Wouldn’t you love to have a pair of juggs so huge, so flabbergastingly titanic that, were you to somehow be transported (topless naturally) to Rwanda, the native Ubangi would go “Jesus Christ, somebody pick up a phone and call fucking National Geographic…NOW!” ?

Of course you would. Who wouldn’t?

I mean, if I had a set o’ cans that big, I’d go bra-less and wear nothing but a damp wifebeater every day.  At work, I’d ice down my baby-penis-sized nipples and then scream “what the fuck are you looking at?” at every guy who even looked sideways at me as I spontaneously nursed on myself in the cafeteria. The trunk of my car would be outfitted with a mobile “car wash kit,” so I could suds up and wash my windows with my tits at a moment’s notice.

Errrrr…..anyway….I understand the fascination with massive breasts. With huge tits, you can get pretty much anything you want. To put it mathematically, tits=power. With power you can get money. With money you can buy bigger and bigger tits.  With bigger tits, you can acquire that much more power.

See how this works?  The only thing that doesn’t make sense is why Pandora Peaks isn’t the Benevolent Boobed Overlord of Earth by now.

There are only two ways to attain these magnificent power magnets.  You can either grow them naturally, like marijuana.  Or you can pay exorbitant sums for someone to give them to you, coincidentally also like marijuana.

If someone tells you there’s a third way, like using pills, creams or, god forbid, manual manipulation and massage that only they are qualified to perform, then put your shirt back on and get your A-cups out of there immediately.  The only exception to this is if the guy has an official “Federal Breast Inspector” badge.  Everyone knows those are legit.  Well, at least mine is.  I was (ahem) deputized by F. Stanley Gazonga, head of the FBI’s Breast Inspection Program. Don’t try to research it, it was… ummm… a shadow department, top-secret, very hush-hush.  It’s a rabbit hole you don’t want to start down, believe me.

Do a quick google search for breast enlargement pills.  The first thing you’ll notice is that they are all herbal, which is like code for “does absolutely nothing.”  Second, almost every one of them includes the claim that their pills will give you  “a fuller, firmer more beautiful bust line.”   Notice it doesn’t say anything like, “These pills are guaranteed to jack up your sweater hams three bra sizes.”  They can’t say that, because they can’t do it.  And third, the brand names of the pills are totally fucking ridiculous.  Do you really think a supplement called Chestanol is actually going to work?  How about Mammonite or NaturMam?

Ok, I think I’ve proved my point. I’ve got to go. It’s time for my Cockaphen treatment.  No wait…that’s not right.  Today is Dongadil.  Ooops, don’t want to mix up my meds and wind up with a three foot long cock!  That would just be embarassing!

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