Fake Titties.
As a gent I enjoy a nice set of breasts. They are fantastic things. Sure there’s the biological and maternal values but on top of that they look neat and are fun to sample and play with. From what I understand there’s good money in the bare display of them in print or on celluloid. I ought to look into that…
I’ve been noticing an incredible amount of the fakeness of late. Modified knobs aplenty. Older women. Younger women. REALLY younger women. So far I’ve not seen any geriatric world-beaters but an entire generation of massively knockered ladies with Tramp Stamps is just waiting to get old to create an entirely new section of society for us to be weirded out by.
I don’t have a problem at all with the fakests. Especially if they’re realistic. Since I’ve been spending time hanging out with folks in and around the strip club industry here in Atlanta I’ve seen a profound amount of diverse and bountiful titties and they’ve ranged from appropriately tiny (which I think might be my favorite) to just under substantial to within the realm of nonfiction to those could jeopardize a child’s future to bitch needs to drive from the back seat.
There’s also a lady we call Menopause Tits whose bloated and distended erectionkillers are the stuff that must have fueled the most arcane teachings of Anton LaVay.
Fake breasts are everywhere and I’m starting to notice a lot of women who were damn solid to start with going for adjustments just because. There’s even two dancers at my local club who got the SAME TITS from the SAME DOCTOR so when they walk next to each other there’s this weird optical illusion. The optical illusion gives way to my reality. Being baffled at the extent these two brain trusts went to become something altogether synthetic. Thing is: I live in Atlanta. Imagine Miami. New York. Los Angeles. Nip/Tuck may not be so heightened after all.
I was at Dantanna’s the other day (a great restaurant and the best place in town aside from Stats to watch a ball game) and this woman of probably 45 came in with her new heaters bursting out of her blouse, one whose eyes patrolled the restaurant trying to catch men staring at them. Even though she would have hung arrows from her neck if it meant she could accentuate them more. Luckily we were outside and my sunglasses hid my peepers. I didn’t find her all that attractive because I like to be able to hug someone and know if they have a heartbeat, but I found her behavior fascinating. It was as if she’d been given heightened senses by the new arrivals [which I discovered were less than a year old from her conversation]. A new vigor. New confidence. Also New: Her Upper Wardrobe Because They Were Gigantics.
To each their own. If you’re a dame who wants a little more attention, have at. If your boyfriend or husband’s forcing you to do it, kick him in the dick.
I have gotten so tired of people around me being defined by one thing, whether it be their disease, their marital situation, their hobby, or their overwhelming physical attribute and a lot of the folks I see with enhanced chesties seem to be trying to create that ONE THING to set them apart. Except a casual stroll through the mall or a trip to the local watering hole showcases that the Exception, though not being close to The Rule, is gaining ground pretty fast.
Are breast enhancements [and the rise in tattoos and piercings] just another step towards being recognized in today’s ADD ridden and competitive world or have we just gotten really complacent and bored?
Before
I go, here’s the latest thing I’m adding to the blog. Each day I’ll
have a song, a piece of artwork, a photo, a Mary Worth, or something to
further justify your click and to give the trolls a little more ammo.
Today, another song from The Lucky Nightsticks’ 4th CD, Lobster. This one’s called Giants With Pulled back Faces:
– Nick Nunziata is looking but is rarely impressed.