Careful. My current Doper-crush is totally unrequited. A girl asking another girl to get the girls out is just the kind of thing to distract me from…
Oh, shiney!
runs away
- Expose breasts to NYC
- Take breasts on world tour
- Profit!
BTW, I am highly offended by the google ad for the website to find sexual predators in your neighborhood. It was an accident, google! Cut me some slack!
[N8’s wife]All the off-broadway shows that cruise through Indianapolis and you take me to see this?[/N8’s wife]
Denver! Put Denver on the tour! And none of those understudy touring casts, either – we wanna’ see the original stars of the show.
I think you mean underwire touring casts.
- Season tickets to …
… ok, I’ll stop with that one now.
Maybe.
So nobody other than MissMossie and myself have an embarrassing story? It doesn’t have to be breast related, you know…I’m fine with non-boobular stories.
Hey, have you seen tomorrow’s New York Post page-one story? Boob-tastic!
In my early teens, I was swimming in the Atlantic with Marian, a friend of my sister’s who was about five years older than me. Marian hadn’t done much ocean swimming before. She got caught in the surf and rolled a few times, then came up, spitting saltwater, disoriented but unhurt. She didn’t notice - until I tactfully pointed and turned away - that her breasts had popped out over the top of her swimsuit.
Marian blushed all the rest of that day, bless her.
I guess the rest of us aren’t. 
None of this good stuff ever happens in Queens
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with boobies, whose too-big shirt
Has imprisoned lightning, and her name
Pbbth. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin tities frame.
“Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your boobs, your tits,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The bouncy bouncies of your teeming shore.
Send these, the gonzagas, wet t-shirted to me,
I lift my shirt beside the golden door!"
Echoing the sausagefest thread, the world tour would need to be named Mammorama.
Dear Og. That was brilliant.
I think my brain just seized up.
The exact thing happened to me–in the Pacific–on my first trip out to visit my new college boyfriend in CA. I noticed right away, but I didn’t catch my balance before a bunch of people got an eyefull, I’m sure. I made all subsequent swimsuits were actually designed for swimming.
When I leave work today I am going to safety pin the bottom of my shirt to my pants to prevent a repeat of yesterday’s performance. Stupid clothes being all big and not shrinking along with me!
I know I’m a male and everything, so I don’t know any better, but try washing them (the clothes that is), in hot water. I’ve managed to shrink a few tees and socks so they fit a bit better
Tossing them in a hot dryer shrinks them even faster.
But–the trouble with shrinking clothes on purpose is that they never shrink in the dimension you’d like. Try to shrink the gapping waist of a pair of pants, and you’ll find the legs are now capri-length. Try to shrink a loose shirt, and you’ll find the sleeves are now elbow-length and cutting the circulation to your hands, while the torso is as baggy as ever.
Sooner or later, you always end up spending money–either on a new wardrobe, or on a good tailor to take in the old clothes. Unless you learn to do your own tailoring.
Well, with my body shape*, any shrinkage (clothes) is an improvement. Doesn’t matter what I dress in, the end result looks like an under-filled sack of spuds :eek:
- swap my face with my ass, and I could fill in for a baboon
(they are the ones with the red butt cheeks aren’t they?
Well, not a boobular story, but kinda emabarrassing.
Yesterday I had to call around for references on our job candidates (professor position). I left messages for most people as they were, naturally, working in the middle of the day.
In the middle of listening to a department dean’s loooong voice message, my mind drifted off a bit and I was unprepared for the “beep.” My message came out something like:
“This is Dr. Professor Jennshark of Literature University. Whoops, I mean Professor Jennshark from the Lit dept at ABC University. I’m calling to ask about <insert wrong candidate’s name>; please call me back at <I gave totally wrong number>.”
The call back:
"Ha, ha, sorry about that message. I’m actually calling about <gave correct name of candidate>. I can be reached at <gave phone number>.
I then panicked that I had transposed the phone number’s last two digits (it’s a new number).
Call back two:
“Wow, you must think I’m an idiot. The correct number is <presumably correct phone number>.”
By then I was embarrassed and started talking faster, which resulted in garbling my name again at the end of the third message.
Smoooooove!
That was YOU!?!?!
Two warm spoons come to mind.