I’m A Snowflake Lib and I’m Begging You Not To Show Me Your Boobs

by Boobie (*snickers*)

As a lib snowflake, the below tweet appalls me to my core:

I’m not triggered by much. I can watch someone use 17 straws to drink a soda or order a steak well-done and barely even clench my first in anger at all. But the left side of the political spectrum is famously the side that hates when women and flaunt and have control over their own bodies, and so a conservative woman flaunting her large breasts has made me spiral in a fit of madness for the last couple days, forcing me to beg: conservative women, please, no more videos of your breasts!

I simply cannot stand the sight of some huge, well-shaped, honkin’-ass honkers. The rage I feel when looking upon a set of freakin’ taters spilling out from a lady’s top is indescribable, burning like asphalt at noon on a scorching summer day. Please, I’m coming to you across the aisle, olive branch extended, to plead: keep your buxom, life-giving flotation devices off my timeline.

The invention of large milk-pillows, and the convention of having two of them, are appropriately God’s two biggest mistakes. What kind of merciful and benevolent deity would allow half of the human race to possess two enormous beefers with which to torture me into catatonic submission? What savior worthy of worship could preach for years on end without once condemning the existence of those fat, delicious melons?

Gun control debates inevitably include the question of whether or not the Founding Fathers could have, before the advent of the Industrial Revolution, anticipated the rapid advancements in technology that would render guns far easier to use and more powerful than what was available at the time and, if not, how this knowledge might have affected the writing of the second amendment. But when it comes to the bazookas and bombs of the flesh, common boobs, no such debate is necessary. An omniscient god would by nature realize from the creation of Eve from Adam’s rib that hefty-ass ta-tas would be weaponized one day, which means one of three things: God is not omniscient; God is omniscient and malevolent; or there is no God.

Perhaps this is why the sight of gargantuan titties reduces me to an acidic puddle: not only do they remind me of being a baby, tiny and vulnerable, but because the idea of them forces me to confront them fact that there is no great power in the universe that cares about humanity as a whole, let alone me as an individual. Where others see warm, inviting, nurturing sacks or fat, I see the reality of a cold, uncaring universe.

So please, conservative women, hear my cries: keep your boobs off my timeline, and the timelines of left-and-liberal men everywhere. The more boobs we see, the faster we’ll be udderly defeated in the battle for America’s soul. A flood of chesticles would mean the end of liberalism as we know it. You can literally make America more conservative by showing us your titties. For the love of all that is holy, don’t.