Battle of the Bust

Suggested Audio Candy:


[1] Dr Dre & Ed Lover “Tootin’ on the Hooters”

[2] AC/DC “Whole Lotta Rosie”



After my recent P.U.B.E.S. post, I got to thinking what could possibly be next. There have been some requests for articles which focus on the male of the species but I need to work myself up to scouring the web for images of battered weinerwursts and uncracked walnuts so I have decided to compromise. Ergo, this will be a game of two halves. At the close of De Boobies you shall find a magical link which will take you directly to De Moobies. How’s that for throwing a bone?

tits_16ba4a_2149233For the meantime at least let’s unfasten those chalices and afford De Boobies the precious air they hanker after. I’ve dropped a couple of scantily scattered breadcrumbs about my own preferences. Should you have completed your assignments then you should be only too familiar what they might be. For those of you late to class I shall tease things out some, keep y’all on your toes. So, without further ado, here are all ten of De Boobies under the microscope.

#1 The Over Easies


Could my personal choice be the fried egg? I was taught as a boy that more than a handful is a waste and these particular boobies are living proof of that theory. There is precious little rise in these cupcakes, they lay dormant like work-shy grafts, offering no sense of perspective or hilly inclines. I call them snipers as they lay dormant in the long grass, carefully biding their time to fire out two solitary bullets, better known as the pigeon-chested pellets of penetration. That’s correct, they’re armor-piercing issue, regimented raspers which could take an eyeball out at the correct velocity. So we’ve ascertained that they are deadly but do they appeal to Keeper?

#2 The Adjustment Bureau


These cosmetically enhanced big rigs are fashioned at a cost and, what they gain in overbearing stature, they lose in malleability. Perched like a pair of concrete space hoppers at perfectly symmetrical coordinates, they have no intention of staggering southward and hold their own when unleashed at the beach. Where other breasts have a tendency to shift towards the armpits, these regimented babies stand firm at all times without so much as a shimmer. Surely it must be these right? After all, isn’t it right that women all crave the perfect breast? Negative, I’m happy to remain ambiguous with all other breeds but simply cannot continue without making my thoughts known on tampered titties.


I couldn’t be less enamored by enhancements as they’re simply no fun whatsoever. Where’s the movement? The personality? The interaction? And why don’t they look right? I understand that breast surgery is often necessary for medical reasons but, when it’s not, it feels too much like playing architect for my liking. For those of us not dealt a pair of aces from the offset; I do get it. However, I would rather have a pair of stunted voles than two dead ones as there’s something freakish about taxidermy if you ask me. You just cannot strike up a decent conversation without receiving a single word answer and, while that may satisfy the strong silent type, I’m left with little more than uncomfortable silence.

#3 The Kamikazes

Saggy Boob

In stark contrast, there’s nothing unnatural about the old stretch limos. Lugging these sloths around for any length of time is likely to necessitate a costly chiropractor or perhaps a bed of nails. They look set to capitulate at any given moment but, should they tear, then at least there’s plenty to share. Traditionally, the kamikazes take a number of years to pluck up the courage to drop from the skies but old age can be a bitch when you’re packing those DD’s. What begins with aluminium underwiring ends with them bruising bellies and ending up casting shadows on the genitals. I often wonder whether the anonymous lady whose titties popped up during the free-for-all panic station scene from Airplane is still so quick to flash her domes nearly forty years on. Once they would have fitted in hand luggage whereas now she likely has to tuck them under the seat in front and hope the flight attendants don’t take exception.

#4 A Day at The Races


Often refered to as greyhound’s ears, there seems to be an issue with weight distribution as it would appear that alloy ball bearings are having their say here. These breasts were cast aside during production and labelled rejects and I happen to take exception to such wasteful manufacture. So what if they’re imperfect? Isn’t imperfection a positive? I would argue so and fight their corner with great vehemence as, all things considered, they still have feelings too. Anyhoots, enough sentimentality, anyone for nipples? Time to use those zooms.

#5 The 2-D Craters


Should you have a cake to bake and remove it from the kiln before it has had sufficient time to rise then, chances are, you’ll deem it a failure. However, this is where Keeper begs to differ. You see, I have always been fond of inverted nipples, and find them most agreeable in fact. Sure, it would appear that the architect ran out of puff at a critical moment during inflation, but I find this lends them an exclusive charm. If you suspect a clue to my overall preference then I would urge you not to bolt the gate as I ain’t done yet. Just giving credit where it’s due.

#6 The Pointer Sisters


Also commonly refered to as nipples at dawn, our next liberally planted checkpoint beacons make marvellous cat cradlers as well as acting as pretty effective hat stands. Personally I have seen a running total of four of these fine specimens during my lifetime which breaks down into two pairs. My digits have mirthfully skipped hopscotch around them whilst their gladiators joust above on perky podiums. Could these be fleshy sentinels be Keeper’s carnal cuisine of choice?

#7 The Swollen Splurges


These nipples are all about blast radius and cover more ground than any of their counterparts without necessarily possessing the greatest mass. Time constraints during manufacture evidently left the little old lady at the end of the conveyor belt with the frosted icing bag a little under duress. As a result, these tainted scruffy scones are never destined to win best in show at the village bazaar. Once again, I take no umbrage to a little messy endeavor, and find them wonderfully expressive and willing to roam.

#8 The Tiny Tims


I possess miniscule nipples, so ickle in fact that having my right one pierced was the most excruciating moment of my entire life. Some ladies suffer the same fate but this is where I throw a cat amongst the parakeets just to keep things spicy. Such stunning precision, these unpretentious pin pricks are tailored by the most gifted spinsters ever to grace a sewing machine and inserted with both dab hand and unsurpassable attention for detail. Sure, they occupy two diminutive outposts, and can barely be seen in a snow storm, but they are first in the queue for fiber optic being fitted.

#9 The Teacher’s Pets


There’s always one smart Aleck in every lecture who knows it all and our next mammerial delights are the true factotum on this particular roster and able to turn their nipples at practically anything. Perfect in weight, circumference, spherical properties, areola placement, and free of unsightly hairs or moles, they’re regarded the crème de la crème of breasts and historically hang out at Hooters and other such establishments. Surely it could only be a flawless victory for the perfect breasts. After all, top marks from the judges is simply impossible to surpass right?

#10 De Moobies

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I couldn’t possibly leave the guys without a paladin to cheer for could I? Ergo, I present you the man breast. As you will see from the above mooby montage; they also come in a variety of shapes and sizes. Often these appear as a direct result of comfortable lifestyle and materialize around our mid-forties although certain more robust teenagers have been known to require underwire as a result of their breakneck emergence. I’m sure we’ve all seen the YouTube videos by now and there is admittedly something strangely hypnotic about these pendulums of terror. Having said that, I prefer my peaches fuzz-free so, if you’re looking for long odds, then how does 1,000-1 outsider grab you?

breastinshow breastinshow

Okay then Grueheads, all lines are closed and, if you’re calling from a land line, then I will remind you that your vote won’t be counted but you may still be charged. It will take a few moments to tally the results before we crown our jubilant jubblies. Special mention must go to any candidates that didn’t quite make the grade. Ordinarily, at this point, we would cut to commercials but I have decided instead to serenade you through the interim before clamoring for the crunch to our chesty conundrum. Thus, I bring you a quick word from our sponsor.


Well-Versed Frat Boy




Do I light up a match as I fart and I scratch?
Leave the door off the latch as I grab me some snatch?
Does my poo reek of rum as it spills from my bum?
That a callus on my thumb from excess solo strum?


Am I one of the jocks? Do I wear white gym socks?
Am I first out the box when I spot me a fox?
Can I swallow eggs whole? Score the winning drop goal?
Prod my prick through a hole thus revealing my mole?


Do I name both my balls? Beat up nerds in the halls?
Make a bunch of crank calls? Mike Hunt shortens you fools
Has my fish just been rumbled? My street cred now crumbled?
Credibility fumbled? Are these words merely bumbled?



Am I man or a mouse? An insufferable louse?
Wear my boots in the house? Stick my hand down your blouse?
Do I empty my cart then roll over and fart?
Or am I dude that invented the shart?


And what about titties? Do I think them quite pretty?
Do I loiter topside or dash straight for the clitty?
Could a prominent nipple be my favorite tipple?
Do I like them quite firm? Or prefer them to ripple?


Does one not understand? My intentions are grand
I’m your Keeper no less Caviar crossed with spam
I am brash I am coy I protect and destroy
As I stand before you just a well-versed frat boy



The wait is finally over Grueheads, here is our hostess with the golden envelope, and I will now reveal the victor, as it is high time the thoroughbred bolts the paddock. My preference is this: any of the above (with the exception of Moobies) are fine and dandy with Keeper. Preferably untampered but otherwise I’m easier than Sunday brunch. Whether the kind of burly boulder that would give Indy night terrors or the still life artwork of gnats matters not a jot in the grand scheme of things. I consider every booby to be sacred, each beautiful in their own right, regardless of circumference or any lopsided nipple placement. They’re just breasts after all. 51.9 of our population currently possess them and that’s just the ladies. When all is said and done; there’s really no great science.


Click here to read Beyond the Battle of the Bust





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