Light and hearty observations from a fat and ugly guy. Home of hackneyed drivel and ersatz-existentialist effluence. Choleric biliousness a specialty, since 1958.

A valentine to wife #2, may she rot in hell

Back when I was first married to my second wife (who was shall we say challenged in the ta-tas department), she comes out of the shower one day staring at her chest. Conversation goes like this:

Wife: My tits are too small. I want them to be bigger. Can you pay for implants?
Me: No way. But I heard of a home-made way to make 'em bigger.
Wife, suspiciously: Oh yeah? How?
Me: Take two pieces of toilet paper, wad 'em up, and rub them up and down your cleavage, between your breasts.

She looks at me like I've lost my mind.

Me: Really. It was in Scientific American!
Wife: Well....I'll try.

So she does. Up down, up down.

Wife: How long do I have to do this?
Me: According to the article, it takes some time. Years. But keep at it; they'll grow.
Wife: You really think that rubbing toilet paper between my boobs for a period of years is going to make everything bigger?
Me: Why not? It worked for your rear end.

posted by Nigel St.John Regina Smegmatica Howle-Raines @ 4:05 PM