Thanks for the mammories.

Lately I have been pretty consumed with worry about my boobies. I think about only three things on a daily basis:

What's happening on the inside of my girls? Am I going to have to have all or a portion of them removed? And if the latter should occur, where does a good girl find a bra for the 54 DD's I'll have built to replace them?

I'm not even kidding. If I have to sacrifice the twins, I will buy myself a set of top of the line, automatronic, porn star big breasts that will cause me to have to place a classified ad in search of an Oompah-Loompah to walk beneath me supporting them everywhere I go. They will be so magnificent and glorious that I will very likely be asked by the Smithsonian to donate a plaster cast of them, which of course I will do 'cause I'm nice like that.

Anywho, I am really going to try to take my mind off my girls and think about things non-boobie related today. I want to think of good things, happy things, things that make me laugh and things that are in no way associated with breasts.

Like the story my friend BD told me about his torturous battle with a terrorist rat that invaded his sleeping quarters in Iraq.

There he was, minding his own business and passing time looking for Waldo in his "Where's Waldo's Weapons of Mass Destruction" activity book, when suddenly he heard a sound coming from under his bed.

Because he's a hybrid half Marine, half Army soldier specially bred for killing by the US Government in climate controlled pods, BD fearlessly leapt into action. And when I say leapt, of course I mean in a manly killing machine kind of way and not in a swishy, Brokeback Mountain kind of way.

As smooth and stealthy as a snake, BD quietly moved to the floor and peered underneath his bunk. There, staring back at him with beady, glowing red eyes was a rat so big and so frightening, BD knew immediately it must be one of the infamous Al-Queida rats he'd learned about in a training film he'd seen only days before titled, "Infamous Al-Queida Rats and You".

Based on his training and experience, BD knew what to do.

"Shoo rat!" he yelled. "Shoo! Shoo!"

While a normal rat might flee upon hearing the command "shoo!", BD knew the fearless Al-Queida breed will only respond if the command is issued by a soldier using a high-pitched girlie voice while hopping around on his tippy toes and flailing his arms about wildly.

Realizing at once that he was dealing with a highly trained American soldier for whom he was no match, the rat quickly retreated.

Unfortunately he retreated into another soldier's room. It was a suicide mission.

"You lure the rat from under my bunk," said the other camo wearing guy to BD. "Once he is out, I will shoot him with my handy-dandy Russian made high-powered dart gun and our American asses will once again be free from this furry scourge."

BD did as instructed and flawlessly executed the classic Bugs Bunny by putting on a dress and some red lipstick and pretending to be a pretty rat hooker. Thinking BD was one of the promised 77 virgins, the gullible Al-Queida rat ran right for him.

"Kill it!" screamed BD while again using the Army approved tippy toe girlie dance.

An epic struggle between good and evil ensued. Darts whizzed through the killing field, rat fur flew and soldiers cried out in the fury of the battle.

"Bam! Whammo! Squish!" (OK. I'm a girl, so I don't know the sound a dart makes when it hits a large rat, but I think whammo is probably pretty close.)

As the 13" rat lay dying, three large darts protruding from his Al-Queida behind, in a final act of defiance, he whispered "Death to America".

And then BD put him in a Ziploc baggie and threw him in the trash. Oh the humanity.

I wonder what size boobies those 77 virgins have? Damn it. Here we go again.


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