"Boobs"
by Rachel Lagodka

Jugs, rack, boobs, or “mammalian protruberances” as Frank Zappa once called them on his album “Joe’s Garage,” (also famous for the quote, “anything over a mouthful is wasted),” whatever you want to call them: breasts are man-bait. They are bags of flesh designed in an evolutionary way to imitate the ass on an ape according to Desmond Morris’ classic The Naked Ape to attract a male for reasons of sexual reproduction once hominids started facing each other and some of them were too dumb to get it. Large amounts of flesh around the milk ducts serve no actual reproductive function. It would follow then that the more like an ape the man is the larger the breasts need to be n order to attract him.

A man recently told me that 19 year old Lindsay Lohann’s getting breast implants to play a teenager in a movie represented a victory for Hugh Heffner, whom he credited with changing the desired female esthetic from maidenly to matronly. “I just love big titties,” he drooled. And why wouldn’t he? Everywhere you look on TV and in the magazines, there is cleavage, looking very much like a butt crack indeed. The number of 18 year olds who underwent breast-implant surgery nearly tripled from 2002 to 2003. Considering the health risks and the $3,000 to $7,000 price tag, doesn’t anyone find this truly alarming? As a woman with almost no fat on her breasts I can say that I have never had a shortage of men attracted to me, though I still have to endure them making comments about the desirably ample size of other women’s breasts. My prime weapon against this (listen up my small-breasted sisters) is to regale the men in my life with stories my mother used to tell me about her job in an old people’s home. You see, large breasts are prone to getting bed sores under them. My mother used to have to treat the sores, powder the old ladies’ breasts, and then roll them up into a bra.

Now, mind you, I don’t feel sorry for women with large breasts at all. There are advantages to having obvious man bait. But I believe any man worth having cares more about the soul than the flesh and won’t require the sight or feel of large udders to get turned on. That a woman (unless she really wanted a career as a stripper) would go through the pain, the health risk, and the expense of getting breast implants to attract a man, represents more of a loss for feminism than a victory for Hugh Heffner, a mediocre champion of bad taste who occasionally puts an article worth reading in his magazine.

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