And boobs aren't just anatomical expressions of biological processes, though that's what they would like you to think. They're powerful, sly, terrifying sin-sacks just waiting to drag us all to Gomorrah. The pink is just a disguise. Boobs should be mottled and green, like raptors or the necks of Sci-fi bad guys. They should all be affixed with warning labels shouting to us in illuminated, gothic text that "There be danger in these! Look away! Look away!"

Let me be very clear on this - Boobs threaten our very humanity. In their presence, we cannot be expected to stick to our mutually agreed-upon laws or the basic premise of civility. They are the worst definitions of anarchy, jutting poutily (in some instances) out into the world shouting at us to defy! Disobey! Destroy! They are the Wormtongues, the Rasputins, the leaning, whispering advisers who bring down kingdoms and politically emasculate the men(!) who were born to rule. From time to time, they are called "puppies," because deep down, they remind us of wolves, primarily those at the city gate, pacing and slavering for their chance to get inside the walls, bringing Hell and all that is unholy with them.

Don't be fooled. Swaddled in satin, they still plot our demise. Draped with too-thin t-shirt, they hate our civilized ways. Permitted to swing freely or strapped in like prisoners of some global asylum, they bide their time, plot our plots, and peek out every once in a while at a formal dance to remember a face or write down a name. Look upon them and be damned.

(If it's not obvious by now, I find the whole thing silly. Boobs are boobs. Sure, they're sexy sometimes, but sometimes babies need to eat, and sometimes women need to relieve the physical discomfort of having too much milk. I find it a little sad that we can't just be adults about it and put basic humanity over outdated, unevolved religious nonsense.)