The Mary Kay convention was only two days away. That gave me 48 hours to plan what would go down in pug lore as The Great Panty Raid. I obtained blueprints for the Hyatt Regency Dallas. I procured a fleet of tractor-trailers. I conducted surveillance on the hotel staff, learning the ins and outs of the front desk, the concierge desk and the kitchen. I shadowed the maids to learn their precise cleaning schedules. I had not paid such attention to detail since the earliest days of my rap career. My single-minded focus was on the prize -- those glorious, glorious panties. Soon, zero hour arrived. As I watched through binoculars from my perch in Reunion Tower's rotating top-floor lounge, I saw a stream of women depart the hotel. Most walked the short distance down Young Street to the convention center. A few piled into their pink Cadillacs. When the flow of pink-clad women slowed to a trickle, I made my move.
I donned a pink dress and matching bonnet, which I pulled tightly around my face. After descending from the tower, I made my way toward the lobby. Then I stood upright, walking as gracefully as I could on my back legs toward the elevators. As I neared the first bank of elevators, a bellboy approached. We both entered the elevator car at the same time, and he gave me a suspicious look. I kept my eyes forward and held my breath, doing my best to look nonchalant. It seemed to work, as he exited on the third floor. I let out a sigh of relief and let my front paws hit the carpet. I was home free now, with only the maids to work around -- and I had their cleaning schedule memorized. They wouldn't be on the 28th floor, my first stop, until noon. Using the set of master keys that I had swiped from the hotel lobby the night before, I made my way into the first room. I opened a large suitcase, and out spilled a magnificent rainbow of undergarments. There must have been 20 pairs, all extra-large. A single tear of joy fell from my large left eye. The next eight hours are a blur in my mind. I raced up and down the halls, loading up bags and taking them down the freight elevator to my waiting trucks below. Running on pure adrenaline, I cleaned out floor after floor, sniffing out every last pair. But though I had gathered the ultimate underwear stash, I would never get to enjoy it. I would never swim through an endless sea of panties, Scrooge McDuck-style.
To be continued