Man boobs: Earth’s greatest mystery. It’s a question that has loomed in the minds of great thinkers for ages. Why are some men blessed with toned pecs and others forced to slouch to conceal their chesticles? Some say it’s because we’re lazy and eat too much, but I refuse to accept that. If this is a world where we are forced to face the consequences of our irresponsibility then I refuse to live in it. Why do you think I went to college, mom?
There are plenty examples of perfectly healthy men with bitch-tits; it’s not just restricted to us tubby folk. Just look at Kirstie Alley. No matter how much weight he loses he still can’t ditch those deposits of fat swinging between his armpits. God bless him.
Milk jigglers can make any situation awkward: swimming, jump-roping, basketball, jumping jacks, running, and mammograms; no matter what, they stick around with fluffy persistence.
Some comfort is the fact that there are plenty of successful men with man boobs. Buddha had them and he still got puss-… George Costanza had them and women lov- shit. Well, orangutans have them, and I’m sure they get all the orangutan pussy they want. Mmm, mmm. Yes sir.
Have you ever gone out with a girl with smaller tits than you? Has your dad ever shook your chest and yelled, “Milkshake!” while you cried yourself to sleep? Has a baby ever seemed way too comfortable when you held it? If you answered yes to any of these, then you know the pain of the front-heavy life.
I’m currently working on a solution. It’s called porn and twinkies. Sure, it won’t make your man-udders disappear, but it will make those judgmental eyes vanish! My prescription in the mean time is to hide it tastefully.
Don’t wear solid light-colored shirts. They make your lovely little lumps look like mountains. Hoodies are your best friend. They’re thick, no one notices you’re smuggling two gallons of buttermilk under your shirt.
Don’t move around too much, because then they’ll start-a-swingin’. Most of all don’t ever have sex, ever. You really won’t have to try too hard to do this, trust me. Girls already mistake you for one of them, so unless they’re a straight up low-standard bulldyke, you’re in the clear.



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