Monday, August 30, 2010

Chicken fillets are for cooking... not wearing.

Ladies, please. As a gender, we spend millions and squillions on bras to keep our tits perky. And then another few bazillion to pay doctors to butcher us and shove plastic bags of goo in our chests in an attempt to make our lady humps a little... humpier.

This is why I don't fully understand the concept of the dreaded chicken fillet. I can imagine the fillet creators conspiring to themselves, "Sure, let's get a bunch of heavy squishy stuff, put adhesive to one side and women will plaster these to their chests. And they'll pay us too." And unbelievably, we did. I honestly can't think of anything worse for our mammary glands that sticking a heavy weight onto them for hours. If you're paranoid that walking around in an ill-fitting bra will make your udders sag, then surely chicken fillets are doubly as bad.

Maybe the point here is if we can't comfortably wear and conceal a normal bra under your clothes, you should probably check if your garment is actually a strip of fabric that somehow fell into your wardrobe via way of Supre.

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