Breasts are not sexy

I think the Facebook Cheesy Sidebar Advertising algorithm is truly corrupted when it comes to prefabricating ads that would allegedly interest me.

One item I see a lot on my wall’s sidebar are ads for very bad dating websites and for apps that promise to help you hook up with a fantastic one night stand you can dote on years into the future when you’re alone and desperate and forced to rely solely on your glorious memories for succor and release. First of all, this ad is nonsense. It has nothing to do with me because I never use apps on Facebook, and surely not on my dumb phone which can barely handle the most rudimentary texting, much less some portable condensed computer program. I have some apps on my Smart TV but that’s the extent of their presence in my tech life. Facebook apps are dumb and dating apps are the lamest of all. Nothing can so powerfully epitomize such a debased level of self-consciousness loneliness, except perhaps a round of desperate speed dating at the local Holiday Inn.

And the sidebar ads I see on Facebook that concern meeting women always highlight images of chicks with the biggest damned tits in the world. I mean huge. These are plastic freaks of nature, these girls in the Facebook dating ads. That’s another failing of the Facebook algorithm: I am not a tit guy. At all. Breasts do very little for me. If the ads showed a pair curvy legs or ghetto blossoming hips, I might be awed.

The latest empty appeal to my non-existent breast fixation was this ad tonight:

Ahem. There is nothing “single” about this girl. What the hell. How am I supposed to find that arousing? I don’t. She is top-heavy and disproportionate and I don’t understand the stimulation. She is cute enough. But I need to see the lower half of her body. That’s the half I live for. I worship the ass, the waist, and the legs. These are the essence of woman. Breasts are stupid. They say nothing of a woman’s allure. Breasts are cheap entertainment. Breasts are the McDonald’s french fries of women’s physique. Vastly entertaining, palatable to most and enthralling to the least discerning.

Still, this chick’s breasts are unmistakably tantalizing. It’s difficult to pretend otherwise, even for a leg guy like me. Look at those flesh mountains.

This poor girl looks like she’s going to burst. Explode in a hail of saline flak. Look at her face, it looks like she’s doing her best to harden that smile and not fall into a fit of agonized groans. She’s trying to maintain a pleasant expression while the upper portion of her torso sways under the oppressive weight of fleshy lopsidedness. She’s going to topple over. Either that, or float away on the wings of those twin hot air balloons anchored to her chest.

Well, boobs are great and all, but I think it’s only because of the civilized White man’s fixation with boobs that they have become so rampant in commercial American culture. I’m a Third Worlder at heart. I’ll gladly take a pair of those sumptuous Jennifer Hudson hips for the road. Over fake boobs any day.

Now that is something a real man can sink his teeth into. Over-cerebralized and self-conscious refined engagement of the female physique leads men to dote over breasts. Men who submit to the primal, horny, base nature of their sexual urges love hips and asses. A White western man would fall in love with a praying mantis chick as long as she had big tits. The same man considers a woman like Jennifer Hudson fat while men of color lust after the curves and shadowy textures of a woman.

Anyone can have big breasts. I want to see what else they got!