( . )BEWBS( . )!!!: An Incoherent Ramble

"Absolute power corrupts absolutely." - Lord Acton

No other item, entity, group or belief has shaped the world with as much power, blind faith and cruelty as bewbs. From the moment the first set of bewbs was created, when God fashioned Eve from the rib of Adam, they have led to the destitution of many a man's soul. Do you think Adam would have been so quick to take that bite out of the apple if God did not endow Eve with a holy set of bewbage? Of course not! Throughout history, the ebb and flow of mankind's greatest triumphs and its lowest defeats have all been due to a single fundamental idea: I want BEWBS!!! So, what is the cause of this mass hysteria that abounds whenever bewbs are around? A few scholars have offered us some insights. One is the idea that man's infatuation with bewbs stems from being breast fed as children, resulting in a subconscious need to get back to the warmth and safety of our mothers' bewbs (if any of my readers are now picturing their mom's bewbs then Mission Accomplished). This idea is very oedipal and smart and would have Freud coming in his cigar box, no doubt, but I think there is more to it than that. I know that my own infatuation with bewbs started at a young age. I can remember being in kindergarten and living in Fremont, NE, sneaking my mom's JC Penny catalog into my room to look at the women's underwear section. I can remember watching an old VHS tape of the movie Bachelor Party so many times that it seems a competition was brewing as to which would break first, the tape or my wrist. I can remember being 10, and living in Columbia, IL, and finding a xerox box with my brother Dale full of my old man's Playboys from the mid-80's (Two quick side notes: 1. Dale and I had no reason to believe my dad had Playboys, though we had been looking for this El Dorado of bewbs for years. We were just always under the assumption that my dad looked like he would have nudie magazines. 2. As many of you probably know, Dale is not my brother's real name. He requested that his name be left out my blog. Does this make you happy, Josh Dale?) A large chunk of my prepubescent and adolescent years were spent thinking up ways, any way, that I could see bewbs. At that point in my life, actually feeling a bewb was unfathomable to me. It was like looking through a telescope to see the moon and then thinking, tomorrow I'm just going to walk right up there. Nope. There is also the idea, put forth by many an anthropologist that a male's fascination with bewbs goes all the way back to the days when homo sapiens were just starting to become modern-day humans. Back then, sex was primitive and bestial. There wasn't anything fancy like today, what with your Hot Carl, Cleveland Steamer, Alligator Fuckhouse, etc. No, back then it was basically take it when and where you can get it, like in the movie Quest for Fire when Ron Perlman's character just lays the pipe to that ape chick by the river. You remember that scene? Anyway, scientists today say that bewbs, or more specifically, cleavage, arouses men because it makes them think of ass, which is what we were all about all those thousands of years ago. I'm absolutely not buying this. I don't believe it for a second. And what do women think? Would you want your man to say, "Nice tits, baby. They look like your ass." Speaking of cleavage, there has been a long history of cleavage getting men into trouble. An incalculable number of disgusted looks and hard slaps have been meted out to men over the centuries due to cleavage. Many a hack comic has stated, "If women can let their bewbs hang out of their shirts, why can't I let my balls dangle from my shorts." WARNING! TANGENT IMMINENT! Well, for one, no one, man or woman, wants to see some random guy's nuts just hanging out of his shorts. Balls are not very elegant to begin with, and they're even more disturbing to look at when not in the proper context. Take the Venus de Milo, for instance, or Boticelli's Birth of Venus, two of the most famous works of art ever made, both depicting the goddess of love, and both celebrating her awesome bewbs. Nowhere, nowhere in the history of art will you find works celebrating the scrotum. Christ, even the word scrotum sounds like a JRR Tolkien character. OK, maybe a case can be made for Michelangelo's statue of David, but still, considering the amount of marble the artist had to work with, he didn't exactly do the hero any favors. So the whole "bewbs and balls should be treated equally" argument just doesn't work for me. TANGENT FINISHED. I believe that man's worship of bewbs is due wholly to the fact that America was founded as a Puritanical society, which placed exceedingly high values on modesty and conservatism. As a guy, I may have become obsessed with bewbs at an early age, but I also had to contend with a society that thinks bewbs are the work of the devil. The reason men are so drawn to bewbs is the fact that they are supposed to be kept away from us. Like Frodo and his magic ring (fuck, how can I write a blog entry about bewbs and still manage to make 2 fucking Lord of the Rings references), men desire bewbs to the point they are driven insane by them. We're nothing but raging id when it comes to bewbs... ... ... ... ... ... ...I'm sorry, I was just going back through what I had written, because I have honestly forgotten what the fuck kind of point I was trying to make. Let's see...bewbs are awesome globes of ungodly power, that if wielded haphazardly or placed in the wrong hands could lead to unimaginable destruction. I mean, biblical fire from the sky type shit. Spider-Man's uncle once told him, "With great power comes great responsibility" and I think every woman needs to remember that. Men, for the most part, are weak, zombie-like creatures when it comes to bewbs, so it has to be up to the woman to use her bewbs for good, and not to get out of a speeding ticket or have me watch your bags at the airport while you go into a bar and have a few drinks and I think maybe you'll tell me to come in and join you but you never do so I continue to stand by the restrooms watching your luggage and it's almost time for my flight but i promised you that i wouldwatchyourbagsforyouandjsutmaybe youll come otu sjsdf ..............................................


For tips on how to effectively treat and maintain your bewbs, or to donate to the noble cause of protecting bewbs please go to http://ww5.komen.org/


The Moore You Know: Today my little 4-year-old niece said to me in a very melancholy voice, "Uncle Eric, Santa isn't real, is he?" I explained it to her the best way I could. "Santa is like a southerner who's been a contestant on Jeopardy: he doesn't exist."

© Eric Moore - 2010