Showing posts with label Bras. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bras. Show all posts

End of the bra?


A French scientist is claiming that bras are useless:

"Medically, physiologically, anatomically, the breast does not benefit from being deprived of gravity,” declared Professor Jean-Denis Rouillon. “Instead, it languishes with a bra.”

So he says, but can a Frenchman be trusted on this delicate question? Devising compelling arguments for a woman to take off her bra is a celebrated diversion of French intellectual life. I believe Jean-Paul Satre devoted a chapter to it in his PhD thesis.

The Americans, by contrast, remain as resolutely pro-bra as ever:

“The first lady will not be changing her pectoral apparel in light of this development,” said a White House spokesman.

As a gorilla whose own experience on this subject is lacking, I have little data with which to assess these competing claims. On the one hand, the tribal women of Africa have never worn bras. On the other hand, many of these women have exceptionally droopy titties. Yet wearing bras may have made them even droopier.

If I were to study humans in the same way that Dian Fossey studied gorillas, I would go around the world with an inch tape asking women to let me take their measurements. I have no plans to do so, because subjecting women’s breasts to meticulous scrutiny would be undignified for a gorilla. Such tasks should be left to men, whose reputation on this issue is already in tatters.

One band of intrepid women who should welcome Professor Rouillon’s findings is FEMEN, the Ukrainian feminist group that specialises in bare-bosomed protests. Their latest exploit was to ambush President Putin at the Hanover Trade Fair while Frau Merkel was showing him the latest German equipment. Alexandra Shevchenko is the name of the FEMEN activist who managed to invade Mr Putin’s personal space and scream the slogan “Fuck dictator!” at him (which was inscribed on her breasts for good measure). Putin responded to this affront by puffing out his own chest and raising his eyebrows in an ironic grimace.



“It was a very intimate moment,” said Miss Shevchenko afterwards.

Undoubtedly this protest would have been less effective had Alexandra been wearing a bra, but that doesn’t mean it was particularly effective without one. President Putin seemed too intrigued by the messenger to notice the message, and no doubt laughed the whole thing off as a futile attempt to arouse him sexually. You can’t humiliate an ex-KGB man by showing him your jahoobies. Such displays are dismissed as decadent frippery in the official spy manual.

Sadly, the one dictator who might be cowed by naked breast-power is unlikely ever to face that ordeal. I refer to Kim Jong Un, whose baby cheeks would surely burn with shame if they were smothered between a pair of voluptuous boobies. This explains why the only females allowed in his presence are pubescent pom-pom girls and flat-chested army secretaries. I wonder if anyone could persuade Pamela Anderson to parachute behind enemy lines, so she could tit-slap some sense into the abominable little upstart?

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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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