All You Know On Earth, And All You Need To Know

Oft-quoted is Keats for his romantic observation that “truth is beauty, and beauty is truth.” Well, the man must have never seen himself a sweet-ass pair of fake tits.

Honestly though, that doesn’t seem to do it for me. And though I don’t like buying into what everyone outside of Los Angeles says about Los Angeles, I must admit that during these past two weeks I have come across a good many women with less-than-genuine tah-tahs.

Thing is—outside of the fact that they are visually incongruous, have the texture of swollen goiters, and are decidedly lethal—I’m not really sure if I am a fan of them. Maybe it has to do with the fact that every woman I’ve seen attached to a pair of these counterfeit hoohaa’s has a ravaged, yet curiously preserved face not unlike the mummified corpse of Hatshepsut.

Sure, we see them in Playboy and Hustler with rather inviting facial features, but I am now convinced that this look isn’t achieved without some heavy spackling.

(Wow, saying that almost adds to the experience.)

Anyway, these girls I see walking down the street or serving drinks behind bars always have these gigantic racks that hang over rippling six-pack abdominals. Their skin is tan and taut over their muscles, which was likely the goal they set when first entering their weight-training regiment. Unfortunately, there is very little muscle contained in the actual face of a person that can be built upon. That combined with a push for zero body fat is how you end up with this:

So maybe Keats was on to something, although his subtle message is now lost in the archaic word form that was once known as The Poem. So I would like to translate it for a more contemporary interpretation:

Pay close attention to this one remarkable fact: that the more a girl makes you laugh, the better her ass looks in jeans.