As a poetic form, the haiku can be very adaptable. Here's a sampling of haiku involving boobs. Or, would these be more properly termed senryū?
They're perky, small bounce I think they are looking great. Don't say otherwise. Why didn't you grow When everyone else's did? But that's cool, boobs.
They all lied to me. Everyone said they'd come But they never did. Now here are my boobs There are only two of them And I don't need more. They are nice and small So I can let them be free When the weather warms. The girls are not big Yes, I am post pubescent. My butt is nice too.
Bra in the dryer
Warped, twisted underwires
Oh yes, I have boobs.
Don't really think about them
Unless I'm jogging.
Cop pulls me over. Show him a little cleavage "Have a nice day ma'am" My girls are quite large Wish I could wear a v-neck And not look "slutty" Mine are fairly small But at least they are perky. My butt is curvy. My boobs are quite cute They don't hurt me when I run They're only A cups. Evening dalliance. But why is your hand in there? Not quite now, Big Boy.
Are they real, you ask? Yes, and they jiggle well too. No, you can't touch them. School uniform blouse My only clean bra is red. This may not work well.
The popular term, "Walk of Shame," While in use since Lord-knows-when, does convey the implication that the performer had somehow did something shameful, something that one should be embarrassed with. After all, it does lead to a furtherance of the human race and most of us try it and like it. And mores have shifted away from the 'oldrules' of the past. But that's a more! Why not use some affirming concept to designate this early- to mid-morning trip home instead? And why not have each and all give the walker a fist bump or high five? Get real, people! Stop playing hypocrite! If you think it's okay, then don't be coy the next day. In the interest of terminological accuracy, here are some alternatives to the "Walk of Shame": 1. Stride of Pride 2. Just got Laid Parade 3. Traipse of Triumph 4. Slut Strut 5. Post-Coitus Catwalk 6. Morning Cooldown After Cardio 7. Victory Lap 8. Personal Parade 9. After-Sex Saunter 10. Morning Mosey 11. Strut of Success And dress in what you wore the night before! Carrying your heels is okay on the morning afterward. https://www.bustle.com/articles/97998-7-sex-positive-alternatives-to-the-walk-of-shame-because-having-sex-is-awesome-not-shameful http://www.self.com/story/much-better-names-for-the-walk-of-shame
Every school must have a newspaper. This is deemed one of those standard features of a high school. Typically, its content is approved by a faculty advisor who ensures that nothing too frank or troublesome to the administration and school board is published. Actually, it is part of the Journalism elective that some students may take and learn real-life journalism skills like slanting the news as the real newspapers do. Is so happens that Tee Brigitte and Tee Clotilde were editors as seniors; and they mostly made for a very conservative, untroublesome pair of editors for The Weekly Bayou. The faculty advisor was lulled into a torpor of security due to nothing ever written seemly not amiss to good order and civility. That's the way principals and faculty advisors like it, you bet! As for the paper itself, it was received by the students as a little on the boring side. Students scanned each issue to see if they were mentioned, to read the lame jokes, and to find out the school menu for the following week so they knew whether to eat in or to bag their lunches. The advisor even allowed reporters to wear fedoras in the newsroom with press cards in the hat bands, just like real reporters! A month before the term ended, les jeune filles put in some hidden surprises. A schedule note declared that April Fools's Day was declared an official holiday; and classes would not be held that day. An exposé mentioned the Mr. Comeaux, the Assistant Principal, wore pink bikini panties. On another page, there was an article that the chemistry lab was designated a Superfund site. That was a teaching occasion, though. Many students first found out what a Superfund site was. As a further happening, the E.P.A. paid the school an on-site inspection to write a report that, as usual, no one would read before it gets filed. Some eyebrows in the adult community shot up when there was an unconfirmed report that Bayou Teche High School would not play football in Fall, 2017. A frisson of fear transpired: Now what would people do on Friday nights in the Fall? All there is is beer, sex and television. But an editorial packed quite a wallop. It argued that School Board members should be given intelligence tests and the results be reported by The Weekly Bayou, the Times-Picyaune, the Lafayette Advertiser, and the Baton Rouge Advocate. With the last deed, that was going too far. Some people, however, thought that the girls had some inside information and demanded that a full disclosure should be made. There's something to be said for journalistic transparency! And for elected school boards.
[I originally wrote this, but filed it away as being too improbable. However, there was a recent report in the Washington Post that some high school student journalists in Kansas looked into the qualifications of an incoming principal for their school. They found her to have gotten diplomas from a diploma mill and other things that were overlooked when she was hired! Sometimes people overlook the obvious.]
Jean-Honoré Fragonard (1732-1806) was a French painter who specialized in light, playful paintings -- one was of a mildly risqué nature. Perhaps his most famous, and certainly most reproduced, painting was "The Swing." The scene depicted is that of a young woman being pushed in a swing by an older man. Unseen below is a young man looking upward at her as she generously displays her legs for his viewing pleasure while swinging. (Back in the time depicted, ladies did not wear pants.) She teasingly kicks one of her sandals in the air.
The Disney movie, "Frozen," incorporated a similar scene with Anna being the girl on the swing. However, there is no peeping Tom in the bushes to appreciate her well-turned ankle and more. Still, it is unmistakably a scene in homage to Fragonard's original painting.
Part of the charm of the rococo style in art is that it is largely non-serious rather than pompous or bombastic. As such, it fits in well with cartoon settings.
Father Thibodeaux was making his weekly patient visits to the hospital. As he walked down the hallway, he spotted Sister Bernadette coming toward him, lickety-split, saying her rosary fast and loud. She ran past him without saying a word. Father Thibodeaux continues down the hall and saw Doctor Boudreaux coming around the corner. He asks, "Doc Boudreaux, what's the matter with Sister Bernadette? She jus' passed by me goin' to beat de band, and saying her rosary fast and loud." Doctor Boudreaux tells him, "I just told her she's pregnant." Father Thibodeaux asked, "Oh, no! Is she really?" Doc Boudreaux said, "No, of course not. But I sure cured her hiccups!"
I'm all for the equality of the sexes in all forms. However, there is one glaring setting for gender bias that our society seems unable to cope with: at the seashore or around the swimming pool. Specifically, women are required by custom and law to have both a bottom and a top, but men are only required to wear a bottom.
Now this is de facto gender inequality, something not to be countenanced in this tenth year of the 21st century in America and the 234th year of our Independence! After all, what's good for the gander should also be good for the goose as well. But there are perils to going topfree nowadays, as the current nonbiased terminology has it. Except in South Beach and other places habituated by Snowbirds off the Canadian reservation or more by those wanton Europeans, mores are squarely against the exposure of female breasts -- despite our national obsession with these topographical features. And, I'm personally uncomfortable with the idea, as I discovered through trial and error on a trip to the Italian Riviera. No, true topfree beaches are not likely to be seen around here.
But, still, work with me one this kind of reasoning, guys. I'll get to the point. The idea came to me suddenly while reading a summer book. Let's have true sexual equality in swimsuits: require guys to wear tops too! When I was in Nag's Head recently, I saw up too, too close the results of several years of American-style supersizing: a motely assortment of New York male tourists with protrubing bellies and moobs (copious adipose tissue on the chests of men.) As a matter of fact, many of these Noo Yawkers had more need of a bra than I do, and theirs with industrial-grade underwiring! Would you want to see Tony Soprano or Ted Kennedy in a speedo without a top? I think not. Very clearly, there are esthetic advantages that accrue when men don tops.
So, let's all get behind the bikini equality movement! Require both guys and gals to wear tops! Who knows, some guys might really find it to their liking to wear a particularly stylish halter, especially if they can have their preferred sports team's logo on it. Some of the more athletically-inclined and well-endowed might favor the monomastic sports bra styling, or the arty might elect a frilly bandeau, while the daring might go in for the discreet cleavage of a demi-bra! And, in benighted places like Gulf Shores or South Beach, where inhibitions are few and the High Sheriff is tolerant, the very cheeky thongs might be dared! As a matter of fact, some of our more daring local guys might make the sojourn to Beverly Hills to get the implant surgery to allow them have moobs to be proud of and willing to hint at with daring swimwear!
Think about this. We can achieve true sexual equality in this area if we all work together.
(I first wrote this in 2010 in another forum. It pissed some people off who took it the wrong way.)
It is my understanding that ministers in 17th century Massachusetts used to preach long sermons -- so long that church elders (or whatever their official title was) used poles to prod dozing church members during the marathon sermons. Maybe that is apocryphal, though. Anyway, it is a legend of sorts: what is implied by it is that people have limited attention spans; even when dwelling on spiritual matters. This can be very important, especially in larger cities where church-goers can choose from several alternatives of a particular denomination. Such is the case with Catholic churches in New Orleans: you can find them in several modes of your choosing: Irish, French, or German priest -- no problem. Do you like a Dominican or a Jesuit, or a parish priest? Do you prefer pomp and circumstance, or no? Again, you can choose, baby doll! [I know the official line is that you are supposed to attend your parish church. But no one hardly received that memo from the Archbishop!] Anyway, matters of convenience come into play. Thus it was with the several generation of Breauxes. Is the church convenient to where you're going afterwards? And very critically: how long does the priest sermonize? As a matter of fact, this is the key factor among many Orleanians! As a casual rule: after ten minutes, people sort of squirm More than 20 minutes, many are restive. And we're talking about regular attendees here. This is particularly critical if the Saints are playing a Sunday afternoon game, especially on the East Coast! If you time it right, you can pick up some Popeye's chicken, a French baguette and a dessert from a bakery, and settle in for the game on time!
A dessert and coffee while watching the game? A good plan.
My name is Angélique (or Angel). I'm a Cajun native of New Orleans, LA. I'm a
blonde in my late '20's. I'm married and full-time stay at home mommy of a daughter. Politically, I'm independent, with contrarian leanings.
I still have some traces of my Cajun/Yat accent despite having been in the groves of academe.
I hope you won't mind my odd sense of humor.