Bras for Africa

The local bigwigs are raising cash for a charity that sends bras to Africa. It seems that women in the West have bras coming out of their armpits, and can afford to donate a few to their un-cupped African sisters. Money is still required to pay for shipping and “sundry expenses”, i.e. the bribes required to prevent the merchandise ending up in a boutique owned by the president’s fat-arsed sister. I can’t help wondering whether it’s safe to transport ladies’ underwear by sea. Merchant sailors are prone to peculiar fancies, and one wouldn’t want the cargo to be seasoned with their sauces and condiments.

I must say I never realised there was such a bra glut in the developed world. Are women continually buying new pairs to match the ever-changing dimensions of their dumplings? An Australian woman on safari looked well-stacked enough to know, so I asked her what was going on.

“You wouldn’t believe how many pairs I have, GB,” she said. “I use one as a holder for pot plants in my garden.”

“Do you have bras of different sizes?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” she affirmed, adding: “My tits have changed size more often than my prescription for spectacles.”

She then gave me a long list of activities which might cause a woman’s breasts to alter in magnitude, ranging from pregnancy to heavy breathing. Frequent groping, she assured me, changes their shape but not their size. Who was I to argue?

One person who certainly won’t be donating a penny to this charity is my friend Kola Boof, the Nubian freedom fighter and poetess. She views the brassiere as an oppressive chest-shackle invented by imperialist white men to enslave the proud African bosom. Devotees of her bare-titty cult will no doubt be agitating against this scheme in various ways, possibly including sabotage. I will advise Kola to play it cool and let the fad run out of steam of its own accord. Dumping bras into the Atlantic Ocean would annoy a lot of people who might otherwise be sympathetic, including fishermen and snorkelers.

My only issue with this charity is that many of the donated bras won’t find a suitable pair of jahoobies to encase, given that African women tend to have fuller figures than their Caucasian sisters. There aren’t many AA ladies in our neck of the jungle, which I must admit has never previously been a cause for concern. What other uses are there for small-cupped bras? The manager of the safari camp suggests giving them to the chimpanzees, who are pretty inventive in their use of human bric-a-brac. But suppose they actually wore them? It’s the sort of thing that would make us a laughing stock if anyone took pictures.

A better idea might be donating them to fruit vendors to put their wares in. It could be a very successful marketing ploy. Imagine a nice juicy pair of oranges hanging demurely inside a Balconette Banger Booster by Gok Wan. I don’t see many men walking past the stall without giving them a squeeze at the very least.

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