You know, I have a solution for chics who get pissed when men notice their breasts: Let’s just cut them off. How would that be? Then you wouldn’t have to worry about men noticing your breasts, because they’d be in a bio-hazard bin somewhere, or incinerated.
Sounds like a great idea!
Men notice breast for two reasons:
- they’re men
- they’re alive
Heck, even my gay (I can still say “gay” here right? As long as I’m referring to a man who likes to have sex with other men, it’s okay, right? I’m not using it as an insult, I mean the guys are really, actually, in fact, and in all other ways, gay.) friends tend to appreciate the beauty in a well-rounded and nicely displayed bosum.
What’s the damage, ladies? Why are you so uptight? You have tits, they look nice. I like to look at nice things. Out of respect and common courtesy I won’t goggle at and drool over your fun bags, but if you expect me to stare you in the eye like some sort of neurotic, you’re in for a big fuckin’ surprise.
What’s the big deal? Are you going to say something lame like “Well, women don’t look at guys like that!”
A) Yes, they do.
B) We just don’t get all worked up over it
C) if we even notice, because y’all are sly about it.
Anyway, let it go. Please. This “sexual harassment” shit has gone too far, just like PC, just like welfare, just like affirmative action.
Like everything else in this coutry that started out with the best of intentions, it has been overdone and convoluted to the point that it’s nothing but a mockery or what it should be, and a royal pain the ass.
So please, pretty please, let it go.
Or, we can compromise:
I’ll stop looking at breasts when the 40-year-old divorcee with a dent where the Newport that’s grafted to her lip was removed for her weekly workout stops wearing enough perfume to kill a musk-ox while she’s hacking away through an issue of Cosmo one the bike next to me at the Gym, all the while smiling and grating at me about how we should go out or some shit like that.