I must include the fact that this paper is not based on any real beliefs or proven truths. I do not mean to offend anyone living or dead. It is merely a sample of one's wandering creative imagination.

The Unvisionary.
Boobs, tits, breasts, hooters, bosoms, rack, knockers, melons, the girls, jugs, headlights and my ever so favourite name for these assets women are ever so proud of- chesticles. These are some of the few bulletpoints found when one makes a list of names for women’s boobs. And what came to my attention, looking at the creativity behind the creation, is that the people who came up with these names were probably men. We men are so engrossed in the pursuit for boobs that we never really stop to wonder why. Why must we be so obsessed with these extensions that women posses that we have industries- cosmetic, medical, fashion, fast food and also the entertainment, dedicated to them. Boobs probably contribute more to the world’s economy than the owner’s profession themselves. Unless of course the owner is a pornstar, then she just takes her work home and that becomes a cottage industry. But never mind that.
From the age of about 10, boys can’t help but look when a girls cleavage is showing even the slightest bit, in the compulsive hope that you might just see the bullseyes themselves. Hundereds, maybe thousands of men have lost their jobs for sexually harassing a co worker. The sexual harassment- peeping. I for one hate when girls have stuff written on the fronts of their t shirts, it’s always colourful and eye catching. So you look, only to be slapped and called a pervert. Who the fuck told you to wear shit like that then you jackass?!
Everyone has their own definitions of the sexual bases. For me, second base is getting into the shirt. This process of our sexual advancements and developments has a whole level, devoted to boobs. If you had already managed to complete this base by then, the rest of the seventh grade boys thought of you and treated like you a love guru, their very own cupid with bow and arrow with the little heart at the end.
How does playing with woman’s glands stimulate us at all? At all? It’s all conditioning. We as young boys were conditioned to be unconditionally and quintessentially in love with the curvature of women’s tits. And for some reason, the bigger the better. In my opinion, woman hate their boobs. I imagine them to be highly inconvenient and cumbersome. It’s like extra baggage at the airport, you have to lug it around everywhere, people will want to help you but are too scared and the ones with extra baggage themselves look at you and sympathize, just so that it’s all manageable you have to invest in some sort of support, when you sit down to take a nap or something, it’s always getting in the way and while walking people keep bumping into them, sometimes unbuckling the support and everything just falls out.
Women are just too egotistical to admit to the hatred. They’re in denial. They say they love them! Okay maybe when they get their boobs fondled, that might be good for them. What about the fondlers? How in god’s name, does palming those gelatinous bags do anything for us physically? There is no actual stimulation if you think about it. Just the idea of playing with the boobs is what arouses us mentally. It’s all part of our conditioning. We relate stimulating the girl’s nipples to girl getting aroused; girl getting aroused is related to return of stimulation. Thus playing with her boobs indirectly arouses us in anticipation and thus suffices. We get jacked off in our subconscious. Do you ever see women playing with man boobs? No. They find them revolting. Unlike first and third base, in second base, there is only one recipient. If women liked moobs (man boobs), there would be equality in the reception in all three bases.
It’s not only the visionaries who cause revolutions, it’s the unvisionaries. They people who don’t look at the issue, they look away from the issue. I am an unvisionary. I look away from the boobs. I swear upon the shirt on my back, that what’s under hers doesn’t mean anything to me. The ausies have it right, it’s all about being down under.