ANXIETY HELL

Yep, that’s right. I said it and I’m sticking to it. Cloris Leachman’s cleavage calms me down and I’ll tell you why. It gives me hope. Sure, having hope means having hope that I’ll be able to afford plastic surgery by the time I, too, am a sassy octogenarian, and not having hope that gravity will leave my bosom alone, because, hey, let’s face it: those fun bags are about as real as Gary Busey’s chompers. (Watch out! He bites!) I just like knowing that it’s possible to have a hot rack long after dementia kicks in, which really won’t be that far off for me, maybe one to two years tops, as my shrink recently informed me that both Xanax and Ambien may cause Alzheimer’s. But I digress.  What was I saying? Ah, yes. She’s got nice boobs and that gives me hope. Let’s take a moment now to gaze at the kind of unnatural teets that would explode in a hurricane of silicone if handled carelessly by a sadistic mammogram technician. Here’s to you Cloris, and here’s to your sexy cleavage, you hot young thang!

Very Ni-eece!