October 2009 Archives
Cancer is an unfair, horrible, stupid thing. Breast cancer is no better or worse, but because of its insistence on affecting the women in our lives, gets a lot of attention in October. Some of the hoopla stems in part, possibly, from our breast-obsessed culture. Either way, this is something we can all believe in fighting.
The following list comprises juvenile, eighth-grade locker room names for bras. Besides being a 36-year-old teen-ager half the time, the main reason I compiled it was to fight breast cancer. I ask you, if you laugh out loud at least one of the nicknames, that you strongly consider supporting the fight against (breast) cancer either through the Komen Foundation, American Cancer Society or blogger-led Boobiethon 2009.
If you are offended by titular, somewhat offensive jokes about boobs, AVERT YOUR EYES NOW!!!!!!
For those still reading, I hope you will lift and separate the best from the rest ...
The List
Front-end Loader
Pop-up Blocker
Nip Gripper
Potato Sacks
Melon Bowls
Boob Tubes
Hooter Hammocks
Hooter Holsters
Tata Taj Mahals
Titty Cities
Titty Tents
Yes, M'ammaries!
Mama Mounders
Muffin Pans
Boob Socks
Mountain Mamas
Boob-a-pults
Rocket Launchers
Rock Socks
Boober Scoopers
Pointer Sisters
Stretchy Chesterfields
Close-knit Supporters
Sucker Shucks
Nipply Wonderboobers
Sponge Robert Square Breasters
Wireless Routers
Bust Dusters
Cleavage Cleavers
Valley Girlfriends
Bounty Quicker-Picker-Uppers
Magically Booba-licious
Hooter Shooters
Nipple Slippers
Nip Shippers
Nip 'N' Tuckers
Which one is your favorite?
Sadly, there doesn't seem like a good way to avoid the flu - "normal" or pig variety. The bug landed at my house and proceeded to visit all four of us. I am the last to get the full-blown version, as Little Z (aka "The Riblet") started taking Tamiflu at the first sign of fever.
He and I have been home the past few days, doing our best to recover. I'm feeling much better, nothankstothenastyflubug, and should be back to 110 percent by next week. That's the dream, anyway.
You know you're sick when you're a photographer to the core and don't even feel like touching a camera. But yesterday I whipped one of mine out just for grins. Z had found an orange marker and drew on his face, legs and feet (he loves the body art). He wanted a piece of cheese for a snack, so I give you this photo: "The Legend of the Falling Cheese."
Legend has it that the Cherocheese Tribe, which invented American cheese single slices in a bingo hall in Oklahoma, revered the golden wings of the foodstuff as a blessing sent from the fake-idol god Nacho Pichu. If a piece of cheese hit the ground (or the floor), an angel got its wings.
I am surprised and humbled at being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.
Huh?
What?
Crap. Never mind.
