If I ever When I find my next special someone, and we’re walking down the street, or in a mall, we will NEVER take a route that includes a lingerie store.
Why?
Here’s why:
Is it the sight alone that disturbs me?
No.
Honestly, photographs of hot chicks are fun, and sometimes they make me wanna “lesbian-ize” (so thanks “hot ladies”, thanks for the option 
).
Furthermore, if I shunned these hot-chick images, if would also require that I shun all the pics of sexy-abbed men in magazines, hawking cologne whilst evoking raw sexual power. And would I ever say that?… 
So what’s the problem? Why do I have my panties in a bunch?
Well…it involves the trend on the front of every major lingerie store.
Gone are the days of regular-sized mannequins, as they’ve all been replaced by 15-foot posters of hot, sweaty, almost-naked chicks.
THIS…SUCKS.
I mean before I only had to contend with a regular-sized chick made of plaster (or porcelain, or whatever the heck mannequins are made of). Quite frankly, I am not that threatened by “mannequin composition”, up to and including their horse-hair wigs. And even if dudes “got off” on mannequins, at least they’re my height, so I can SORT OF hope to out-sex their plastic asses.
But what about these 15-footer posters, that reek of enormo-slut?
I’m sorry, but that shit is overpowering. Like everytime I walk by those stores on my way to work, a corner of my eye goes into “pervy-leer” mode…I can’t help it, and I’m not even ”mad about vaginas”!!! (not yet anyway…)
So what’s a man gonna do when he walks by an image of a ”15-footer”, if not spontaneously combust? (if you know what I mean…).
And sure, maybe I’m not giving dudes enough credit, like maybe dudes have a lot more control over “junior” than I give them credit for.
But even if they keep things calm down below, what do you think is their lingering thought?
Well it’s only a guess, but I’m thinking it’s THIS: “Oh damn, that 15-footer chick is hot; I wonder what it’d be like to bang a 15-footer”.
And the next thing you know, your every sexy move is being judged on ”how a 15-footer would’ve done it”.
And that right there is my problem.
Here’s the truth: no matter how well I eat, or how much I work out, I am never gonna be a 15-footer, it’s simply not in the cards (well not that I know of…anything is possible I guess). I just think it’s wrong to tempt our men with the idea of 15-footers (with a boob as big as your entire torso), when they don’t even really exist. It’d be the same thing if men were bombarded by images of mermaids on a daily basis; I mean YES, mermaids are hot, but NO, they don’t exist, so keep that shit in the vault!!!
But alas, the giant-sexpots are everywhere.
Why aren’t these store-front posters 2-feet tall instead? Think about it: the chances of men perking up because of ”midget-sluts” are a heck of a lot smaller than the ”giant-whore-fantasy” threat (or maybe I’m wrong…or maybe I don’t want to know…ugh…).
And sure, maybe this problem isn’t new; like what about the billboards you see downtown, covering an entire side of a building? Well yes, those are a nuisance too, but a 200-foot sized chick is perhaps…a little more “out there” as a concept. I’m not even sure if a guy would know where to start, so I doubt he has 200-footer fantasies (…right?).
But it’s these 15-footer bitches, the ones on the cusp of reality, these are the ones we should fear.
So how do we begin the “15-footer resistance”?
Well…short of breaking into lingerie stories, stealing all the 15-footer hot-chick-posters, and replacing them with portraits of trolls, I just don’t know…
I guess I’ll keep thinking of an anti-giant solution, but in the meantime (just in case), I’m off to tie my hands and feet to the ends of my bed, to see if I can’t just stretch my way to new heights …
It was one of those mornings where I wished long and hard for a loyal monkey-butler. Yes…“home-delivered lattes”, what a dream…
