I think we have a new star for "Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew".

By jove, at last a story I know something about.  Rock musicians, bass players and the crazy fuckery that drugs can make you do.

Mike Todd, bassist and background vocalist of the neo-prog band Coheed and Cambria had a complete What The Fuck Was He Thinking? moment today in Massachusetts.  A few hours before the band's show at Comcast Center in Mansfield, Mike decided he was a little low on his drug of choice.   So, you're a rock star.   You know what to do.  You snap your fingers and some underling roadie or guitar tech goes out and finds a dealer and gets you what you want.  (In the event you forgot to have the "drugs to be provided" language stated in your contract rider.)

  Mike Todd.  Sadder but wiser. 

When you do a drug stickup use a stolen car. 

Coheed and Cambria must be on the low rent tour because Mike was jonesing and had to take matters into his own hands.  Mike walks into a local Walgreen's and demands some Oxycontin.  And talk about high tech.  He wrote the robbery note on his cell phone and stated he had a bomb so hand it the fuck over.  He actually made a pretty good score.  Six bottles.   Sometimes downers like Oxy can make your thinking a little foggy (they don't call it Hillbilly Heroin for nothing) and Mike made his getaway in (are you ready?) a taxicab.  Mensa Mike was quickly arrested at the venue and was charged with armed robbery and possession of a controlled substance.  The show went on as scheduled sans Mike who will be replaced for the remaining tour dates.

Bass players, in my experience, are quietly crazy, the whole fucking lot of them.  Most of the ones I've known were slaves of the demon rum, but Oxy gives a nice buzz I'm told.

Luckily I sobered up before that particular vice was available.

You probably thought the bulge in his pants was a boner from looking at the body scans of hot chicks.

I think our government employees really get a bad rap sometimes.  They're unmotivated.  They lack initiative.  They're lazy and have no common sense.  OK, maybe most of them do fit this description.  But not TSA agent Nelson Santiago-Serrano.  He's the busiest beaver in the federal workforce.  In between touching your kid like a pedo, fingering a man's balls, feeling up some woman's tits, and humiliating your grandma by making her take off her Depends, Nelson would be hard at work filching whatever personal electronics he could get his sticky little fingers on.  Mr. Santiago-Serrano was caught last Monday stuffing an iPad down his pants by a Continental Airlines employee.

After being questioned by the Broward County Sheriff's Department (yes, that is in Florida), Nelson admitted to stealing about $50,000 worth of computers, GPS units, cell phones and other fun gizmos.  Just to prove there was no grass growing under his feet, Santiago-Serrano (is he in a gay marriage where he took some dude's last name?) would often put the merchandise up on Ebay while he was still at work and sell it by the end of the day.  PROBABLY USING YOUR FUCKING LAPTOP!  Hahahahahaha!   You gotta hand it to him.  Nelson knows how to add insult to injury.  And just think.  Now the TSA employees are going to be unionized.  That should make it easier to clear out the criminals, the lardbutts and the sexual deviants.

So for all of you who got a great deal on Ebay for personal electronics recently you might want to check to see if it smells like ass or ball sweat, since there is a good chance it went from somebody's suitcase to some TSA agent's pants.  

You don't think this guy is the only one of these mopes doing this do you?

   Nelson Santiago-Serrano. 

Because of his proven ability to 
separate citizens from their property 

he's been nominated to head 
the Internal Revenue Service. 

I want my "Tot Mom" porn!

Mommie Dearest

I have never written a post about Casey Anthony.  Why?  Because I lost interest in the case the second she was finally arrested.  I thought, just like OJ, this person is guilty as shit, and all the rest is just going to be a boring formality.  (Which tells you what a lousy prognosticator I am.)

The Casey Anthony story should have been a big, fat, slow pitch right down the center of the plate for me.  Skanky whore mom, missing kid, crazy parents, ALL HAPPENING IN FLORIDA!!  (New state slogan:  "If you can't do the time, do the crime in Florida!"  h/t Rush)  Unfortunately, I didn't start this blog till July 2009 so the ball was already rolling.

As we all know, little Caylee Anthony came up missing in June of 2008.  Her mother, Casey, was too busy partying and lying and didn't report her missing for 31 days.  Eventually,  Grandma Cindy Anthony (who's also a real piece of work) got concerned enough when Casey's lies and obfuscations became even too much for her and called 911 with a report which included the now infamous quote, "There is something wrong, I found my daughter's car today and it smells like there's been a dead body in the damn car."  After months of mendacity from the mouth of the "Tot Mom" (Nancy Grace's colorful appellation) what was determined to be Caylee's mostly skeletal remains were found not far from the Anthony home with duct tape wrapped around the head.

I'm not going to recap the whole sorry episode.  The reason I wasn't riveted to the trial like some people is that I figured the guilt of this monster was a forgone conclusion.  To wit:

The kid vanishes.  The whorish club-skank mom doesn't report this for 31 days but has time to party and get tattooed.  Have you ever had your kid wander off in a store out of your sight for 20 seconds?  I have and it's total panic.  To Casey it's a shrug of the shoulders.  ("She's with Zanny the nanny."  Zanny the nanny?  You've got to be shitting me.)

The grandma smells decomp in Casey's car.  Believe me, there is no confusing this with old pizza, a dead cat or a run over skunk.  The smell of decomposing human remains is primal.  You know what it is even if you've never smelled it before.  No expertise required.

Casey Anthony is a petty thief, a forger and a known pathological liar and self-centered narcissistic personality.

The kid is found with duct tape on her face.  Unless aliens with duct tape kidnapped Caylee what does your common sense tell you?  

For me, this is enough to know that Mom had something to do with the kid's death.   The aggressive prosecutors however, got over amped and charged Casey with murder one and made it a death penalty case. The jury is given no firm cause of death and can only convict on a willful murder or aggravated manslaughter.  Big mistake and Casey walks except for a the piffle charge of leading the cops on a wild goose chase.  I don't blame the jury entirely although I probably would have gone for the aggravated child abuse and the manslaughter.  The power to put somebody to death pushes the bar just a little higher.  As it should.

Here is my theory.  Casey loves Caylee in her own way.  As a sociopath would.  Cute little Caylee reflects positively back on Casey.  Being a mom is a drag, however, as is interferes with entering Hot Body contests, drinking and whoring around.  Casey gets in the habit of drugging the kid so she can go club crawling.  One night she fucks up and Caylee OD's and dies.  Casey, not intending to kill Caylee, looks at the situation the way any conscienceless psychopath would.  "This wasn't my fault, and I shouldn't have to pay a price for this. Shit happens.  I just need to get rid of Caylee then I  can get on with my life."  Me, me, me, me.  So she does what she's reportedly done her whole life.  Lies to and manipulates her clueless enabling parents Cindy and George and buys the time to ditch the body.  (I'm assuming the duct tape was to make it look like a kidnap/murder that would be pinned on the legendary "bushy haired stranger.")

Not a murder, but at least negligent homicide or involuntary manslaughter.  I don't often agree with Geraldo Rivera, but he's absolutely right on one point.   If this involved a black or hispanic woman it wouldn't have gotten the frenzy of media attention and certainly wouldn't have been a death penalty case.

So Casey Anthony will be released from jail on July 17th, free as the proverbial bird.  Now what?  Where does the most hated woman in America go?  What does she do next?

I'm sure her lawyer has lined up some paid interviews.  For now she's the ultimate "Big Get."  The Diane Sawyers and the Barbara Walters of the world aren't stupid, however.  They know what the country thinks of this lying piece of shit mom.  They understand the public wants blood and they will be out to give it to us figuratively since we couldn't get it by strapping Casey to a gurney and pumping a lethal injection into her.  They're not bound by the arcane rules of a courtroom.  These interviews are going to be rougher than if she was Sarah Palin.  Casey is going up against pros that she may not find amenable to serial lies and manipulation.   If a savvy interviewer wants to make you look bad, they can do it.  But, she'll be in the limelight and have a few bucks in her pocket.  (If she ends up doing interviews with her lawyer by her side cautioning her to say nothing, the gravy train will stop fairly quickly.)  We are, if nothing else, an easily bored populace.  Casey will be entertaining for a few weeks then we'll be on to the next grisly murder case.

Does she go back to her parents from whom she's been sponging off her entire adult life?  Possible, but not likely.  If my daughter accused me of molesting her in order to save her sorry ass on a charge of murdering my beloved grandchild, my unconditional love would not only get conditional real fast, it would be non-existent.  Live in my house?  I don't think so.

Some career advice was put forth by porn entrepreneur, Steve Hirsch, of Vivid Video.  He offered Casey the chance to exhibit her talents in front of a camera for cash what she'd most likely been giving away for free to the male party animals of Orange County, Florida.   Amazingly, after the offer was made public, Hirsch was inundated with so many emails from his fan base saying that there was no way they were going to support this endeavor that the offer was withdrawn.  Who'd have thought that porn aficionados would have such a finely calibrated moral compass.  Think about that.  You are so toxic that a hard core smut peddler is worried that you would sully the reputation of the pornography industry.  Ouch.  (Like Octomom, who also got an offer from Vivid, Casey's not quite hot enough to be a top of the line pornstar, but the "bad girl" factor would definitely be in play.)  The same would apply to the local area strip clubs as well.  So I guess she could swing around a pole and give lap dances until the novelty wore off.

Casey Anthony.  Glammed up for her porn audition. 

She should have done time for the duckface. 

Further down the road?  If I had to make a prediction, Casey will end up unloved and abandoned.  People eventually catch on to pathological liars and manipulators and avoid them like the plague.  Whatever attractiveness she has will fade and the only men that will be interested will be stew bums, losers and other social misfits.  Psychopaths don't normally live happy lives and usually come to a bad end.  She'll probably be in and out of jail for scams and petty crimes that she'll have to commit when she blows through all the money made by her infamy.  A real job will be out of the question even if she were so inclined.  Some sort of cosmic justice will prevail.

On the other hand, I suppose it's possible that Casey Anthony will see the error of her ways, repent, and spend her life giving aid and comfort to the lepers and the poor of India.  Sort of like a low rent Mother Theresa.

Yes, I could be completely wrong.  After all, I was positively sure OJ was going to fry.

No, I haven't been dumped in a swamp with duct tape around my mouth.

Should have some new stuff up tomorrow.  I was on call for the 4th and the funeral home has been the usual end of three day weekend crazy.  Amazingly...NO CORONER CASES!  Just elderly folks and no one unexpected.  God bless 'em all.

I have some thoughts on the horniest of French toads, DSK, and the skankiest of completely not guilty child killing moms.

Great casket for a person killed in a drunk driving accident. 

No need to pick up a pacifier on your shopping trip.

More batshit crazy mom stuff.  Toyrianna Smith (where the fuck do they get these names?) of Chicago is being held in the jug on a million dollars bail for beating and suffocating her baby to death.  Apparently baby Ken Blackman Jr. wouldn't stop crying.  Yep.  Sometimes those babies just won't listen.  (I used to feed and rock Little Miss Funeral Guy when she was a fussy baby, but maybe that's just me.)

  Toyrianna Smith.

The inability to choose a hair color is a 

clear indication of a disordered mind. 

Hey, Funeral Guy, no story here.  Happens every day. What doesn't happen every day is strapping the little dead baboo in a carry sling, taking him on a shopping trip then off to visit friends.

From the article:

She had been drinking vodka at a friend's house and spent the night in their guest room with the baby. She slipped out of the house the next day before the baby's father came to pick him up.

Not a shock:  20-year old Toyrianna was guzzling the vodka.
Big shock:  The baby's father was coming to pick him up for some daddy time.

Unlike Casey Anthony, I will wager here and now no prosecutor will be asking for the death penalty in this case.  The soft bigotry of low expectations.

It may not be "Perverted" but it sure smells like poetic "Justice" to me.

Chris Hansen

Professional Cock Blocker

Smug, supercilious and major all-around asshole, Chris Hansen, scourge of internet predators everywhere has been hoisted on the petard of hidden camera gotcha.  Hansen, 51, has been caught in a sting set up by the National Enquirer (my paper of record) in Florida (does anything good happen there?) with a 30-year old TV reporter by the name of Kristyn Caddell.  This would have been so much better if Kristyn had been...say...17, but we'll take what we can get.   I say 17, because then it would have been technically illegal but not creepily pedo.

The hot and heavy fuckfest started about four months ago when Chris was down in Florida covering a story when he met the comely Kristyn and it was lust at first sight.  I've heard this kind of thing can happen when a guy goes on the road.  Chris is married to wife Mary, 53, and the have two lil' boy chilluns together. 

 Chris and the Misses

Lust turned to love whatever, with Chris sending flowers and words of endearment but with no apparent urgency to cut loose the ball and chain of matrimony.  (Ain't that always the way.  Chris may be horny but he's still smart enough to keep his mind on his assets.)

The sting caught Chris and Kristyn (isn't that a cute couple name?) out at dinner, and according to the story "staring into each other eyes".  The story also notes that Kristyn was "wearing high heels and a short revealing dress".  Yummy!  The kind of outfit that makes a guy want to get dinner over with ASAP.  A stop at the liquor store follows and the couple arrive at the babe's apartment at 10 PM.  When Hansen left the next morning they were both wearing different clothes and "Kristyn's hair was dishevelled as if she just rolled out of bed."  GUILTY!!  AND TOTALLY HAWT!!

Kristyn Caddell

Hansen's new show should be titled

To Catch a Young Piece 

I must confess, To Catch a Predator was a full-blown guilty pleasure of mine.  If you've never seen it seek it out in reruns or on You Tube.  You won't be sorry.  A finer example of horny nerd douchery is impossible to find.  These sex-starved simpletons were sucked in by faux smutty talk from a vigilante Star Chamber called Perverted Justice.  Staffed by ugly chicks in baseball hats and a fat bald guy, Perverted Justice would pretend to be hot young snizz to rope in the dopes who were trolling the chat rooms.  When the basement dwelling losers would show up at the sting house with their rubbers, lube and lingerie, high on the hope of jailbait jezebels, it was pure comedy gold.  I mean, dude.  Look in the mirror.  Is the kind of guy that a hot underage stranger wants to have sex with staring back at you?  Proof positive that God gave men two brains but the ability to only use one at a time. 

Let me take a second here to say I don't condone old guys hitting on underage girls.  I have daughters and would hope they would have the sense to tell a old creep in a chat room to fuck off and go blow himself.  What this group was doing was entrapment pure and simple.  Maybe not in the strictly legal sense but it sure was for all practical purposes.  A lot of these cases were thrown out because the judges had trouble figuring out jurisdictions and other vague areas of these predator laws.  So bottom line?  Guys, there are plenty of 18+ year old women on the internet.  Get your willy wet with the big girls...mmmmmmmkay? 

Anyway, the scene would be set.  The mark would show up at the house.  He would be met by a legal age chick pretending to be the schoolgirl all alone.  She'd make some excuse to leave him hanging in the living room ("I gotta fold these clothes before they wrinkle, but I made some sweet tea for 'ya.)  The girl was always kind of a hillbilly for some reason.  While the doofus was waiting for his horny honey to return, out would pop Chris Hansen.  Looking and sounding like God Himself.  "Why don't you take a seat right over there?"  Most of the time the dumbass guy would think Chris was the chick's dad.  Hahahahaha.  It was fucking hilarious.  The dude would start stammering out all kinds of bullshit when Chris would ask them "What are you doing here?"  They'd say, "Just gonna hang out." And "Nothing...Sir."  This after Chris finds a bag of rubbers with Romeo's gift of Big Macs.  And my personal favorite: "I just came here to tell this young girl how dangerous it is to talk to strange men on the internet."  Cue the fucking laugh track.  After confronting the stupid muttonhead with the chat logs where the "girl" said she was 13 and he replied he wanted to eat her pussy and suck her tits,  Chris would tell the guy he was free to go.  Free to go into the arms of some small town police detail that was so bored it would be dressed up in ninja SWAT outfits screaming and waving their guns around just to throw some fat, bald, sobbing accountant to the sidewalk.  Truck drivers, IT guys, soldiers, even a district attorney and a doctor got caught up in the fuckery.  (Best scene ever: the doctor calling his wife to bring bail money to the county lockup.  "No..no...don't bring the girls!")  The district attorney actually committed suicide in his house with the police outside.  That took a lot of the fun out of things and the forthcoming investigation of the cozy relationship between Perverted Justice, the Dateline TV show and law enforcement eventually spelled the demise of the program.  

I know that boning a 30-year old woman not your wife is not the same as going after adolescents.  Were some of these guys dangerous?  Possibly.  But most of the subjects of these stings came off to me as just sad, lonely, socially awkward sad sacks that got caught up in internet tomfoolery and did something stupid.  Eagerly egged on by the horny talk of the Perverted Justice improv group.  As one guy who got caught by the self-rightous Mr. Hansen said when confronted with the evidence that the girl told him she was 14.  "It's the internet," he said, "everybody lies."  

The thing that I disliked most about Chris Hansen and this whole enterprise was that he seemed to be enjoying the humiliation of these nebbishes a little too much.  Am I smiling a little because Chris Hansen is experiencing some discomfort and embarrassment today?  Yeah, I guess I am.  

   

John Lennon: Reaganite

I wish some celebrity would whip his dick out in public or one of the Kardashian tramps would do a panty flash, because this summer has been slooooooooow.   Except for death, of course, which is part of the reason for the sparse output here.   (I hate to hit the shit file before the weekend.)

"Imagine there's no liberals...it's easy if you try..."  

The big story today (just to prove how lean things are) is that John Lennon was showing conservative leanings before his death.  This according to the rock star's last personal assistant, Fred Seaman.
  

From the article:

"John, basically, made it very clear that if he were an American he would vote for Reagan because he was really sour on (Democrat) Jimmy Carter," he says.

"He'd met Reagan back, I think, in the `70s at some sporting event ... Reagan was the guy who had ordered the National Guard, I believe, to go after the young (peace) demonstrators in Berkeley, so I think that John maybe forgot about that ... He did express support for Reagan, which shocked me.

"I also saw John embark in some really brutal arguments with my uncle, who's an old-time communist ... He enjoyed really provoking my uncle ... Maybe he was being provocative ... but it was pretty obvious to me he had moved away from his earlier radicalism.

"He was a very different person back in 1979 and 80 than he'd been when he wrote Imagine. By 1979 he looked back on that guy and was embarrassed by that guy's naivete."

Now this could just be John Lennon "taking a piss" as the Brits say.  (As in, "Just kidding.")  Or Lennon suddenly came to the realization: "Holy shit!  I have a lot of money.  I better start supporting people who are going to let me keep some of it.  Goddammit, now how do I disavow all that shit I wrote in Imagine?"

Yoko Ono has not been reached yet for a screeching comment.  

The Shaman of Shadukey Speaketh.

You remember the saga of the mysterious "Sky"?  He was the Poopchute Peeper in the Boulder, Colorado Porta-Potty.  "Sky" turns out to be Luke Irvin Chrisco, 30, and he was arrested outside of Vail, CO last Thursday while panhandling outside a gas station.

Luke Irvin Chrisco.  He doesn't look half bad 

when he's cleaned and deodorized.  

Luke has admitted to being the Porta-Potty Pervert and has quite a story to tell.

Chrisco said he was living in the woods in France years ago and some friends went to a recreation center. He said he was wandering around inside the center when he ventured into the girls' locker room and noticed a loose vent, where he decided to hide.

So he "ventured" into the girls' locker room.  Like the call of the Sirens and Luke just a hapless sailor.  

"These chicks started showing up that I never had a chance with," Chrisco said. "But I figured at least I can see them change or something. I've come to know how interesting they are."

Hey, Luke.  I like interesting chicks too.  What you do is you talk to them, make them like you, take them to dinner then eventually they'll willingly take their clothes off and let you see their lady parts.  AND LET YOU DO FUN STUFF.  TRY IT SOMETIME.

After Luke's European adventures, he returned to the lucky town of Boulder and became a driller of holes and a peeker at pulchritude.  Several attempts to set up porn sites and an entrepreneurial eye as a pimp came to naught.  Even these were not to make money but to advance his beliefs in...in...ah...horny sex stuff, I guess.  

"I wanted to start a new goddess religion," he said. "I always wanted to be a pimp or create a church of porn or a church of tantric, someplace people could be spiritual but also instinctual," he said. 

Sure, you can say Luke is a unbalanced weirdo sex offender who is a danger to society, but how is his philosophy any different from that of Charlie Sheen?  (Who should also arguably be in some sort of custody.)

Even though Luke's first foray into looking for Goddesses in the public dumper ended in his arrest, the enjoyment of the sight and smells will always hold fond memories.

"I thought, 'This is really amazing; I've been blessed and anointed by the makers of life,'" Chrisco said.

There you go.  One man's golden shower fetish is another man's communion.  With a big steaming log as an appetizer. 

Next thing you'll tell me is Mrs. Cleaver did double penetration porn.

Florence Henderson...Back in the day.

Pretty MILF-y.  I'd have given her a tumble. 

Florence Henderson, beloved TV mom on the popular 70's sitcom The Brady Bunch, has revealed in her soon to be released autobiography that she was cheating on her husband in the 60's.  Mom Brady!!??  Yep.  Doing the beast with two backs outside of the martial bed.  Oh, my.  And what makes this the best Too Much Information dump of all time?  One of her one-night-stand fuck buddies was former mayor of New York, John Lindsay.  John Lindsay, for those who don't know the history, was the Democrat mayor upon whom's watch the City That Never Sleeps took it's long slide into decay, welfare dependence, drugs and street crime.  Think Death Wish as a documentary.  And...the sordid story doesn't end there.  The morning after the encounter Florence discovered a little gift from the mayor.  Well, actually a whole bunch of them.  I'm talking about the little black bugs that crawl around in your pubic hair.  (Pubic hair, or as I used to joke in my case, public hair, is the hair that grows around your genital area.  I say this to all you young people who have never experienced it since you've been shaving your junk since you were 12.)

Crabs, as they were known, were quite common in the hippie/road musician days.  I knew a chick that got them on her eyelashes from blowing a bass player.  Hahahahahaha.  You could even set them on the porcelain toilet tank, put a lit cigarette behind them and make them race.  Yours truly was infested couple of times.  But, rest assured, I got mine from a toilet seat.  A little Pyrinate A-200, a hot shower and a fine tooth comb and you were good to party after the gig.

  Crab louse.  Up close and personal. 

Hanging on to your pube for dear life. 

At least in her autobiography Florence "Carol Brady" Henderson lays to rest the rumor that she boinked Barry Williams, the young actor who played her son, Greg.  Thank god for that.  Any more on Florence's sex life and I think my head would explode.

This will not prevent me from reading her book if more sex stories leak out, however.

Update: My brother The Conservatarian has taken me to school that Lindsay was a RINO Republican when he was NYC mayor and the crab giver to Florence Henderson.  He then converted to his true Democrat self for an unsuccessful run at the presidency.  I regret the error.  This in no way negates the the axiom: If you lie down with politicians, you'll come up with fleas.

Are those torpedos on your chest or are you just glad to see me?

Now that I have your attention. 

The Food and Drug Administration (FDA) is warning that those plastic funbags you paid serious money for so your cosmetic surgeon could buy a new Porcshe are only good for about ten years.  After that?  Trouble.  Possible links to cancer, wrinkling, asymmetry, scarring, pain and infection are all in the report.

As you can imagine, this has caused a wave of trepidation through every strip club, porn studio and Hooter's restaurant in the country.  Strippers are frantically doing the math as to how many extra lap dances will have to be performed to keep the big tip money coming.  Ditto, the Vegas cocktail waitresses and escorts.  And it goes without saying that in the porn industry big titties are the coin of the realm.  Not upgrading the boobays is not an option.

I've been thinking.  I've been looking at the benefits of a government job.  Regular hours, job security, pension, full medical.  All sucked from the taxpayer tit, so to speak.  The FDA's going to need someone to be a boobage inspector.  Lifting it up, checking for proper heft and the expiration date,  Palpating for hard areas, looking for telltale ripples.  (For that one the lady has to be on all fours and rocking back and forth like doggy-style.  It's not that I look at a lot of porn, but somebody told me that once. )  All strictly professional.  You know me.  Just business.

Hahahahaha.  Just funnin'.  Now that summer is upon us and the dumplings are on full display, I will do my annual rant about how I really feel about breast implants.  Simply put.  I hate 'em.  Let me amend that, I hate most of 'em.  If you've had a mastectomy or just got the boobs filled out because of kid sag, I'm not talking about you.  I'm talking about the professional club skank, the porn star, and the "featured dancer".  You know who you are.  I think I speak for a sizable segment of the male population when I say-"You look ridiculous."  You know why?  Because if it's obvious you've had your tits done, you've failed.  I find it seems to break down as a generational preference.  I didn't grow up with every other chick having enhanced bazoos.  Natural and supple, that was my groping experience as I traveled the land.  The younger guys today have more experience with the silicone sisters so to them it's old hat.  Then there are just those guys who just like biiiiiiiiiiiiiiggg!  I've always been more of an ass and leg man anyway, so vive la difference.  I really enjoyed the mini-series Spartacus: Blood and Sand on Starz.  Lots of nudity.  I couldn't help but wonder how they found so many beautiful actresses with natural breasts.  Hopefully this is a trend.

A prime example of Titty Balls. 

Too big for her frame and look painful.

You could probably break a bottle on them. 

What I can't figure out is the thought process of the women that get them.  Does the doctor say, "You know what?  I'm going to make you look like Little Annie Fanny.  Sound good?"  No...I'm guessing  that the women go into the doctor's office look at different computer mock ups and when the time comes to choose they think, "You know?  I think I want to go just a little bit bigger."  That is when you end up with what we guys call alternately, Titty Balls, Robo-Tits, Bobble Tits and Balloon Tits.  These are not compliments.

Little Annie Fanny.  
The cartoon gal with the inhuman proportions. 

Looks like Pamela Anderson.  Who, in turn, looks like a cartoon. 

Coincidence?  I don't think so. 

We're all going to age.  All the silicone, botox, hair plugs, face lifts, pec and bicep implants, and collagen lip injections are not going to ward off the Grim Reaper forever.  Maybe we should make a deal between the sexes.  Ladies.  You forgo the over enhanced lips and bazongas that make you look like pornstars from Jupiter, and we men will stay away from hair restoration plugs that look like doll hair and facelifts that make us look like old women.

More Bad Examples. 

This woman looks so ridiculous she 

deserves a hairy man in a Speedo. 

Archeologists of the future will find 

a skeleton with two plastic bags.

Is that you, Barry? 

You look more like my Aunt Mary. 

Nikki Cox used to be gorgeous. 

Now she looks like something you'd pan fry on your campfire.