Brains, Boobs, Bras & Brats

I write to you today with a heavy heart and a heavy flow (just kidding, but I AM especially bitchy today, so beware!) But mostly, with a heavy heart. Well, not JUST a heavy heart, but also a great deal of confusion and perplexment (yes, perplexment is now a word!)

I write to you today to talk about the most popular and highly anticipated, annual meeting of the minds. This is a gathering of intellectuals near and far. At this event, we have all of our modern day Aristotles (if you will), joining together to answer the BIG questions and discuss PRESSING matters. Matters such as:

Is a push-up bra the answer to world hunger?

Are g-strings more practical than thongs?

How do you wear nipple tassels but still keep it tasteful and wholesome?

No, I am not talking about the State of the Union, but good guess! We are talking about The Victoria's Secret Fashion show--the single most important event of every dumb biddy's life! Yes, more important than Valentine's Day and even more important than the opening day for the movie 50 Shades of Gray (and, let me tell you, that is an IMPORTANT day!)

 This year, Victoria's Secret fashion show received the same irrational attention as it has every other year. For straight men or lesbian women this attention is understandable and kind of whatever. But, I can not for the LIFE of me accept the obsession that straight dumb biddies insist on having with this fashion show.

Some may argue that it has to do with a woman's vanity. As a straight and severely jealous (to the point of practically needing to be locked up with a straight jacket) biddy myself, I understand this sentiment. One can not HELP but gaze enviously at woman who has been blessed with perfect tits, a perfect washboard stomach, a perfect face and who is just all around, you know, perfect. However, I am not going to sit here and lie to you and say that this makes me happy for them or that it makes me happy in general.

In my humble opinion, these moronic biddies who plague the country, swallowing up all our air and using all of our Essie nail polish, are full of doggy doo-doo. They do not LOVE Adriana Lima or want to see her succeed in being hot. They are merely PRETENDING to have some kind of "sisterly camaraderie" because that is their cute little "feministy" defining moment.

(*said in an English accent*)"Oh, Adriana, I am so HAPPY for you that you turned out to be the perfect human being, carved by angels and shitting flowers. Here I am just little old me with my cellulite-ridden ass and bacne haunting my life (even though I am at least fifteen years past puberty) but I rest peacefully knowing that you do not suffer from the human condition of blemishes, fat and poop that smells like, well, poop."

Yes, let us continue this elaborate ruse that we are celebrating other women's beauty by watching this ridiculous fashion show year after year.

Yes, let us continue to pretend that we do not dread the day, every year, where we are reminded that our push-up bras that we purchased from Victoria's Secret do not come with the breasticles that the models have been advertising (these accessories are apparently sold separately... batteries not included).

Yes, let us continue to celebrate a mindless, pointless fashion show that makes us hate being naked in front of even our pet hermit crabs.

AND, for the love of everything holy, let us continue to celebrate the Taylor Swift disease that is far worse than any Ebola outbreak...

XOXO,

Jules