Feathers Over Fears: Texan’s Red Boa Burlesque Beats Dickinson’s Ban

In a twist that could only happen in Dickinson, local resident Mark Colesander, a proud Texan transplant, has turned a controversial anti-Texan law into a cultural revolution. After the city passed a measure to deport all Texans, Colesander refused to pack his bags. Instead, he discovered a loophole in the law that’s now got the whole town buzzing—and blushing.

The ordinance, passed last month to “protect Dickinson’s jobs” by reporting and deporting Texans, included a little-known artistic exemption. Anyone actively contributing to the area’s art and culture could stay. For Colesander, who’d long felt his charm was underappreciated, this was his moment to shine. “I’ve always known I was a work of art,” he said, winking. “Now it’s time to prove it.”

His master plan? A biweekly burlesque show, “Texas Tantalization” staged every other Thursday at the Elks Club during their legendary steak night. Billed as “Dinner and a Dazzle,” Colesander’s performances feature him slinking across the stage, his feathery red boa trailing like a scarlet comet, paired and a grin that could melt a North Dakota winter.

To his shock—and the city’s delight—the show became an instant sensation. Tickets for the inaugural performance sold out in a record-breaking 30 minutes, with the Elks Club’s phone line crashing from the demand. “I haven’t seen this much excitement since Harbor Freight opened!” gushed local retiree Mildred Hansen, clutching her ticket like a winning lottery stub.

“It’s like Elvis and Magic Mike had a baby, and that baby was raised on brisket,” said diner owner Carl Withers, who’s already planning a “Burlesque Burger” special for show nights. “Mark’s got this town in a tizzy, and I’m here for it.”

Even Mayor Pat Fletcher, a vocal supporter of the Texan ban, couldn’t resist. “I’ll admit, I was skeptical,” he said at a recent council meeting, loosening his tie. “But Colesander’s show is bringing folks together. I’ve got front-row seats for next Thursday.”

Residents are calling Colesander a local heartthrob, with fan clubs popping up faster than oil rigs in the Bakken. “I came for the steak, but I stayed for Mark,” swooned librarian Jenny Carlson, sporting a homemade “Mark’s Marvels” T-shirt. “He’s proof Texans belong here—if they’ve got moves like that.”

Colesander, now sporting a bedazzled cowboy hat around town, remains humble. “I just wanted to stay in Dickinson,” he said, adjusting his bolo tie. “If shaking my hips keeps me here and makes folks smile, I’ll keep dancing.”

The next show is already sold out, but rumor has it Colesander’s planning a “Christmas in July Spectacular” with tinsel, Santa hats, and maybe even a mechanical bull. In Dickinson, one thing’s clear: Mark Colesander’s loophole has turned a Texan ban into a cultural boom—and the town’s never been happier to be seduced.