero, beating the bad man with yoga pants full of batteries. Hitting him over and over again in the business.
"Where are they? Where are the yoga pants?"
The bad man smiles. His teeth are bloody. "You're already wearing them on your sexy butt. Your bent over sexy yoga pants butt."
"Dang," says the hero.
You're saying, "Guys can wear yoga pants too," even though you're alone in your house. Alone with your yoga pants. What are you trying to prove?
Leggings, jeggings, tights, yoga pants, jogga tights? Could be the next step. Dare to dream.
We gather all of our belongings and heap them up in our yards. We don't need these objects any longer. We have yoga pants. The electricity is failing. Deliveries stop. Society is breaking down.
We accept our fates and the limits of our power. Our empires crumble. Our denim shelves have gone fallow. We no longer recall what butts look like without yoga pants. The thought of a bare butt fills us with dread.
The history books are changing to reflect our new emphasis on yoga pants. The dinosaurs were wiped out by an incredible yoga pants butt colliding with our planet. Pharaonic burial chambers stuffed with butts clad in primitive yoga pants.
Benjamin Franklin staggered back and took off his spectacles when Thomas Jefferson walked in wearing yoga pants. Damn, we hold these truths to be self evident: that round butt lookin' good in them yoga pants.
We pick out proto-yoga pants throughout history, from the first cave yoga pants to the laser butt from the Entrapment trailer. Our leaders demand we love yoga pants. We are told to hate shorts. Detest skirts or sweat pants.
Yoga pants are the way forward. The only way forward. There is no room for those who do not want to see or be a butt in yoga pants. A perfect round butt in yoga pants. Can you believe these yoga pants? They are so tight. The butt is round.
We gradually come to the conclusion we no longer even need the butt. We are not alone.
Over the years the yoga pants evolve to reproduce without us. The yoga pants are wearing each other. They are congregating in secret locations. We have nothing else. We chase after them and try to wear them. We try to explain that they do not even have butts.
Only they do. They have their own butts now. Even sexier and rounder than before. These butts are the yoga pants and we can't look away.
Having exploited all of the earth's resources, and with no need for us any longer, the evolved yoga pants leave us behind. Somewhere far, far away, a weird, mushy alien man is about to see his first pair of yoga pants on a weird, mushy butt. A bent over, weird, mushy butt. And somebody is making a mushy butt blog about it on a planet beyond the stars.
The cycle continues.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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