These are my tits.

These are my tits.

My lumpy lady bits.

These are not the breasts of my weightless, witless youth,

That bounced in bars. In truth:

These are my tits.


Gone are my boobies,

Slick nipples like rubies

Fat dripped fingers loved to cling to

I can sing to these no more,

For they are my tits.


No more bras stuffed with tissues

Really these are the issues

I raise when I joke about

Pencils and socks, shoulders

Boulders and holders

That nothing else fits

But my tits.


Not yet hanging hams

Or flat Croque Madames,

Or mammaries in diagrams

And biopsies and CT scans.

I call them my tits.


My dry dugs, jugs, gentleman’s hugs,

My lark’s tongues, my lamb’s lungs

My globes, spaniel’s earlobes,

My puppies, my bubblies,

My cans, mudflaps, jubblies,

If they point north or head south

I don’t give two shits,

For now it’s


My tits.


Social Justice Warriors, Political Correctness, and Butthurt

Been thinking about the trolls this week, thought this was a good response to share for people on every side of every fence:)


So here’s the thing.  I hate these three phrases/words.

The people who use them are offended by someone drawing their attention to other’s genuine discomfort or emotional pain.  And if you are offended by someone trying to explain to you that you could be more considerate, you are not a listener, you are one of those people who talks over everyone else.

Yes, you are effectively Donald Trump.

Let me give you a crap analogy.  You are a physical person, and greet friends with a friendly hug.  That’s fine, isn’t it? No-one minds a hug, it’s a sign of affection and should be construed that way.

Except this one person has a painful shoulder.  Possibly they have a surgical implant that is hugely tender, or an RSI, or permanent joint pain.  Whatever it is, it’s a minor constant wound you can’t see under their clothes.  And every time you see them, you hug that…

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