I have nothing against babies. They're cute when they're not crying, and I'm not the one who has to change their diapers.
In a somewhat related topic, I am a stringent supporter of bare breasts.
However, bring these two things together in my coffee shop, and it fucks with my head. Twice in the last two weeks I've sat down in a second-hand couch at -- let's just call it the "Yuppie Granola Cafe" -- and have come eye-to-mam with Mommy treating Baby Conor or somesuch to a bare-breasted meal. And not the subtle "Oh, she's got the blanket over the baby while she breastfeeds" variety, but the pious "Here's my tit! I'm breastfeeding! It's my right as an empowered mother, dammit!" variety.
And what's a tit-loving young man to do? Baby or no baby, there is a bare D-cup four feet across the table from me. If I look, I'm some kind of perverted monster. If I don't look, every synapse in my brain rages against my faggy politeness.
Can I get ruling here? Where are the Men of the Square Table when you need them? Oh that's right, those cocksuckers are too busy talking about putting lime wedges in Bud Light. As if any dipshit would actually do that.
And now, your Meast of the Week:
Jason Taylor: a sack, a forced fumble, an INT for a TD, and he caused at least two Rex Grossman bed-wettings this past week. And I can't be sure about this, but after the game he probably had break-up sex with Zach
Taylor Thomas's sister.
Or if he didn't, he certainly earned it.