My Breasts Are Weapons Of Mass Destruction
My husband is a boob man, so I wasn’t surprised when he came home and asked me to google a gal he’d heard about on the radio. “She can whack a watermelon with her breasts!” he said with the excitement of a 5th grader. Having seen no one go after the fine vined fruits with anything but a sledgehammer [thanks Gallagher], I had to get an eyeful. And boy, did I.
At the tippy-top of the YouTube list, there she was, with her enormous, engorged melons [both kinds]. And in front of God and Steve Harvey [wtf?] she proceeded to bounce her boobs off of one until it split into enough slices to feed all of the Duggarts [are they still counting after 18?].
That wasn’t enough for us. There had to be more. And there was, a booby brewhaha. She forced her cans onto can after can of what appeared to be Foster’s lager. And they exploded. So did we, with laughter. Beer me.
Look her up. Then find the God-given talent of your own pair. Who knew our breasts could provide this kind of flair?