I don't know how to describe the Modern Rose, When I can't refer to her shape against her clothes With the fever of purple prose.

Over at No Smoking in the Skull Cave, Becca posted a handful of pictures of nude model/"actress" Aria Giovanni. I opined:

Remember that line I love from The Science of Sleep? "I like your boobs. I think they’re very friendly and unpretentious.”

Aria Giovanni's boobs are contentious and overbearing. Especially in that first picture.

That's just one fella's opinion, of course.

This hath led S. Frog, who as I have observed on more than one occasion makes me look like Dan Quayle when it comes to "an appreciation of beautiful women," to comment:

Anyone who intellectualizes their opinion of a woman's breasts in those terms is the definition of pretentious and overbearing. I don't need to justify my behavior in a way that makes me look precious and clever. I just like her tits.

Well!



I suppose I could express my opinion that, when we die, if we've been good, we get to take an eternal hot shower with Virginia Madsen. Or I could say ooh baby, gimmie soma that.


Equally, I could say Mia Sara is a very beautiful woman. Or I could say me wanna love her long time.



I might say that Shannon Elizabeth makes me feverish with passion; that she is in some ways the very model of what there is in a woman to arouse a male. Or I could say she's got a great rack and I'd like to stick my dick into her.

Angelina Jolie symbolizes, for me, the ludicrous standards we set for female sexuality in this culture because she had to wear a padded bra to play Lara Croft.




Oh, I'm sorry, I meant, I want to rub my prick between her titties.

A wise man once said Linda Shayne's sensitive performance in one of her more challenging parts was awesome, that it made movie history, the highlight of the entire movie, amazing and moving. But who cares...she put 'em on the glass!


Of Penelope Cruz, I might just muse, that Richard Kiley could well have been singing about her when he sang, "I Never Met a Rose."

Or, I could ruminate on how fun it would be to tune her breasts like a radio.



Lindsey Shaw could be seen as testament to the celestial joy of a young woman in bloom. Or a slo-mo shot could be taken of her tits bouncing in time to middle eastern music (oh wait-her series already did that).

Even poor dead, dumb drunken floozy Anna Nicole, without a thought above her neck, had in her the woman's gift of life that we all celebrate.

Or should.

Or um, ah, hotcha!

Lord knows, the last thing I want to be thought of as is pretentious. Well, maybe the second to last.

BARTLET
What I can't stomach are people who're out to convince people that the educated are soft and privileged and out to make them feel like they're less than. You know, 'he may be educated, but I'm plain-spoken...'

-The West Wing