Hunting the Elusive Bubble Butt

Nothing stops a conversation between men quicker than a protruding posterior. Not only does it bring the conversation to a halt, but it also causes amnesia. We could be on step nine of ten, disarming a bomb, and if a shapely seat-warmer appears, things go silent, until … BOOM! Dead piglets–silly, powerless piglets, at the mercy of a delicious, yet dangerous derriere.

There’s no fighting it. A great butt will make lovin’ fun. So, I want one!

I realize that women love butts too. They’re even amenable to a bit of a boy bubble. Too much would be too creepy, unless brown. Hence, all the time I spend on squats and Stairmasters. When a lady cups my caboose, I get giddy. Pride wells up inside me as I thank my ancestors for not cursing me with plank ass.

Back to female fanny.

I would sleep much better, if I had a patootie pillow to rest my weary head upon, instead of my amnesia-foam pillow. Lady flesh bumps are so firm and warm. Ahh! If this made the owner of the object of my desire uncomfortable, I’d relent and settle for resting one paw upon her plump bumps. It would be a pacifier of sorts. So pleasing.

The problem lately has been a scarcity of shapely south-ends in my vicinity. Perhaps I am delusional to expect glorious glutes to gallop past my window as I work from home. It’s certainly a possibility that some neighborhood homettes (female version of homies) would fist-pump and strut by while doing their morning exercise, but I’m usually distracted by more annoying kids than amazing keisters. That’s what I get for living on a cul-de-sac. My next home will be directly across the street from yoga and spinning studios–ones with pink awnings.

Till that day, I’ll just keep heading to watering holes, in hopes of finding some grazing globs of glory. Much like hunting female deer (or, so I hear), one must be careful not to stare too long. If she turns and catches you lingering on her lumps, you’re fucked, and not literally. She’ll point you out to the other prey as well. Then, absolutely no butt for butt-head. Poor fella. Better to glance, file in memory, and move along.

Well, I must go now. Need to lay some bubble butt traps. Wish me luck. I’m starving.

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.
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