I've been thinking a lot about boobs lately. Mostly because my own boobs – having done their noble child-nurturing duty – have disappeared. So, yeah. Been thinking about boobs.
Salma Hayek's, for example. She's got a pretty epic rack. All the more epic for the fact that it's natural. Fake boobs aren't all that interesting, if you ask me.
I mean: SERIOUSLY.
Susan Sarandon also has some pretty awesome boobage.
So does Penelope Cruz.
And Kate Winslet.
Cynthia Nixon's boobs are all the more gorgeous for the fact that they beat cancer.
All I want to know from Sophia Loren is a) where does she buy her bras, and b) what brand of olive oil does she smear those puppies with? Assuming, that is, that she in fact uses olive oil as a boobsturizer and not, say, the blood of male Sicilian virgins.
And Queen Latifah? She may have the most epic boobs of all time. They could draw moons into their orbit. They are – she is – spectacular.
I have a sudden urge to go bury my face in some pillows.
And not to soothe my self-esteem. Well, mostly not.