Tuesday, November 13, 2007
The world's most ridiculous boobs
Every Monday, JerseyGirl and I get together to watch (the greatest show in the history of reality television) "I Love New York," sometimes with her neighbor HillsYes. I'm teaching JerseyGirl how to cook (and this bitch doesn't even have a KNIFE...her lack of domestic skills are appalling but partially compensated by her trove of guido-flavored adventure tales about things like getting disqualified in banana-eating contests at Jersey Shore clubs such as "the Trade Winds"), so we make some type of beginner's food (chicken strips, grilled cheese, etc.) and watch our trash TV. The last few weeks, we've been noticing something that becomes more and more obvious every week: New York had another tit job, and it's out of fucking control.
We began to notice that, even by New York's typically over-the-top busty standards, her breasts look like they're about to pop. I don't remember them being so severely overstuffed last season, but this time around, it's like the basketball-sized implants within are about to burst free at any moment.
They're so distracting. It's like her breasts are two medicine balls that have been bolted to her chest. Even more distracting is her choice in dresses, which emphasize that mile of preternatural cleavage between those two silicone saddlebags she's rocking. Her tits are more stuffed than the fucking deer head on my wall. I imagine that if you manage to get a feel of those cans, it's sort of like holding a set of giant, unyielding stress balls.
I swear, New York purchased those tits at Big Lots or something. I've never seen such an appalling breast aug. I'm not the world's biggest fan of fake tits, but I know they can be better than that. One of my friends has fake tits and you would never even know unless you REALLY felt them up. Hers are a reasonable size and she opted for the more natural submuscular implant procedure using the latest model of implants. Obviously, New York had a coupon for a surgeon who last earned CME credits in 1985, because she looks like someone jammed a honeydew melon into each boob and called it a fucking day. Those are the kind of tits I'd expect to see flanking a stripper pole off Washington state route 512 at Foxes in Parkland. Or on a ridiculous, twice-spurned-by-Flavor-Flav woman who responds to criticism with mooning and who thinks church is an appropriate venue for Newport smoking to rock for the second season of her own Vh1 reality show.
I've got mad love for New York, but PLEASE get those jugs deflated just a little. It's hard to pay attention to the silly things New York's absurd bevy of suitors do, like fight each other or suck on her toes, because those cans are so goddamned distracting. She needs to shrink them just enough so that I can clearly read the "Princess" tattoo on her left hooter, and then they'll be the perfect outlandishly fake breasts. If there's a need for "I Love New York 3" (there will be; she lost out on her one chance at true love when she booted the hot piece that was Midget Mac last week), then Vh1 needs to think about adding a budget for a decent surgeon. Last night she booted Wolf for being a "country bumpkin" (who farted on her in the "Nip/Tuck" green room...don't ask) who didn't fit with her "exciting Hollywood lifestyle." Well, New York, live that lifestyle and go see Dr. 90210!
We began to notice that, even by New York's typically over-the-top busty standards, her breasts look like they're about to pop. I don't remember them being so severely overstuffed last season, but this time around, it's like the basketball-sized implants within are about to burst free at any moment.
They're so distracting. It's like her breasts are two medicine balls that have been bolted to her chest. Even more distracting is her choice in dresses, which emphasize that mile of preternatural cleavage between those two silicone saddlebags she's rocking. Her tits are more stuffed than the fucking deer head on my wall. I imagine that if you manage to get a feel of those cans, it's sort of like holding a set of giant, unyielding stress balls.
I swear, New York purchased those tits at Big Lots or something. I've never seen such an appalling breast aug. I'm not the world's biggest fan of fake tits, but I know they can be better than that. One of my friends has fake tits and you would never even know unless you REALLY felt them up. Hers are a reasonable size and she opted for the more natural submuscular implant procedure using the latest model of implants. Obviously, New York had a coupon for a surgeon who last earned CME credits in 1985, because she looks like someone jammed a honeydew melon into each boob and called it a fucking day. Those are the kind of tits I'd expect to see flanking a stripper pole off Washington state route 512 at Foxes in Parkland. Or on a ridiculous, twice-spurned-by-Flavor-Flav woman who responds to criticism with mooning and who thinks church is an appropriate venue for Newport smoking to rock for the second season of her own Vh1 reality show.
I've got mad love for New York, but PLEASE get those jugs deflated just a little. It's hard to pay attention to the silly things New York's absurd bevy of suitors do, like fight each other or suck on her toes, because those cans are so goddamned distracting. She needs to shrink them just enough so that I can clearly read the "Princess" tattoo on her left hooter, and then they'll be the perfect outlandishly fake breasts. If there's a need for "I Love New York 3" (there will be; she lost out on her one chance at true love when she booted the hot piece that was Midget Mac last week), then Vh1 needs to think about adding a budget for a decent surgeon. Last night she booted Wolf for being a "country bumpkin" (who farted on her in the "Nip/Tuck" green room...don't ask) who didn't fit with her "exciting Hollywood lifestyle." Well, New York, live that lifestyle and go see Dr. 90210!
Labels: gross, I Love New York, oh the horror, overcompensation, plastic surgery, sluts, TV, Vh1
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