Thursday, January 10, 2013

Blog post #2 in which I drunkenly wax rhapsodic on breasts of men and Martin laughs at me

I'm sorry but these puffed up chests that men have these days hold little sway over my imagination. I like them lean and mean. Built to last. These bulked up statues, swelled like they have had implants, you can have them. I like a man that looks like his body has been shaped by what he does. Don't get me wrong, the Abercrombie and Fitch boys are good for 18-year-old girls and gay boys but I like tits when they’re on a woman. And sorry, but I like makeup when it’s on a woman. And I've come to like my women in recent events. But seriously, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Fine, if you’re fucking +Eddie IzzardI’m your humble servant. But here it is. 

I like men in makeup. 

But I like it when the makeup is on purpose. +RuPaul's Drag Race, I'm talking. There is no middle ground with makeup and men. Give me Mr. Izzard and I throw up the white flag, begging for mercy, quivering for more. However, hide it, and act like I can't see it like so much of the shit advertising out there and it’s like my pussy is on Ativan. And my pussy has been on Ativan long enough. 

Get pussies off Ativan!

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