Animal cruelty du Jour

Apparently, the latest craze du jour in New York (well, mes petit pois where else indeed???) is to dye your cat in some fetching multi colour design.  Forget Joseph and the amazing Technicolor dream coat – now the latest must have accessory is to colour match Le Chat to go with your post modern ironic Lichtenstein pop art paintings.  Gosh the possibilities and design variations are limitless.

Incidentally this blog entry has just been discovered

Day 711  My tormentor took me to some strange location full of Hispanic little men in shiny too tight trousers, open shirts and medallions around their chests.  Jesus, the proud Puerto Rican keeper of this new torture chamber kept exclaiming ‘Mi hijas what a darrrrrrling little pussssy caat’ while applying some strange toxic lotions on my fur.  My captor smiled while watching my latest humiliation.  One day when the glorious feline revolution will take place and all cats can walk freely without pink glitter collars I shall repay these creatures for all of those heinous attacks.  I discovered some new powers just the other day when my captor brought in a new ally; he fled muttering something about ‘allergy’.  I must find out how to harness this new weapon….

Would madam like some rolfing?

Asked the gent.  What hotbed of debauchery and blatant licentiousness had I stumbled into!  He looked at me with a strange glint in his eyes and suggestively mumbled that it would really, really sort me out.  What, here and now?  I am bewildered by the direct and forward approach.  I have no idea what this strange practice entails but it sounds positively filthy!  But somehow I also have a little hot feeling deep in my loins imagining being rolfed….  I lick my lips and laugh nervously and suggest that we ought to perhaps get better acquainted.  Now it was the turn of the guy to look slightly bewildered but then he started talking dirty to me so should be prepared for my reaction.  I wonder if people can sense the palpable tension between us.  He suggests so taking it to a more private setting, I am ready to follow when he volunteers that the procedure involves soft tissue manipulation.  Mmmmh, guess I should have perhaps not thought anything too smutty since I had wandered into a natural and holistic health centre.  On second thoughts so I prefer hard tissue and the more manly hands of my osteopath so decide to see him instead.  At least, he is guaranteed to give me a cracking good time…

Scaling the peaks

Well, to paraphrase an older song ‘it is my blog and I pen what I like to…’  My last entry discussed extreme breast surgery and the emphasis was on supersized hooters and not an attack on cosmetic surgery as such!  Since I received a flood of comments on this subject most of which I have not approved or have landed in my spam section.  Well, this is not a forum but an outlet for my personal musings so I don’t want to host a major debate or heated exchange on my blog.  If anyone feels passionately about the subject they can raise their concerns on their own online diary or enter into a dialogue on a suitable public forum.

But what I resent most of all are those that are pretending to enter a dialogue on the subject while prominently displaying a web link to their online lingerie or other clothing sales site in their comment.  Besides the fact that the spamming attempts are as subtle as an air raid, I am unwilling to allow anyone to exploit my site to gain free publicity.  Apart from taking exception to ‘entrepreneurs’ exploiting the fruits of my loins, this is after all my virtual diary and I am not keen for it to be dissected by those that want to tout their wares.  The latter is my sole prerogative!  lol

And to reiterate I am also really not interested in UK statistics on how many ladies might be pear shaped and may actually have small boobies despite being on the voluptuous site.  Please save such snippets for a relevant research or someone who cares!  For a start I am not an English pair but a fruity Continental hourglass wench.  I was not publishing a scientific paper and thus am not seeking the opinion of some misguided head teacher!   And no – I will not back up any of my observations with relevant scientific data.  Rule of manicured thumb is that many ladies that are pneumatically padded all over are also frequently blessed in the cleavage department.  This observation can be demonstrated by moi as I have been a curvy size 8 for most of my adult life and with each precious extra pound on my physique; pert delicious mini apples have morphed into juicy ripe Honeydew melons!

Gents if you love plump and natural then bonbon for you but this is not a platform to denigrate any lady that seeks to maximise what Maman Nature has given her.   I have seen lovely results of great augmentations and can appreciate the boost in confidence it has given some ladies.  I just am worried about those that obviously suffer from some form of distorted body image and who become addicted to cosmetic surgery.  Such a condition worries me especially if coupled with perhaps a manipulative partner who will encourage extreme transformation into almost a cartoon character of a thin body with gigantic inflated boobs.  So if you have a differing opinion – tough titties – I reserve the right to select what comment I will approve on my blog!

Ze fallen Madonna with ze big boobies

Mmmh, not really talking about the supposed master piece by Van Klomp but the strange and recurrent quest of some men for the largest mammaries available.  These udderly unbelievable cleavage busters seldom grace the frame of otherwise slim women naturally.  Normally an overall generous body shape means an equally impressive rack.  However, some guys are looking for a fairly slim or even skinny female body with gravity defying top.  Far being it for me to criticise any lady for optimising her assets with cosmetic surgery.  But I am concerned when it starts becoming addictive and rather than adding a couple of cup sizes the new bra needs to resort to the Cyrillic alphabet’s extra letters to measure the new circumference.  When is big too massive?  Of course, all of us floozies have our own special attraction but I would prefer to offer a more ‘rounded’ appeal rather than offering a singular fetish or attain some notoriety based on extreme surgery.  Generally, my puppies tend to swell and wane similarly to the moon depending on my overall weight.  Hence I refer to rather generous handfuls, obviously referring to averagely proportioned hands…

Sadly, especially when a lady becomes famous or better infamous purely for her chest size often the career is ‘managed’ by some dubious Svengali.  One of the most notorious examples is the late Lolo Ferrari whose husband/manager ‘encouraged’ her to undergo 22 operations to transform her cleavage to gargantuan proportions and the dubious honour of an entry in the Guinness Book of World Records.  It seems so as her boobies inflated the rest of her personality shrank and all people saw with lido-like inflated lips and two massive bowling balls.  Ms Ferrari was paraded around assorted erotic fairs, man-handled and gawped at like some latter day Joseph Merrick’s female counterpart.  I recall seeing her appearances on Eurotrash with a tinge of sadness, a lady that perhaps wanted some genuine recognition but was reduced to some sort of cartoon character in order to amuse sniggering viewers who watched with sheer disbelief how her silicon babies kept her afloat in a paddling pool.  However, as a fellow woman I worried about the sheer toll such extreme breast augmentation would take on her health.  Even buying a bra would require the help of scaffolding and structural engineering experts!  No wonder the lady was on assorted pain killers and suffered greatly, dying aged only 37 by suffocation!  Even so her late husband was cleared of her murder; I feel he had driven her to an early death by pushing her to such extreme surgery.  Personally, I would like to see this twisted Professor Higgins type have some special scrotum enlargement and place her implants, proud 6.2 lb in each of his balls!

Can I dance around your Maypole…?

Surely it isn’t my fault for feeling a tad friskier than normal!  Well, alright we have already established that I am a brazen floozy but there must be some other reason for my rampant libido…  And I reckon it is down to the time old tradition of celebrating the renewal of the earth this time of the year.  I read somewhere in olden days that men would plant a miniature Maypole outside the dwellings of a lady whose attention they wished to attract, of course Freudians would have a field day!  Mmmh, I daresay if you planned a pole erection outside my boudoir you might get my attention…  But darlings, don’t waste your time Morris Dancing – apparently and I am quoting an expert but these complex dances require great skill and practice – one mistake and the whole thing becomes a mess. So let the only jingle be that of the contributions to my special Maypole Erection Fund and leave the weaving around your pole to me!