Surviving the big butt era.


In my youth, having a big behind was a curse. I was proudly strutting my tight little tushy around while my girlfriends let themselves starve to death in the hope of fitting in their Jordache.

Times have changed and I am no longer in style with my Barbie butt. Today, J-Lo’s bon-bon looks anorexic compared to the callipygous monster Nikki Minaj. Girls in lack of attention will take selfies all cabooses loose, turning their lower back into ski slopes. Their redone breasts no longer serve much since it’s the rump that gets all the glory.

We really are in the era of the humongous ass…

This is not so surprising, even if it sickens me, given the modesty of my rump: The World of Entertainment influences us and the average bee hived Caucasian that wanted to cry at her party was replaced by the Blacks and Latinas that go wobbledy wobble, wobble wo-wo, wobin.

There’s nothing that makes me laugh more than a pale and desperate nympho who twerks her two floury loaves. You won’t give your generation a hard on, Miley, let it go. The music videos are full of huge oily balloons that go badonkadonk in the camera lens. And cellulite is not a problem as long as you possess a twelve feet crack and have two beautiful tectonic plates in full earthquake mode.

By adding all that sugars and fat in the occidental stomachs, now the round women are part of the pick-up artists’ scenery. Men are increasingly interested in the gluttonous and are quitting the gluten-free buns.

As I live in the times of Web trash madness, my mind is solicited at the four corners of my screen by the moons of moronic celebrities and barely legal wannabes that give me brown eyed winks.

In fact, it’s so much all about that bass, so much the posterior obsession these days that I can’t even look quietly at porn since the sodomy scenes are now spectacular and mandatory. It goes from a slobbery blowjob to the Death Star in one flip of the lady. The valiant Rocco battles vertigo to plant his flag in the heart of Mont Big Booty. And as if that was not enough, he calls his lads and bang! There are two, three more phalluses in the anus horribilis. Mmmm, ‘kay…

In short, what I mean with this delirium is that I had a complex with my small boobs for years and I finally appreciate them. I refuse to start bashing my compact and practical junkless trunk. Wake me when foul mouthed shallots will be considered sexy.

Meanwhile, I’ll settle for petting my kitty on an old VHS of Ginger Lynn…


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