Look at me. Look at me just poking right out of my owner's shirt right there. Tell me you don't want to steal a quick grab. You know you do. Some people may disagree with this, but I say if you're out and about and there's a boob like me out there for the grabbing, YOU GRAB ON AND YOU DON'T LET GO.
Someone once wrote that a baseball is the perfect object for a man's hand. Yeah well, whoever wrote that really needs more titties in his life, because ain't nothing in the world that fits a man's hand better like a soft, squishy funbag. Real, fake, rebuilt after mastectomy … it doesn't matter. Feels good to feel ANY boob, doesn't it?
Remember the first time you got a hold of one of us? God, you just wanted the moment to last forever, didn't you? So soft … so warm … so bouncy. Don't you just want to jam your face between me and my friend to left and sing the National Anthem? I would if I were you, because BOOBS ARE FUCKING NICE.
And we're always on display! Especially during these lovely spring months. We get hoisted up into bras, stuffed into tube tops, strapped into bikinis… We have more decorations that a fucking Army general's uniform. We yearn to be touched … LONG to be touched. Preferably by a complete stranger! One who's drunk, and has no trace of self-effacing charm!
I believe it was the famous breasticist Drexl Spivey who said, "I ain't as pretty as a couple of titties." And it's true. Nothing's prettier than two of me mashed together and put on display two rows down from where you're sitting. We were designed by God for touching. We need it. We crave the violent embrace of a complete stranger. It lets us know we're alive, dammit! It's okay to pat a new dog walking down the street, is it not?!
So if you see me at the stadium next weekend, out and about, you go right ahead and feel me up. You can even ask to see me in full beforehand, if you like. It's what we were made for! But I wouldn't take the same approach with the ass. They got a whole different set of policies.