Assimilated, my butt. I wasn't going to touch this thing, but seeing as this has been declared an "abandoned journal," I think I shall after all. Lord knows I have reason.
Why on earth is it that women have this confusion between happiness and a really huge, artificial set of knockers? I mean, honestly, if breast size were to guarantee success in all endeavors and harmony with all around you, world leaders would, in a bizarre and grotesque way, resemble centerfolds. Old, liver-spotted, bearded centerfolds, but nobody would care because their scientific-miracle selves would have brought us world peace. Other fabulous things too, I'd imagine, but I can't think of what, because that BIG GAPING LOGIC HOLE keeps humming and breaking my concentration. To tone down the hyperbole a little bit and sail into the realm of common misconceptions (which is, in a way, sadder than the above), why is it that women blame their lack of success in dating, society, and sometimes the workplace on their breast size? Granting exceptions for true pigs, whose opinions shouldn't count for much anyway, no one gives a damn. If you are flat as a board, but also completely incompetent at your job, you will not be promoted. The onus here is not on your body, but your brains. If you are modestly endowed, but a complete shrew, men will not date you for long. Not because you're not collapsing under the weight of your own breasts, but because people do not, as a rule, like people who are mean. If you're completely stacked, but a wretched person, other women do not hate you for your genes. They hate you because you connive and betray their trust. Not rocket science. However, I won't spare for a minute the women who do save their venom for those packing more in their blouses. You may hate to hear it, but that doesn't make life any easier. Men don't like you more, and (again, note the "total pig" clause) it doesn't make work and socializing effortless. If anything, it impedes it because you get catty bitches coming down on you for your genes. That's terribly unfair, because unless they look like an alien from repeated plastic surgeries, they did not choose their genes. Sure, they can choose to work out if they want to be fit, dress a certain way because they prefer it, or wear makeup because they think it's stylish. Much beyond that, though, and you're looking at Ma Nature herself. Ease up and use those brains you claim to have (you know, the brains you've got and those dumb bimbos lack). Kick back, relax, and let the bile go. You'd be amazed at how much smoother things run.