“Gravity” by John Mayer begins to play as soon as a girl unhooks her bra and takes it off in slow motion.
Don’t make fun of girls who have one breast that’s bigger than the other. And don’t make fun of girls who only have one breast. In fact, don’t make fun of girls. Also, don’t make fun of anyone. And another thing, don’t make fun. Last, don’t make. Oh and don’t.
A funny thing about boobs.
Before you see them, in all of their nippley-glory, there’s so much wonder to them, which is a part of what makes them so wonderful. You try to imagine what they look like, or how big they are, or their shape, and how gravity affects them, and what the feel like…
And then you see a picture of them. This removes some of the initial wonder, but there’s still so much left to the imagination: So many more senses untouched.
But after you see a girl’s boobs, they’re just… they’re boobs. I mean, the first time is great, but after that, it’s like they’ve lost a bit of their glamour. They’re still boobs, which is great, but they’re no longer new.
It’s the saddest phenomenon on Earth.
Why are they so complicated.
What the hell.
I didn’t want to solve a multivariable equation every time I wanted to see some tits.
I don’t want to leave the bra on.
I don’t want to look like an idiot.
Life shouldn’t be this hard.
Whoops. Didn’t do it yesterday.
“Who was the last person you texted? Write a five line poem to that person.”
It’s strange: What we could have is special.
A love that will change the mindset of the masses.
Unfortunately, it would seem that it would never be
Only because you seem to be attracted to candy-asses.
Can I still touch your boobs?
There are many things that come with being a girl. While most of those things are downright terrible and would not be wished by me upon my worst enemy, there are some silver linings to being a female.
Or, at least one that I can think of.
From dealing with shallow jerk guys, to periods that happen once every month for a few days, or so I’ve heard, not being able to find bras that properly fit, never being asked to the prom, and to pregnancies, there is one reason that I would deal with being a girl. At the very least, I wouldn’t complain about anything else, because I’m not a whiner, and I know that no one cares about my cramps.
I’m talking, of course, about purses.
There are so many opportunities where I wished that I could carry a lot more but don’t have the space in my pants pockets and don’t feel like carrying a backpack around. But with a purse, I can be stylish and lug pipe bombs around whenever I feel like it. With a purse, I always have a weapon. I mean, I could just carry bricks around, and whenever some skank talks bad about the dress I happen to be wearing that day (most likely just because she’s jealous of my femswag), I could just swing my 30 lb. bag and knock her fat ass out.
Or I could just carry my entire Pokemon card collection around, on the off chance someone wanted to battle.
Or I would carry a small animal in my purse. Not like a puppy, or a kitty, or something lame like that. I’d put a miniature giraffe in my purse. It would be named something like Barker, or Shades. Yeah, Shades. And he’d have his own little pair of sunglasses that matched mine. But this is obviously impossible right now because I don’t have a purse because I am not a woman.
And don’t give me that crap about “European shoulder bags” or whatever. Men should not wear purses. That is a woman thing. Next thing you know, we’ll be shoving little clothy pickle-shaped things in our penises and pulling them out covered in blood sorry for that visual.
I would also carry my ukulele wherever I go, only because I co