When I grow up, I wanna be a Boobie Buff, a Mammary Maven, a remote guesser of womens’ bountiful breasts (although, admittedly, sometimes the bounty is more of a famine) just like this guy.
I already gleefully, openly, fastidiously and totally without any couth whatsoever (and shame–I seem to lack that, too) visually take in the beauty of the bewitching bosoms I see walk by every day (not by themselves, mind you–although it’d be a funny moment to see tits treking by their lonesome), but it’d be better if I could get paid for it.
All I’m saying is that if I ever quit the techie world, I now have a newer, better, more immature career path ahead of me, ready to be carved out. G’bless never growing up.
Yet the latest on my list of things I’d pay to see. Do you mind flash photography?
Gorgon Heap: I wonder, though, if the Fatties O’ Fun are leaning toward the heavier side because they’re churning some natural moo-juice, would the mixed smell (now fortified with nine essential vitamins and laiche) throw me off? Could I compensate, you think?
What if I’m lactose-intolerant? Would my nose rebel (in defense of my stomach) and report back inaccurate results?
So many questions. I need to be a breast scientist!
Being a man, I’m obviously biased in my opinion that, when it comes to ruling the world, there are certain advantages to being equipped with a a purple-helmeted flesh soldier, but I’m afraid that when it comes to cutting a swath through the myriad of research (and development, if I can figure out how to make that happen) career choices, I’d much rather stick to focusing on the “Dirty Pillows” of the world.
Although, admittedly, should I find myself in the position of professionally hunting for misplaced “peepees” (see: King Missile and their ode to AWOL willies everywhere), I’d get a kick out of being called a “Ding-Dong Dick.”
Or howabout “Long Duck Dong?”
Anyway, I think we are onto something with the concept of “breastolfactology.” Imagine the doors this amazing science will open in the future. And the blouses.
