You Have Never Loved Anything Like This One Man Loves Titties 


Via a tipster, we have occasion to look at a remarkable post from Asheville Craigslist, titled “Too much to ask? m4w.”

When someone’s on Craigslist asking Hey: too much?—the answer has historically been: Absolutely. And naturally, this guy’s asking for tit pics. “No thanks,” you might be thinking. “I don’t even know you, and besides, I haven’t even seen my own tits in years.”

But—before you start doing the simultaneous eyeroll-jackoff motion—I beg you to allow this dipshit genius to really build his case. He begins:

Maybe this is asking too much, but . . I’m looking for inspiration and was wondering if there are any women out there who would be willing to share some of their goddess-energy with me, to put some spark in my day: I would really like to see your tits.
I promise I won’t share your picture or touch myself in any way.

Imagine this noble man, alone in a basement Library of Congress of photographic tittays. His penis tweaks to life, slightly. DON’T! he screams at it. I told CRAIGSLIST that I WOULDN’T TOUCH MYSELF—IN ANY WAY!

Because (all emphases in these quotes ours):

I’m not a pervert and I promise that I won’t try to phone you to whisper, “so, uh, what are you wearing right now?” because actually I’ll be looking at your tits and I’ll know that you’re not wearing anything. I’m really a pretty decent, respectful guy; and I want to see your tits.
I’m not looking for you to “flash” me your tits; this isn’t Friday. I don’t have any gripes with Flash Friday, and applaud any woman who flashes for fun. But this is different. If you’ll excuse the expression, this isn’t about titillation; this isn’t about sex: If I wanted to see just any old tits, well, I’ve heard rumors that there might be some secret sites on the Internet where I could maybe find pictures of actual breasts. But I don’t want that. I want you. I want your attitude. Real woman. Real tits. Real attitude.
I want to know that somewhere in this city there is a woman who knows about the power of her own tits and isn’t afraid of that power.

Nothing like a little bit of old-fashioned empowerment marketing—someone get this man a job at Dove’s ad agency! And he’s just getting started:

What your tits look like really doesn’t matter. Big tits, small tits, round tits, sagging tits, pointy, pierced, painted, pristine, powdered, pert, perky or pendulous tits.

*dusts extra powder on my delicious trapezoidal rack and continues reading*

Bring ‘em all. I don’t care about your age (18+) or your ethnicity. Bring ‘em. I need your tits. Flat-chested? Great! Bring your tits, because do you really think I’m going to be inspired by the lobular glands hanging off your chest? Is that what I’m talking about? No, I need to see your attitude. I need your “happy tit” attitude. I need to know that there are women who want to shake their tits at the night sky and howl like a wolf. Can you feel the energy, just thinking about it?!

As a matter of fact, I can.

You think America was built on the backs of immigrants? Wrong! America was built by immigrant women, on their backs, shagging like monkeys, making a new generation of Americans! And THAT’S what I’m talking about! The creative, life-sustaining power of women and their tits. I need some of that serious tit-mojo.

Don’t just limit this to immigrants, though, it was all women who were on their backs without the legal recourse to say no! Anyway, back to tits:

They’re so fun! Like upside-down apple-bobbing with soft, warm apples. Tits make me so happy!

Not to return to my days inducing narcolepsy in college freshmen who’d signed up for “creative writing,” but that upside-down apple-bobbing simile is a bit too vivid—it’s sort of bringing to mind that episode of Smallville where the hot girl starts unhinging her jaw:

But, sorry, I keep interrupting this man:

Behind every great man, there’s a great woman, rubbing her tits on his back. And in front of every great woman, is a pair of tits. Two of ‘em. Two happy tits. Tits are everywhere, and yet certain cranky people in our society try to keep them locked up out of sight. Why? It’s so clearly wrong.


Tits bring people together, in a happy, friendly way. They’re always cuddly and fun.
I don’t want some porn-industry, air-brushed, media-approved, silicone-infected, professional skin-jockey. I want you, and your real, happy tits.

*rides 1400 pounds of purebred Arabian skin into the sunset*

Are you really going to let the failed moral standards of a repressive, patriarchal, Puritanical society stop you from showing me your tits? Think of the poor, sad Puritan pilgrim-woman, with her tits all bound up and hidden away. Are you going to let them get away with that?! No, you’re not! You’re going to laugh and smile and shake your tits in the face of The Man. (I would happily represent that Man if you had any symbolic civil disobedience planned. Let me know if I can help out.) You’re going to send me a picture of your happy, bouncy tits. The world needs your tit-energy!


And you’re not going to listen to the sour-faced, self-appointed “feminists” who want to spread their toxic life-hatred (‘Our women are being manipulated and objectified as mere sex-objects . .” Piss off, bitch! Keep your twisted, frigid analysis to yourself.) Fuck ‘em! Fuck the bitter haters! They’re your tits! Your body! Your power! Tit power!




Wait, am I a bitch or should I show you my tits, though? Where am I? What time is it?

It’s not Puritan-time anymore! It’s the twenty-first century, and you’re going to show me your tits not because you’re being manipulated, or because you’re a slut, or because you’re being paid, but because you are FREE! FREEDOM!!!! It’s your choice, your body, and you can shake your tits like a wild woman! (Wild = untamed, free) Right here in the good ol’ US of A! Land of the Free (free-swinging, enjoying-the-open-air tits), Home of the Brave (brave woman who is even now wondering how to operate her web-cam). O-o, say can you see my tits? (no, I can’t because you haven’t sent me the picture yet)

*looks at my clock; all numbers have been replaced by tits*

But, you’re thinking, “I’m not the kind of woman who would show my tits to a stranger.” Yes, dear one, yes, you are, because today is the day where you declare your independence and take full ownership of your tits. You’re going to enter a new head-space. They’re your tits, and you can show them to whoever you want (today, that’d be me). I’m pleading with you. Don’t accept the lies. Don’t accept the mental shackles. I have a confession: I was actually born a nudist. Yes, it’s true. But then someone, without my permission, put clothes on me and brainwashed me to think that it was “normal” to wear clothes. Completely tweaked my head. And it’s so hard to live outside that mental prison. And someone did a head-job on you too. They made you think your tits are somehow “wrong”. In fact, there are actually laws that say your tits are “indecent”. Evil, repressive laws. Your tits are never wrong or bad. Your happy tits are always wonderful. Your tits are always life-positive, life-affirming! And you can do it! I have faith in you. You can show me your tits and you’ll feel great about yourself.
I love it when a woman shows a little cleavage in public. It’s like saying, “I’m nurturing, playful, tender, caring, strong and sexy as hell. I am the life-creator. I love my tits and I love being a woman.” I really love that attitude! I need to see your spirit, your joie de vivre! (that’s French for “happy tits”).
“Million Man March”? Lame, lame, candy-ass lame. You want to see the world truly change? You want to see a revolution? Put a million bare-chested women down at the Washington Mall. Two Million Tits. The world would CHANGE! Love-centered! Life-affirming! Am I right or what? Your tits have power! You know they do!

Free the titties! Civil rights but for specific parts of specific people! Rosa Parks, but for TRIPLE Ds! Hold on, hush that fuss, everybody move to the FRONT OF THE LINE TO SHOW ME YOUR TITTIES!

Okay, finally, this man is getting down to the damn point and telling you how he would like to bear witness to your politically important breasts:

So, here’s the deal:
A) First, you should meet the following criteria. These are important, because the whole point of this is that I want to witness your real-time, in-the-moment, love of your wonderful womanhood and your bouncy goddess-given gifts:
1. you should have happy tits

If they’re not happy, pause for a minute. Help is always out there.

Are your tits happy yet? Okay.

2. you should be proud of your happy tits, and you should try to live up to the high ideals that your tits represent (love of self and others, life-positive, the future is important, etc.)
3. you should feel no shame about doing this. I want you to be happy and frickin’ proud about being a woman and about your happy tits. You’re doing this because YOU want to do it, because you know this is a liberating sacred gesture, because baring your breasts is an act of self-affirmation. And I want to bear witness.
4. your happy tits should be unhampered, bra-less, free and easy, unashamed, proud and happy. but, whipped cream would be okay, as would cake frosting, chocolate syrup or most any other happy food. cold oatmeal or hospital food = not happy, not okay. got it?

*quickly wipes the cold hospital oatmeal off my nipples* Uhhhh, where were we—

B) Second, take a picture of your happy tits. Close your eyes and think about what a miracle you are, about your potential as a woman. When you feel the self-love, when you feel your own power, when you truly feel that your tits are a force for Good in our world, snap the picture, and send it to me.
C) Third, you will spend the rest of the night feeling happy, liberated and free. You’re friends will ask you, “why are you smiling so much?” and you’ll just smirk and stifle a laugh, but feel REALLY happy, ELATED even. I will spend the rest of the day with a big smile on my face, grinning like an idiot, touched by the joy-giving power of your happy tits. People will see us, each living our own private lives, being really happy, and will realize that life is actually pretty good, and then they’ll feel happy too. And other people will be inspired by their happiness, and so on, and so on . . . and your happy tits could send shockwaves of happiness through the city. You have that power!

“Pay Tit Forward: How I Paid It Forward With My Tits and Won the Nobel Tits Prize,” a nonfiction bestseller, by me. Here’s the closer:

All kidding aside, I truly love and respect women and I love their happy tits. Is that really so wrong? Tits are NOT sex organs, yet our whole society is afraid of them!! (“Mustn’t let children see them!!! Cover their eyes!!!”) What’s up with that! I mean seriously, WHAT THE FUCK??!!! The strongest metaphor for mother-goddess energy, and they’ve been banned as being indecent!! Huh??!! You think maybe it has something to do with keeping women down? Hmm? Maybe?
So, send me a picture of your tits. Thanks in advance. You’re wonderful! Be Proud!

You know what, I am wonderful. And I’m proud! I am proud, particularly, of this Craigslist guy for taking a stand. I salute this man, out here finally telling women something that we’ve literally never heard before: that tits are good, and a man would like to see them.

A hero’s inbox is waiting right here.

Contact the author at [email protected].

Image via Youtube

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