Boob Fetish

So I’ve been thinking a lot about boobs tonight…

That may sound odd, but I was feeling bored, so I happened to look down my shirt (a common response to boredom), and before I knew it, BOOM: boob-thoughts. 

There’s nothing wrong with my boobs per say, but they’re not that impressive, when you consider the “bell-curve average”.  I mean I’ve always excelled in academic pursuits, but boob-wise, I’m kind of an underachiever (dammit).

And why is this a problem?

-Because I’m yearning to find a man, so I’m a little concerned about  today’s competitive market, you know, ”boob-wise”.  I mean I’ve heard a lot of whispers that guys are getting less superficial, and putting personalities first, but as a wise young man named Ian once said, “If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is“.

So now what?

Well…whilst sitting here thinking of all things “boob“, I began to wonder how life would be, if things were incredibly different…

Consider THIS: from a basic evolutionary perspective, a boob has only a single purpose, conveniently summarized below:

-Q: What does a boob do?

-A: It serves as a milk-filled keg for babies (side-note: if you ask ME, breast-feeding is very inappropriate (not to mention incestuous), but that’s another post for another day…). 

And why is there a second boob you ask? 

-’Cause without a back-up resource, you’d never have peace of mind.

So if boobs are just a mechanism, designed to faciliate the circle of life, why are they revered as so much more?

Let’s look at COWS for example, and see how they run the show:

-Dairy cows (which are all female) spend the whole frickin’ day producing hundreds of gallons of milk, with their large and voluptuous udders.  When their 18-hour work day is finally done, and they’re out in the pasture grazing, do you think there’s a bunch of bulls bent over, checkin’ out the sights?

NO.

But why not?

Because cow udders are NOT sexy; not to bulls, not to men (I would hope not), not to lesbian cows, not to anyone.

Then there’s US…”Oh but WE’RE the special “humans”, who just HAVE to read something into everything“…

For humans, the two disgusting “kegs” have become a work of art, to the point of almost being divine.  Quite frankly, I don’t know how or when this worship began, but like a lot of other things, I blame it on the Ancient Egyptians. 

And here’s the saddest part: If your milk-kegs were made by a vengeful God (who got cheap with the raw materials), you’re pretty much fucked in your grown-up life.

And THAT’S what I don’t like.

But wait: What if I could alter Biology? What would I do?

HERE’S what I’d do:

First off, no woman alive would be allowed to have boobs (I’m sorry boys, but it’s for the best). 

Instead of a pair of ‘heavenly melons”, we would all have something a lot more functional.  Picture a couple of small-sized kegs, conveniently hung at our hips (this seems less intrusive than kegs on the chest, but it’s just a personal preference). 

Once we all got ourselves metal kegs (which would somehow hook-up to our “lacticular”(?) veins), we’d be ready to have lots of babies.

This would continue the circle of life.

And guess what? Everyone’s milk-kegs would look the same.

And guess what? NO chick would feel inadequate, and we’d ALL be liked for our personalities (and our asses, which is fine, ’cause mine ain’t half-bad).

And what do I call this? One step closer to Utopia .

In reality, there’s only one small hitch: Science will never catch up to my lifetime, so the “Keg-For-Boob” option is not for me .

Translation: It’s time for me to ”oil up” the girls, drop ‘em in a low-cut top, and quietly wait for my prince…