Monsignor Francois Dubois, S.J.--Breasts I have appreciated

Written by Frankie The J

Monday, 28 September 2009


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image for Monsignor Francois Dubois, S.J.--Breasts I have appreciated
A sand sculpture of breastesses in honor of BAD

As a newly minted Monsignor, I have had the duty of looking back over my lifetime and making recompense for my sins (such as they were). I have remembered the high points in my life as well as the low points; there were many in each category.

Today, I wish to make known to my parishioners as well as to the reading pubic, the best points I've ever seen, and those I haven't seen, but am certain I would appreciate, had I the opportunity.

Those points are breastesses, and today is National Breast Appreciation Day. It is, therefore, all together fitting and proper that I show my appreciations to the boobs that made me what I am today-and what I hope to become (which of course is Pope Francois LXIX).

I believe we should begin with the first breastesses I remember (other than my own, of course). They belonged to my next door neighbor, Suzie DaSlut, who was two years my senior. My mother babysat Suzie and the two of us often bathed together in an old zinc wash tub out in the side yard.

Even at age 19, Suzie had large, pendulous breastesses which she made me touch and stick into my ears as far as possible. Suzie moved away just after we played doctor underneath the railroad bridge. Apparently, Suzie actually was ill, because her belly began to swell. It was shortly thereafter that people began to call me "Father," even though I had not yet attended seminary. I never again saw Suzie, but I shall always remember her breastesses. They were like melons tipped with strawberries.

The next pair of breastesses I saw were attached to Sophia Loren. Somehow, she had fallen into water and a photographer was nearby and able to photograph her wet, chilled hooteroonies. I carried that photograph throughout college and seminary, but it became sticky and fell apart. None the less, Sophia Loren's breastesses were boobalicious.

Next, I was able to catch a glimpse of my cousin, Lucinda's peachy-keen knockers. She and I were forced to share the shower in a camper trailer that belonged to my aunt during a trip to Florida.

She asked me to help her polish them, and out of family duty, I shined them up till they fairly glowed. That night, she won first place in an amateur strip contest at the Little Tomoka Bar just outside Ormond Beach, Florida. I last saw Lucinda riding off with a large man on a Harley Davidson motorcycle.

As a priest, I am often asked to anoint the sick, and I do so. I have always anointed the breastesses of women suffering from anxiety and bunions, and have only had 12 complaints filed at the police department.

Well, enough about me. Go out my sons, and appreciate all the breastesses on display in your neighborhood (but do not touch unless asked). Breastesses may also be appreciated at many local watering holes and, of course, at Neuters (formerly the Oasis).

God bless breasts, but not man boobs.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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