Tits and Bigfoot

I feel like this blog post title should win a goddamn award.  If someone wants to nominate me, feel free. 

So this post is going to be a collection of completely random shit from my life.  First, the Tits: 

Who is losing sleep over having a great rack?! Not me, son.

All right.  What the good fuck is going on here?!  “My boobs… they’re so HEAVY!  I wish I had something large and uncomfortable to shove between them.  That’ll help.”  And it’s so judgey – C cups and larger ONLY, ladies.  Makes you wonder if there is a guy on the phone when you order to verify that you got big knockers.  I have more than a handful myself, kids, and I can’t fathom the purpose of the damn thing.  How is wedging cock-shaped plastic between your Girls going to help you sleep better?  If I needed a huge brown and pink wanker between my ta-tas ALL NIGHT LONG, I’m pretty sure my husband would volunteer his services.  

Apparently, it’s called a “Kush” and you can see a close-up and read the hilarious customer reviews here.  

So, this can’t be a real thing, with a real purpose, in any case.  It’s gotta be some kind of sex toy in disguise, right?  Yet… just a few pages later…. 

Quite a selection, you must admit.

 

My doorbell just don't require this level of ringin'

So they’re clearly not shy about selling clitoral massage pumps.  “Gentle suction” my ass.  And look at that lady bottom right, holding the blue vibrator to her throat.  Someone give that bitch a map, some GPS, something.  She is a bit north of her intended destination, I feel.  My favorite comment from the reviews online:  “The suction thing hurts!”  Bwahahaha!  I fucking bet it does.  But you can’t really claim that you didn’t know what you were getting into.  That is an explicit little mechanism, pal.  See close-ups and read more hilarious reviews here. 

But such a selection means, terrifying as it may seem, that the titty shelf is foreal.  *sigh*  This is why the rest of the world hates us, America.  There are starving African babies and we’re inventing boob balancers.  

No lie, this is all from a catalogue called “Solutions: Products that Make Life Easier.”  It’s like getting SkyMall at home.    

Now this, gentle readers, is from my honest-to-god local news channel.  I cannot even make this shit up.  This is where I live.  Fucking brace yourself: 

 

Not only do I live within miles of people who foreal believe in Bigfoot, but apparently they kinda have a tween-girl crush on him: “He had beautiful hair!”  

Also, in case you missed it while rolling on the floor in your own urine just now, the newscaster’s name is Neill McNeill.  What a fucking douchebag.  At least Mr. I-tell-Bigfoot-to-Git-and-he-Gits hasn’t got a ridiculous name.  Well, not that we’re aware of.  Yet. 

That’s your weekly Southern update, friends.  As the 4th of July approaches, I just thought I’d take the time to examine what makes this country great:  Tits and Bigfoot.