Monday, April 13th, 2009
This chick is a little slice of tacky heaven. I used to watch Dog The Bounty Hunter, until it came out that they’re all a bunch of racist, N-word-dropping douchnozzles. But I gotta admit, I revel in this woman’s obscenely tacky taste. It brings me unprecedented levels of joy.
This big-titted bad ass is the poster child for trailer park chic. And let’s talk about those breasticles for a moment, shall we? Jesus take the wheel! I need to know how she manages to get out of bed in the morning with those things. On the show, she actually apprehends criminals – she runs, people. Runs! I’m surprised that doesn’t trigger some kind of natural disaster. Homegirl likes to rock intense V-necks too. If anyone was looking for KFC’s secret recipe – I’d check her cleavage. In fact, check her cleavage for anything that’s been lost in the history of time. Who the hell knows what she’s got stashed down there. Those are some bona fide Arethas.
If you can manage to take your eyes off her chest for a moment, you notice other little gems, like her fake platinum blonde hair extensions, the way she matches her eye shadow with her outfits and how she always wears those press on nails. It’s like she’s playing dress up, except she’s an adult and she really shouldn’t be trying to fit into her 6 year old daughter’s tops.
But hey, not everyone can get it right all of the time and some people get it right none of the time – of which, Ms Big Titted Terrible Taste Hunter, is one. May she continue to wear mini skirts and open-toed mules while chasing criminals and have her giant chest slap her in the face with each stride she takes.
Tuesday, September 9th, 2008
Thank God summer is over, because if I saw one more big breasted girl going braless, I would not be responsible for my actions. If you are bigger than a B cup, you can’t do it, plain and simple. Some C’s can get away with it, but if you’re bigger, you’ve gotta get you something to lift those puppies up and strap ‘em down. Nobody wants to see your saggy funbags flapping in the breeze. It can’t be comfortable to have them swinging around uncontrollably. And you obviously don’t realise it makes you look 10 pounds heavier than you actually are – why would you want that? I’m a small chested chick and I will live and die with padding and underwire. So you bigger girls should only set your funbags free in the privacy of your own home where they can’t hurt anyone, otherwise, when you’re running for the bus and get slapped in the face by your left tit, you have no one to blame but yourself.
The Whale Tail
Sometimes, a slight revealing of the knickers is unavoidable and accidental, shit happens. But if you’re wearing ultra low rise jeans and you sit down, you must be aware that the piece of dental floss you flung around your nether regions is peeking out the top of your True Religions and exposing half your ass cheeks. Ever heard of a boyshort? Or may I suggest a brazilian thong? But that tacky La Senza number, with the heart shaped rhine stones in the middle of your coccyx, well, it ain’t cute. And deliberately hiking up the sides of your G String so they hover well above the waistband of your jeans? Strippers do that – is that a breed you want to be associated with? But if you must insist on wearing a thong with a low rise pant, maybe just ensure that you don’t sit down or bend over. Ever.
I don’t care what kind of boxers you’ve got on, or how nice an ass you have fellas – pull your frikkin’ pants up. There are few looks more ridiculous than this. And when you choose to accessorize it with a Jesus piece and your pigeon chest, a la Lil Wayne, it has even less appeal. This entire look seems to be centred around the fact that you intend to spend 95% of your day pulling your pants up, just so they can sag back down to your mid-thigh five minutes later. You can’t win with this ensemble. Either you go for the looser boxer short and they mushroom over the top of your jeans, or you go for the boxer brief and your arse looks like two eggs in a hankerchief and you’re inviting a spanking. Hey, I have a crazy idea: hows about you just buy regular sized pants and a belt? Save yourself the constant pulling up of the pants and keep those plaid boxers, that came in a set of three (birthday gift from your mama, naturally) to yourself.
Monday, February 18th, 2008
So there’s this website, myfreeimplants.com, where chestily-challenged women raise money for implants by getting sad bastards, excuse me, kind gentlemen, to donate to the cause in exchange for pics, videos and a bit of online chit chat.
The philanthropy of some men knows no bounds. ‘Should I donate to AIDS research? Katrina victims? A homeless shelter? Hell no, there’s a girl in Modesto, California in need of tits!’
So all this got me thinking. I don’t need any boobs, I’ve got some. Sure, they’re no Arethas, but they’ll do. Though, there are other areas of my life where I could use a little assistance. My rent payment, for example, is kind of a pain in the ass. As a result, my shoe fund takes a kicking each month and that just ain’t right.
Maybe I could find some sad bastards, excuse me, kind gentlemen, to donate to my ‘Roof Over Head, Heels Under Foot’ foundation?
There will be no nude pics, videos or online chit chats in exchange for this. You’ll just have that warm, fuzzy feeling of selfless giving; making someone’s life/shoe collection better. And isn’t that what giving’s all about?
I’ve seen plenty of ads on Craigslist by sugar daddies looking to unload a truck load of their wealth on some fine young filly. And I’ve seen young girls advertising for someone to pay their rent. Obviously, none of this is taking place without sex involved in the equation somewhere. Or is it?
Ahh, sometimes I really wish I had it in me to be a gold digger, but I just don’t. I’ve got these crazy things called ‘morals’ and they’re always getting in the way.
But on the off chance that there’s someone out there who appreciates the ideology of ‘Roof Over Head, Heels Under Foot’ and would like to participate, on the understanding that there will be no sexual favors, ever, under any circumstances, as long as you live, then…HOLLA!
Wednesday, February 13th, 2008
I’d like to discuss for a moment, if I may, boobs. Specifically, these ones:
Holy mother of God!
Now lets pretend I’m not talking about Aretha, because it’s almost blasphemy to do so, but this titty situation must be addressed.
Do you see how that spaghetti strap is holding on for dear life? It defies the laws of physics how something so small can hold something so big. Each one of those puppies must weigh at least 20 pounds. Aretha wants R.E.S.P.E.C.T. Shit, how can you not respect someone heaving around 40 pounds worth of chest every day?
Just as I use the term ‘Olsen’ as a unit of weight measurement (based on the assumption that one Olsen twin is equal to roughly 75 pounds), I hereby christen boobs of this magnitude ‘Arethas’.
It takes a real woman to look at her fun bags (when they’re bone fide ‘Arethas’) and say to herself ‘I’m gonna forego the bra today and rock a spaghetti strap.’
For this reason, and so many more, Aretha Franklin, I salute you.
Law & Order: VFU (Void Filling Unit)
Man, I love me some Law & Order: SVU.
I have a tendency to get obsessed with certain TV shows. I’ve been obsessed with The Wire since the first season and while waiting for the latest episodes to be uploaded online, my attention has shifted to Law & Order: SVU.
I’m a fan of all the Law & Orders really. I especially like the ‘dong dong’ bell thing that signifies a new scene. I like to imagine it in my own life. Me waking up, ‘dong dong’, cut to me walking to work, ‘dong dong’ cut to me furiously tapping away on my computer. Maybe at some point, Ice T could pop up and arrest me or something.
I was into Law & Order: Criminal Intent for a while, but the main guy in that gives me the night terrors.
There’s just something about SVU. The Christopher Meloni/Mariska Hargitay combo is a winner. I like how he gets up in peoples faces and shouts during the interrogations and her, well, I just like how her hair changes every season. Though in real life, if female cops were as ridiculously good looking as she is, crime would soar ‘cause every perp would want to be arrested by her. (Do you like how I used the word ‘perp’? Yeah, I know, I’m all over this lingo).
But one of the main reasons I like SVU is seeing how characters from some of my other favorite shows pop up on there.
Christopher Meloni was on Oz, a previous obsession of mine. The priest and the crazy Nazi dude from Oz have both been on SVU as psychotherapists.
The guy who plays the judge on The Wire has appeared on SVU a couple of times. Cedric Daniels of The Wire was a doctor on SVU and also played an undercover cop on Oz. Are you following?
Maybe it’s just all about Oz withdrawals. When on earth will there be another show with excessive male frontal nudity? It’s been far too long.
I think I’ve pretty much exhausted the SVU back catalogue at this point. Those new eps of The Wire can’t get on the net fast enough.