Rapier's Wit

If you're a long time reader of this blog then you know who Thelma and Louise are -- I'm not speaking about the duo played by Susan Sarandon and Gina Davis. Thelma and Louise are my chest dwelling friends. Like many men nickname their tallywackers, I named my breasts. I know a lot of women who have. Stop giggling! This is a serious matter. Who of you doesn't like to look at bare chests? This isn't limited to men (or women) who like to gaze upon breasts of all shapes and sizes. This includes male chests. Hairy or smooth, well defined or fleshy. There is a site that suits every desire in this realm. I often catch myself admiring a well defined set of shoulders and pectorals. What's most spectacular about this site is that it's for a noble cause: Raising money for breast cancer research!! Yes, in celebration of National Breast Cancer Awareness Month , the website Boobie-thon is doing such a thing. Real people anonymously exposing their pecs and funbags. A...

...are the eyes of a sword wielding, bodacious heroine!! Be wary if you're a heartbreaking baffoon! Look over your shoulder, asshats! The Rapier is ready to slice and dice you down to size. I received this as a birthday gift. It's absolutely kick-ass, don't you think? Gifts have been given to me in the past that were touching, thoughtful, pricey, etc... This artistic rendering of my alter ego instantly made me weep. With the exception of presents Mancub has made, I can't recall a time when someone put such a personal touch on a gift. For me. Exclusively. Not another one of its kind. It's all me; just for me. Me me memememememeeeeeeeeeeee! It's uncanny how spot on the body is in this drawing. Amazing! Yeah, my ass is so firm you could bounce Buicks off my butt. Mmmhmm. And that tiny waist. Yup. Me to a 't'. It's so close to the real thing that one might swear I posed for it. **giggle-snort** What has me even more thrilled is that I now have a...

Basically I am lacking in creativity. I'm also acutely aware that many of my readers (OK, the 5 of you that regularly visit) might have missed out on some of my proudest posts. I apologize to those of you who've read these previously. Who knows, maybe my shared thoughts about breasts and shopping for over the shoulder boulder holders have been painfully pushed to the deepest recesses of your minds. And now I am forcing you to have instant recall! (and recoil.) One of the reasons the subtitle to this blog involves "pursuit of the perfect bra" is due to my inability to find an ideal fit for my basooms. It's not rocket science, or is it? I don't think it's my fault that I am not able to find a brassier that fits comfortably and properly. Manufacturers are sadistic bastards. That's what! What made me think of these revealing tales was a test that I took on Facebook. Yes, those are not only major time sucks but they are completely and utterly (udder...

My wild girl's weekend to Savannah turned out to be, ironically, less that I had intended; yet, far more than I had anticipated. On that warm, October '01 afternoon when I started off on I-85 south, I had no clue what the next 3 months would deliver. I saw The Atlantic Ocean for the first time. I'd visited The Pacific, drove through The Rockies, trail blazed as a teen from Illinois to San Diego, but I had never been to The Atlantic side of these United States. My trip to Savannah, GA wasn't about sight seeing or letting the salty sea air spritz my face. I was on a mission to meet a man. A man whom I'd been communicating with for some time. I did meet up with a man who'd sweep me off my feet-- where I'd land on my back in a drunken dither. Blue Eyes and I quickly started communicating via instant messenger. I'm talking about the second I logged on when I got home that Sunday after I drove away assuming never to see him again...there was a message waiting...