Ow Ow My Boobies Hurt: A Long Awaited Sequel to Ow Ow My Poontang Hurts by Trailerpark Skipper

Not sure why I’m divulging this, possibly it’s genetic since my ma,  Trailerpark Barbie, is notorious for telling a bit too much. Don’t believe me, check out her Poontang Post. More then likely it’s just that I want to hear a hearty Gretchen Wilson type “ hell yeah!” from other busty girls who commiserate with me.

I have been busty since I was 12 years old. I went from checkerboard flat to a size C in the matter of months. Towards the end of puberty I topped a D. Now I’m not talking porn boobs here but I have a friend who has those. She wears a size H Bra. No matter the amount of weight I’ve lost over the years(down to around 100 pounds at one point) my sweater hams have always been on the larger side of average.

Speaking of boobies, my mom’s ex-neighbor, Jolene Tutmeyer,  had breasts bigger than her head. Heck, each one was bigger that a head and half. My mom still remembers the time that she got called upon to pick Jolene up at the hospital after Joelene had surgery. Mom went to the hospital fully expecting for her to be dressed, sitting in a chair, release papers signed, and ready to go home. What she didn’t count on was Jolene still being under the influence of the anesthesia and unable to put her clothes back on. So, Mom had no choice but to retrieve Jolene’s clothing from where it was being stored and dress her. This included putting her bra on her which was apparently very trying. Jolene, being doped up, couldn’t offer any help since she was about as alert as a Saturday night booze hound in church on Sunday morning.  I remember what Mom said as soon as she stepped in the door after dropping Jolene off at her house…..”Holy moly! That woman’s boobies are as big as an Indian burial mount…each! And, I had to holster them gigantic things!”

I posted yesterday in my Rants section that I am a runner and I run about 10-12 miles a week.  Before encountering The Rabid Fidos I was circling the big Trailer in our Park (big because it not only has indoor plumbing but also has a lattice carport built onto it), blaring FreeBird on my Ipod (Thanks ma for letting me borrow your CD to copy it) when my ta tas began to feel the impact from my running. Now keep in mind I already wear 2 bras when running. Yes I’ll say it again, I wear 2 bras when running. That is when it occurred to me companies are not providing me with the product I need.

Loving a good problem and something to keep my mind off the fact that I was sweating like a fat girl in a Jenny Craig Meeting (I would have named Kristie Alley but she broke it off with Ms Jenny and started her own diet)  I decided to contemplate a better way to holster my Shirt Puppies. Now I can’t call myself rightfully White Trash With Money without first considering…..

Duct Tape….

Then I got a flashback from a similar quandary…. I remembered that with my wedding dress I got the bright idea to holster my milk makers with Duct Tape. I had quite the couture wedding dress you can ask The Vinyl Villager . It was the best that The Second Hand Store had to offer and made my White Trash Mama proud. The down side to this shiny beaded wonder was that it was backless. Any chick with Big Chest Balloons will tell you “backless” is not something you covet in apparel. It’s just too damned hard to find a strapless boulder holder to display The Girls in Glory. The effect is usually rather an “oranges in tube socks” image.  I wonder if this is what Chasity Bono used before she/he transitioned into Chaz Bono?

Let me tell you in hindsight Duct Tape was NOT a good idea. I am, just as you are, a mammal and anybody who knows anything about mammals knows that one of the characteristics of being one of these warm blooded creatures is that we are covered in hair. Now I don’t care how “blonde and fine” the hair is on your tits, if you pull it out via duct tape you are going to cry like a redneck when Dale Earnhardt Sr. died.

Then deciding to be kinder to my headlights I contemplated Ace Bandages…

The plus side of Ace Bandages is you can get ‘em at the Dollar Store or you just might be lucky enough to have a family members who is maimed or injured and you can borrow theirs.However, I realized that using one of them to flatten my mammaries put me on the level of the Creepy guy on Silence of the Lambs who tucks his weiner in between his legs and says….you know the one who gets trapped in the hole and says, “Don’t hurt Precious!” . This movie (along with Steel Magnolias) is at the top of the movie quote list around here…..”Does it want the hose?” But, the following quote is TrailerParkGIJoe’s favorite and he does a first class imitation (he would kill me if he knew that I told you that)…..

“Would you f**K  me? “I’d f**k me soooo hard”

or perhaps like the character Hilary Swank plays in Boys Don’t Cry who masqueraded as a boy and even had a girlfriend whom he/she had “sex” with.

I realize I’m rabbit holing  (one trait of dear Mom’s) here but how do you do the ugly with someone and have no idea what genitalia they have. Sounds to me like perhaps the chick was a very lazy bed partner considering she never saw and/or touched said part. (Here’s a random fact for ya….that chick was Chloe Sevigny who plays Nicky on Big Love.)

Considering that neither character would fit in here at the trailerpark and in fact would probably be the type that would merit uses of forceful scare tactics from the Good Ol’ Boys here in West By God Virginia I ditched the idea because I didn’t want to leave that to chance.

The only other option that I could think of was inspired by ma’s post on here yesterday. Perhaps I could go “Flower Power” and own my femininity by just not wearing one of the offending contraptions that my foremothers burned in the streets.

I decided however that this didn’t solve the problem at hand at all. My tits were still going to jostle and in fact were going to bounce worse without the 2 bras I was already wearing. I suppose I could go thru the “box o’ bras” that Mom bought at a clearance sale with the idea of putting them on ebay. It didn’t go quite as well as she expected, but she has built up a real tranny customer base.

Running upon the rabid dogs my mind wandered to my survival and the problem of my hurting sweater meat was temporarily forgotten. Savage dogs have a way of making you forgot about painful mammary glands.

This is where I leave this post, asking for your help…Do  you have a better idea?  If so, please tell me. I’m getting desperate here. Hurtin’ ta-tas are no laughing matter.

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