Sheep need to know what the pre occupation you humans have with boobs? Men, they are just part of the anatomy. They did not discover penicillin, have not found the cure for cancer or aids. They are just boobs. Bertha likes to flaunt hers, the dog likes to ogle them, and Henrietta cannot seem to keep hers from following her as she walks.
But you men, oy, you see cleavage and you smash your cars, get whip-lash, chip a tooth, and don’t get me started on the blow up dolls. If they could run for office I am sure they would be elected to high office. They cannot speak multiple languages and yet they speak volumes without saying a word.
What is this power they have over people? Why are humans so obsessed with them? If they get too large, clothes do not fit properly and women are seen as hussies. If they are too small, people just look at them pathetically and look away. If they are fake, people assume you are vain, and have emotional issues. Can they think? No. Do they type? Hell No. Can they drive a car, smoke a cigar and ride a stripper pole? Yes and No. Bertha insists they help her hang on for dear life. Why is it the dog and I do not disagree with that? Scary.
Then there is the double standard. Isn’t it time we start treating men the way they treat women? Ladies, can’t we start giving men’s ratings. Henrietta says we need to give them a harsh evaluation. One set might not be as perky as the others, that one is laying too flat, another is lopsided. If we did this, perhaps women would not need to worry if theirs measure up. We could do the same with other male parts as well. The dog is looking down and worrying if his are even? We will never tell.
There are songs attributed to boobs, ads, movies, clothes, non clothes, and hell, why not just give them their own holiday? Make it one big boobaramma. Bertha likes that idea. She says she is in, will flaunt them every chance she gets. That has us worried. Such drama over boobs. Will it ever end?