FAKE TITS: MY PLEASURE, MY PAIN....

I DID NOT RUN THIS THROUGH MY PROOF READER SO IF THERE ARE TYPO'S AND GRAMMATIC ERRS I'M SORRY.

Hello to the one reader who reads this..........

What actually happened, happened a while ago. But this is what happened...

My girlfriend or wife depending on how you look at it (more on this later) split up a bit ago. In a struggle to maintain my manhood I went on a mission to sleep with someone way hotter than my ex. Being that my ex, is pretty hot and she has the personality to back it, this would be a tall order. Also taking into consideration that I have about as much game as Nipolian Dynamite, this would truly be mission impossible.

I met this really nice girl at an 87 Stick-Up kids show and we ended up making out after literally a 1 minute conversation. When I say make out I mean two drunken fools essentially rubbing their open mouths together with uncontrolled tongue throttles to each other's throats.

In a fashion that puts even the most animalistic creatures to shame, I managed to get a hand or two on the boobs. In the heat of the moment I could not help but think that I wanted more than just a hand on those boobs.

After a very "power" make out session she gave me her number. Like the moron that I am I forgot to put her name next to it. So her number fell into the sea of numbers in my phone that have no identity connected to them. This is a true comment on my personal organizational skills, because there are many numbers that I have gotten way drunker than I was when I got that number that I have a name next to.

In short I was sure that I would never talk to her again. Because that would mean me going through all the "unknown" numbers in my phone and some half assed text message saying something to the extent of "Hey we made out the other day who is this?" For obvious reasons this can't happen.

Three or four days later I get a message from her on myspace. I'm not much of a myspace guy but once I see the photos on her page I know it's her. By the way my mom's name is Paige and I can't write any version of that word without thinking of her. I don't think that she's too proud of me right now.

We decide to meet up at a bar close to my house. We meet up, make out a little. Nothing to report really.

I ask her if I can make her dinner, she obliges.

A few days later I make her dinner. We were at the house and one thing leads to another and were making out on my bed. My shirt is off but her's is not! In the back of my head I'm thinking that this is not fare, if I'm going to show off my overly skinny body she should give me something. Like a boob!!!!

After deftly maneuvering her blouse and bra above her boobs, I feel vindicated. Moving in for the kill I get myself a hand full... And then it happens.

Her boob starts to disfigure and "explode". It was the most bizarre thing I have ever seen. I felt like I was making out with an alien or something. I could actually see the saline bag protrude from the side of her boob when I applied pressure to the boob.

Obsessed partially with a morbid fascination and partially from awe that I FINALLY was having my way with a set of fake boobs, I proceeded to kiss these boobs. All I could think of was that they were manufactured. There is nothing wrong with manufacturing an image. Shit everyone does it. Simply by getting dressed in the morning we manufacture an image. There really is very little difference between throwing on a pair of shoes on and getting a set of fake tits. Really the only difference is how permanent the decision is.

When a guy or girl looks in the mirror before they go out to bar to share drinks with people there are decisions made, such as I would rather look this way. There is no difference when you chose how you want your boobs to look.

Having said all that I could not help but wonder as those saline bags bulged from the side of her breast if she was going to look at me and say "you won't like me when I'm angry" and then she turns green and fucking whoops my ass...

That particular make out session ended and she went home.

We no longer see each other, we seemed to end it amicably but I am sure that if she were ever to catch wind of this blog I'll catch a pint glass to the side of the dome piece at some local spot.

In closing I would like to leave you with a few parting words and than a quote.

Fake boobs are not for me, they make a great look, but when we get down to the nitty gritty, they just don't cut it.

I'm type polite but now I'm lookin at her skeptically
Cause baby girl got all the right weaponry
Designer fabric, shoes, and accessories
Chinky eyes, sweet voice is (fucking) with me mentally
We conversated, made a laugh, yeah you know me bro
Even though I know the steelo, she wild sweet yo
I'm bout to merc, I say peace to the family
She hop up like "How you gonna leave before you dance with me?"

MOS DEF - MS. FAT BOOBY, I MEAN BOOTY...

Tarl