Muammar Al Khadafi

John Lennon
Woman

"Stop lookin' at these..... (pointing to chest)....and start lookin' at this!.. (pointing to blackboard.)"

Miss Edington......my ninth grade English teacher

Since we are in the summer months, I feel compelled to address the ladies who might be readin' this. I would like to address something that is near and dear to your hearts.

I would, however, like to make a few disclaimers before I start.

I am not a perv. I am not steeped in pornography. I do not leer. I am nothing but a healthy, red-blooded male.

That said,.....I feel that I must ask a simple question.

What's with the cleavage?

(Ok,...now there are some women who are now pointing their mouse cursor over the red X at the corner of the page. That's perfectly fine. I do not lament that there are some that wouldn't want to read such a randy post. I respect that position. I really do....)

I find, however, that as we get into the heat of summer, cleavage takes center stage, as it were.

I do not complain about that.I understand the need to cool one's self off....and I understand the need to cool one's self off with a busty style.

I have no problem with this, ladies. Do whatever you want....It makes me no nevermind.

The thing I want to address is simple.If you are going to display cleavage,....then please don't get mad at us if you catch our eyes momentarily driftin' across it,....OK?

(momentarily is the key word here)

It's only fair.

You have to understand that we guys still have the emotional make up of a ninth grader. All guys have the emotional make up of ninth graders. We have become more refined in our behavior, but the emotional maturity remains stunted in the ninth grade.....and if anyone tells you anything different,...they're lying.

(Pause)

(sip of coffee)

This is not something that we,...as rational men and women....really need to negotiate, is it?

The thing you have to understand, ladies, is that we, the more visually oriented of the species, can't help it.

Because the way you're built,.....dictates the way we're wired.

It just makes it dashed uncomfortable for us when we have to make a conscious decision to keep our eyes in check when one of you walks in the room with a spray painted on T-shirt....with a neckline that's closer to the navel than the neck.

...and I ain't no freakin' perv, man!

I'm usually mindin' my own business,...doin' somethin' like eatin' nachos....or a crossword puzzle....when, all of a sudden, you walk into the room and what YOU wear throws me into such a tizzy that it makes me remember what it was like when the principal came into the room demanding to know who started the fire in the gym.

It's not a pleasant feeling.

Please,...I'm beggin' you,...I'm trying to enter middle age with a modicum of dignity here.

It's painful enough.....without a woman entering a room wearin' a t-shirt that looks like it was made out of the same material as her nylons.

I don't need this at this point in my life.

All it does is end up getting me in dutch,....ya know?

And why do we have to have this cat and mouse game anyhow?

You know what I'm talkin' about,....if our eyes drift....and you don't catch us,....we win.

If our eyes drift and you do catch us,....then you take your left arm...reach around the front.... pretend to scratch your right shoulder blade....and glare at us like we just defamed your grandmother.

Then you win....and we are filled with the despondent feeling that we are one step away from a soiled overcoat and hangin' out with Pee-Wee Herman.

It's like Russian Roulette. Your fortunes can't hold out forever, man. Every red-blooded male knows that one day he will get caught. Every guy knows this,...and is still willing to take their chances.....and, like Russian Roulette, there is about a one in six chance that we will get caught.

(I think the Rand Corporation did a study on that....)

You,...for your part,.....get us to happily sit down at the table like we're Christopher Walken in The Deer Hunter.

It's never gonna end pretty. One of these days your brains will get blown out.

Yet,...in the words of the poet and laureate, Brian Johnson of AC/DC....

"....Had to cool me down, to take another round, now I'm back in the ring, to take another swing...."

We will always get back into the ring, ladies. We know there is a good chance that we may lose but we are willing to take that chance.

I don't say this as if I am lookin' for trouble,...(pardon the pun),...but this is something that is ingrained into our very beings. This is the way we are....and this is what makes us so endearing to women,...right?

Let me put it this way. If there are 300 people in a room....with the President Of The United States,...every guy in that room will be able to point you to the nearest cleavage.....including the President Of The United States.

(i.e: Bill Clinton...JFK,...FDR...LBJ....)

It's been this way since that tart, Dolly Madison, was in the White House. Cleavage is our kryptonite. That's really the only way to put it.

Don't hate us because we have a weakness for cleavage.

Hate us for the things that matter.

Hate us for our selective hearing.

Hate us because we sit in front of the tube with our hands down the front our pants.

Hate us for not doin' the dishes right.

Hate us because we have to make a phone call when we are out to dinner....because have no concept of how much the tip should be.

As you can see, there are plenty of reasons to hate us....let's just keep everything in focus and get the rules on the table.

If you display cleavage,.... then us guys are,...more than likely,... on the verge of blowin' our brains out.

I, personally, can admit it.....and I apologize in advance.

Anyway,....