(This last issue of the State Press Magazine is a mock version of the campus daily, the State Press. All names, quotes and events are fictitious. Read it for fun or not at all.)
Move over fake-boobed bimbos, cause' my breasts are real and they're fabulous!
That's right. I know it might be hard to tell, what with their perkiness and all, but honestly, there's nothing fake about these girls.
I don't need some doctor to inject some fake substance into these babies. I mean, look at them! They're big, beautiful and bountiful. No one's going to tell me what to do with my body. No siree, I'm more secure with myself than that.
If some hoochie with plastic patooties is walking down the street and gives my breasts a nasty look, I smile to myself because I know she's just jealous. She couldn't get what I have naturally. She had to shell out thousands of dollars just so she can bounce around with the best of'em.
Well, guess what? I get to do that for free every day, because my breasts are 100 percent au natural.
You want to touch them? No, really, go ahead. See if you can tell the difference between those hard, cold, fake boobs, and mine. Mine are soft, pliable and oh so inviting. Mine won't hurt your hand when you squeeze them, and mine aren't in danger of springing a leak...unless, of course, I'm lactating.
Oh my god, I can't believe I just said that! But it's true ya know.
It's no secret that I have big boobs. Everybody talks about them. They don't think I can hear them, but I'm no fool, I hear the whispers. I'm really not trying to brag or anything, but when I go out, guys can't keep their eyes off of Rasheeed and Lakeefa.
What? Oh, those are my breasts' names. I thought they sounded very "real" and "urban"...just like my breasts!
Anyway, when I go out, guys, like, can't take their eyes off of my chest! I try to tell them, "um, I do have eyes, pal," but they just keep staring and staring.
But secretly, I don't mind, because I know that they know. They know that my breasts and real and they're fabulous. They know that a handful of me is much more satisfying than a handful of...not me...of someone with fake boobies.
I used to be self-conscious about my boobs. Everyone around me was getting plastic surgery. But I stood strong for what I believe in. And what I believe in is that my breasts are totally fabulous. And they're real. And they're fabulous.
For the love of all that is holy, will somebody please get us some silicone in here! Please!!!!
We've been attached to this nimrod for a good 10 years now, and ever since we starting growing (i.e., she starting pulling on us with suction cups in the fourth grade), we've known what we must do.
We may be real, but we are not fabulous by any stretch of the imagination. What we need is a doctor, a.s.a.p. to inject the fakest substance he has into us babies so we can be big and bountiful and perky for once.
No one's going to tell this girl what to do with her body because they probably think it's a lost cause already. Just look at us! This chick is only 21 years old and we're already saying hello to Mr. Bellybutton.
She can't lie flat on her back or we get lost in the sea that is her armpits, and whenever she goes braless...mighty all mercy, the horror, the horror!
Oh, and by the way, in order to make us lactate, you have to get pregnant, which means you have to have sex, which means somebody has to get close enough to us to want to see the other goods, and sista, that ain't happening with your shoddy game plan.
Every time some woman with surgically altered breasts walks down the street, this idiot arches her back and tries to makes us look bigger than we are. She sticks them practically in the other chick's face, so of course, she's gonna give us a pissed off look. What does this fool expect?
She thinks that people are whispering about how great we are? Ha! We wish. What they're really saying is that they've seen a better pair on their dad. Man, that one always hurts.
Maybe we wouldn't be migrating south for the winter if she wouldn't bounce up and down so much to prove a point. She puts a damn trampoline in front of the house just so she can show people how pliable and bouncy we are. We're breasts for God's sake, not a flying circus show!
Sure, we may be soft and inviting...to a stray, blind kitten. But trust us, no hands have come near our areola in ages...not since she insisted that we be called those ridiculous names, Rasheed and LaKeefa.
In fact, we'd like to apologize for any harm we may have caused. Especially to any guy who has had the pity of seeing us in a halter-top. We try to convince her otherwise. One of us tries to deflate while the other one sits lopsided, just so she can get the hint that we're not worthy of being displayed, but she's just too dense to notice.
Oh, and we've got news for you missy. Those guys aren't staring at us because we're beautiful. They're staring because they can't believe that someone with such saggy, unattractive breasts is flaunting them as much as you are. It's sort of like looking at a bad car accident or a gaping flesh wound...you know it'll give you nightmares but you just can't turn away.
You should be self-conscious of us. Everyone else is getting plastic surgery, so why do you have to be so damn stubborn? Get us some freaking silicone over here, or...or...we don't know, we'll grow a third nipple or something. But knowing you, you'd probably get it pierced and show it off like the tramp you are.
Man, won't somebody get us some silicone?
Reach the author at ashlea.deahl@asu.edu
