IT'S GOTTA BE JELLY, CUZ JAM DON'T SHAKE LIKE...

...SAGGY, BAGGY, FUCKING JUGS OF LOVE

The things women worry about and the things they imagine men worry about when worrying about women are miles apart. Here, forthwith, a primer.

BUSH: if yours is a hairy fucking thatch of a snatch, your man may not tell you but he's, unless he came of age in the '70s, fucking disgusted by your lack of tonsorial togetherness, you nasty bitch, you. Try shaving: it cain't hurt, might help.

UNDERWEAR: men don't give a fuck. Unless they're fags. In which case they want their underwear with dick holes (and a dick) in it. [see sub-category: SHIT STAINS].

SHIT STAINS: this will have your date cruise to a quick post-load conclusion. [see sub-category: PERIOD STAINED SHEETS].

PERIOD STAINED SHEETS: if you don't know, ain't no one going to tell you.

FUNKY, FUCKED UP FEET: FUCK YOU!

And finally
FLOPPY FUCKING TITS: we love them. While you're all worrying about your thighs and ass, and possibly the aging sag of your boob, we're juggling those mugs like Topo Gigio. God, these things are great. When that bra comes off and those things start dropping like so many kamikaze pilots, the closer to your waist the better, we're seeing visions of them being fucked, jerked off on, slapped, and used as a ball rest, dancing in our heads.

How? What? Why?

If dude doesn't like tits like these he will not even take a chance by dating you. And if he LIKES tits like these, man, oh man, he can barely contain himself. Watching them swinging in the breeze when fucking doggy style, smashed beneath you when we're boning your ass, or bouncing hither and yon while you ride our cocks?

Fucking priceless.