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“Go get me the paper stretcher.” - My Dad, getting rid of me at age 15
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Written by Ross Cavins
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Tuesday, 11 September 2007 01:13 |
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It's as simple as that. This article could end right now and you'd all know what I meant without me having to go into it. But where's the fun in that?
Whatever intelligence edge or business advantage men believe they have in this world, it disappears when faced with a nice set of boob cleavage. A man could be at the top of his game in the prime of his concentration and totally break down, drooling all over himself, if confronted with a set of Double D's and a low v-neck.
Cleavage is the colossal equalizer, the secret password, the greatest feminist weapon ever invented. Cleavage overpowers the strength of the penis ten times out of ten. Even bad cleavage is as mighty as a chunk of Kryptonite.
 Behold the power of cleavage.
Man can't even explain what time actually is, how can he be so arrogant as to offer an explanation of the essence of beauty: cleavage. It's sad to say, but you take an average woman, add nice cleavage and a low-cut shirt, and she becomes queen of the room, able to command small armies of bumbling men. Smart women know this power and use it daily, even if they don't like it.
Money is power? Knowledge is power? Nope, cleavage is power.
He who controls the information, controls the world? Nope, she who controls the man with the information, controls the world.
Men are easy. Put the ten smartest male minds in a room with a single set of C-cups in a wonder bra and you have a roomful of blathering idiots. It's quite simple, I'll restate it for you. Cleavage makes men stupid. Period.
Cleavage is so powerful, I've even seen it make gay men stupid. So strong is the lure that total flamers have been knocked off their guard, tripping over their words like a one-legged man jump-roping with his shoe untied.
Battle of the sexes? Where did this stupid saying come from? The illusion of a battle between the sexes was created by women who needed to placate the men into thinking they had a chance. That's like a nuclear capable country calling a truce of cold war with a country stocked with no more technology than throwing the heaviest rock they can find. Sure, there's a cease-fire but all the big country has to do is expose it's twin nukes and the rock country bows in immediate subjugation.
Men are no match for women when they arrive with their shirt buttons undone. Challenged with a face-full of cleavage, even the strongest man can't answer what color her eyes are.
So, regretfully and without hesitation, I officially surrender for all men everywhere. You win. Cleavage is queen. I bow, rocks in hand, and submit to your daily bidding.
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