Busted

Every now and again I take a few minutes to read and, subsequently, edit my blog entries. I often blog late at night – or early in the morning depending on how you look at it – and, turns out, I make little to no sense. It is as if I type a different dialect of English, one that not even I can understand. It is almost like I type Canadian.

Nonetheless, I carry on. Just a typing away about what went on throughout my day. It’s thanks to people like Ricky on Trailer Park Boys, who is Canadian and whose Rickyisms are regularly shared around the water cooler, that I have the strength and courage to carry on with my blogging.

What I can’t continue to carry, however, are these melons. Unlike NPR’s Cameron Lawrence, I am not savoring the melon season. And, unlike Kelis, my milkshake is not bringing all the boys to the yard. Like Dolly Parton, however, everyone can tell if I’ve gone running, because I’ve got two black eyes. And, like Phil Collins (also on Trailer Park Boys), shirts that were once an appropriate length are now belly shirts. Which makes me like Trailer Choir, rockin’ the beer gut.  

Seriously, my boobs have never been this big. I was sharing my predicament with Dr. BJ and showing him how I must sit or stand in order to relieve the pressure when he suggested I get a reduction. Having friends who have done this, I know I won’t qualify. Instead, I think I’m going to find someone who is willing to hold them up for me throughout the day. This would be the perfect job for Hans Delving and his partner Otto Titzling. No need for Philippe de Brassiere to join them, I fill it up well enough on my own.