Fake Tits

This is pro'bly gonna be the only WORTHWHILE post on this whole shitload blog that there is on it so far or most likely ever WILL be on it. I hear a LOTTA crap from "guys" who'll be lookin at some broad with her tits out at the beach or at the titty bar or at their house while we're fuckin' their ol' ladies, or their moms if they're hot, or some hot bullet-titted broad will come onto the porn channel or some fuckin' place or we'll pull some fuckin' chick's top off in the pool or in the church pew or whatever, and they'll say, these weird fuckers, they'll say, all pissed off, "Man, that tit job on her has her tits lookin' like fuckin' concrete bunkers. They don't even move, man. You couldn't DYNAMITE them jugs outa position." Like, that's a fuckin' problem, faggot. 'Cause here's the deal on fake tits: the deal is, my dick is eye-operated. And it gets its best workout when I'm kneelin' over some broad's naked chest and jackin' off my cock onto her tits. And when that's happenin', when I'm starin' at them two butterbags and my hand is whappin' against my cock so hard there's blue smoke comin-up from between my fingers and my ballsack is slappin against the side of my hand so fast it sounds like Gene Krupa on bennies and Buddy Rich on meth playin' pattycake with each other - I want both them tits visible, fucker. I don't want them melting down the side of her fuckin' rib cage like vanilla ice cream. I don't want them oozin' across her belly like some kinda seagoing gelatinous slop-o-pod. I want them tits stickin' up. Where I can see 'em. This is a crucial series o' moments for me. And my pecker and me, we want to be able to stay inspired. The both of us. You CHICKS are pro'bly followin' alla this explanation better than the fuckin' FAG DUDES that are readin' this that seem to like to loiter around this blog so much. Where the fuck was I. Oh, yeah, me jackin' off over a pair of poised and erect fake knockers. This is where all that surgery by the doctor, and sense of personal pride by the fuckin' broad, pays off. And that payment is made in jizz, my friend. Jizz from inside my pecker. Jizz from inside my pecker that makes its way outside at last and splats - or skids - onto - or across - them brand new, Jew-given tits. When she gets back to her fuckin' feet, Christ, I could give a shit what her fuckin' tits do after that. Once I jizz on 'em, shit, they can do whatever they want. They can stay where they are, they can flop around, they can do fucking jumping jacks, they can come off altogether and go into the fuckin' freezer for all I care. But when I need to have them torpedo-rigid and ramrod-straight and upright and facin' the ceilin', all nippage-hard and rock-solid to where I can see 'em and know they ain't gonna move while I am engaged in the only thing that gives my life any meaning at all - which would be ejaculating semen onto a pair of up-ended tits professionally hewn and scultured and American Made tits...they better fuckin' BE there. Where I can fuckin' SEE 'em. And they better be stock still and filled with man-made tit-stiffener. Because that is just the ticket to get me onto that ride. And that ride is the ride to deep and lasting and righteous eternal love for three seconds with the woman of my dreaams and the love of my life for the moment. Or however long it takes to e-jac-u-cum-u-jizz-ulate. So that's the name o' THAT tune as I believe Robert Blake says. So I hope I have made it clear and got my point across. 'Cause this is one topic where ambiguity ain't a virtue. And I'd sure hate to be misquoted by those fag Jew Masonic baby-eating, boy-fucking bastards at Time magazine about it. It would fuck up my whole life and reputation. Holy shit. 9-11, and that Jew shit during the Hitler War?..... hardly a Richter ripple by comparison.