Worst Boobs Ever

A recent entry on the Bucky Four Eyes Cotillion spoke of a geriatric Steppenwolf fan that felt compelled to unwind her drooping grey flesh blobs at a 2005 Steppenwolf reunion concert. Her description brought back an image I managed to suppress for 8 years now, suppressed for 80% of a decade by post-traumatic stress syndrome. Thanks Bucky.

The year was 1997 and I lived in Chicago’s near-west side. I lived in a seedy, scummy area where rent was cheap, gunshots were common and wandering around the neighborhood businesses always brought something you never saw before. A trip to the video store one night would be no exception.

If you asked the 10-year-old Schmootzie what he’d think about a lady walking into a video store with a see-thru shirt on, he would have given non-qualatative, unbridled enthusiasm. “Boobs good!” But the sight that was seen left me scarred with a grasp of a mammary deformity that had no business in public display.

I was in the video store, appropriately so called, as they had one video. As I stood looking at the movie boxes the bell on the door rang and in she walked…

She best resembled Shirley Hemphill, the waitress from “What’s Happening”, only more overweight, more unkept. She wore stretchy pants and a garment that may best be thought of as ethereal-- a mesh top that was completely see through.

There was nothing spared for the imagination. Hanging from her chest were two enormous bags, two sacks of slush that started in the center of her chest and clung tight to the contour of her ample belly down to her belt-metropolitan area. One went to the right, one went to the left, drooping semi-gelatinous udders drained of any pertitude by an apparent decade of nursing. They flanked a cavernous navel, and at the end of each bag, two feet below their origin, they terminated in a mild discoloration that hallmarked nipplage. Each areola was the size of a pancake, and the nipple proper was a pencil eraser at the end, pointing directly at the floor.

The most amazing part of the display was that either breast was no more than a half-inch thick at any point. She could give herself a monthly lump exam with a rolling pin.

The second most amazing part of the display was that she apparently thought that she had the goods; and her “sexy” goobags were worth display.

I couldn’t stop soaking in this National Geographic moment. It was like two locomotives hitting head on at full speed… so ugly that I had to watch.Maybe the best part is that I found a new definition for bad boobs that raised the bad bar so high that everything else I ever saw was nowhere near as evil. That includes the stuff on guys.

Still, that image has now been burned into my synapses and will plague me until I get to have it erased by a brain-eating disease. I say to the 10 year old Schmootzie, “Be careful of what you wish for”.