Manboob Monday #12: Furry Boobs

Better you never in your wildest fantasies, boys and lesbians, thought you’d be checking out such a lovely furry set of knockers?


Manboob Monday #11: Simon Cowell

Sorry that this week the boob is not bare but it’s worth it, I feel, just to have the opportunity to poke fun at wankers.


The Little Mermaid Wants, Nay, NEEDS a Vagina

Manboob Monday #10: The Former Mr Minelli

David Guest is just scary lookin’.  Isn’t it weird that Liza Minelli married someone who kinda looks like her?  Boobs and all.

David Guest Manboobs

What’s Stranger Than a Midget

Beer Guard DogWalking to work has been an interesting experience.   Ah, Sydney… the sights, the smells… the excitement… and the weird things you see.


Kent St.  A beer truck is being unloaded by a couple of big,  sweaty blokes.  Sitting on top of the 6-foot-high stack of beer cartons is a guard dog.  A teeny, little 1-year-old miniature poodle.  What the hell is that little tyke gonna protect them from?  Midgets?

Cute?  Indubitably.  Tough & scary?  No.



Speaking of midgets, saw one.  Ok that’s pretty unusual in itself sure… but this one was driving a car down Sussex street.   Stretchin’ his little legs out and pointing his little tippie-toes as far as he possibly can every time he has to brake… or accelerate.  Bless!


Still speaking of midgets… what could be stranger than a midget I hear you ask?  Well… picture a small chinese woman.  And by chinese, I don’t mean ‘asian’ – I can tell the bloody difference you know – I mean FROM CHINA.

So, small chinese woman.  Imagine her, really, right now, close your eyes if you really need to, just start imagining ok.   Black hair, indeterminate age, barely 5 feet tall and just generally all-round small.  So got a picture in your head?    Good.

Now, put DD cup boobs on that sucker.  I kid you not.  How does she stay vertical?  Walking down Kent Street with nary a care in the world.  Except her gigantic DD boobs of course.


Sighted a woman power-walking her way down George St.  Clearly she neglected to properly check the mirror as she walked out the door because she’s wearing her shirt inside out.  Bless her little oblivious socks.  It’s a long way from one end of George St to another and there are MANY MANY people along the way.  Hopefully one of them will be kind enough to actually let her know rather than point and laugh as I’m doing.

Crap.  Just realised.  The woman in question is me.

And no.  Noone let me know.  Realised after I got to work and looked in the mirror in the bathrooms.

People are scum*!

*Burgess, A. K., 2008, London.

Manboob monday #2: Run Fatboy

Lucky you!  It’s Manboob Monday again.   Well, bless this little porkchop for sharing himself with the world!  Clearly this is a chap who’s proud of his assets.  And frankly that takes a courage that’s… well, tinged with a little bit of crazy.  I’d tell you to prepare yourself but by now the page has fully loaded so it’s already here for your viewing pleasure (?).

They do look like a milk-producing moobs.  See, he’s trying to squeeze a little bit out for you right now, sweet lad!  Odd though, that one so well endowed in the breast area would be completely missing genitals?  You’d think that if you’ve got enough hormones running around to make boobs, you’d also have a correlatingly ginormous penis?  Stands to reason doesn’t it?  (And yes, correlatingly IS a made up word).

Because the bounce-o-meter will let you procrastinate for another 5 minutes

I honestly saw this and assumed it was a joke… really… the Bounce-o-meter… I can’t tell you my profound joy at being disproved…

Oh, did you think I was being clever and oh so witty when I called it the bounce-o-meter???  You can thank the folks at for that gem.

Thing is though, hilarious (tsk tsk) as it is, the bounce-o-meter is kinda pissing me off now.  Why? Because I want one.  One of their nifty brassieres I mean.

I’m 34 and a larger bosomed gal so I choose not to stand in front of the mirror and really examine how saggy my boobs may be – there are some things that best not to know. I can’t change it so I choose to ignore it but now, the fucking bounce-o-meter has got me thinking about the possibility, however remote, that my boobs, the one’s on which I’ve prided myself for many years, may no longer be exactly as great as I imagine them to be.

There’s no doubting they once were. Great.

Fucked if I can be arsed putting a whole lot of effort into examing the harsh truth… let’s face it, laziness clearly overrides any real desire to be perky. And you know, men will still be men (and lesbionics will still be lesbionics for that matter), they WILL still get looked at (the boobs not the men you imbecile)…

I choose to continue down the path of denial, thank you very much, so just stop judging me. Crack whore.