Holy Taco Gets Unnecessarily Philosophical About Cleavage

We’re feeling particularly randy today, so we’re going to talk about the most intellectually stimulating thing our penises can think of: boobs. Specifically, cleavage.
 
Cleavage is a strange phenomenon, as simply flashing a nice chest line can sometimes drive a man wilder than flat out exposing the boobs for all their jiggly (or rigidly stiff) glory. It’s that strange sense of not knowing what else is under that shirt that drives men nuts. That can even be said for all of humanity, if we may get philosophical about boobs for a moment. Think of it like Professor X’s philosophy in the X-Men comics: “People fear what they don’t understand.” Obviously, this thought didn’t originate in a comic book, and it certainly wasn’t originally intended to be brought up in the same discussion as milk silos, but the core idea rings true: we all tend to lose our minds over things we can’t see or feel or even fully comprehend.

Such is the existence of cleavage. Show a full boob and the mystery is gone. No one wants to talk about it anymore, and the excitement generated by the anticipation is killed — seen one, seen’em all. But if you keep that cleavage hanging around for a bit, just let it linger in a man’s face for long enough, you can pretty much convince a guy to lick a dog’s ass on command after he has been fully hypnotized by something that’s nothing more than a vertical line.
 
DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE POWER YOU HOLD, LADIES?!

With only the most basic of geometric shapes, you can make us do damn near anything, just as long as we keep trying to visualize what’s to the left and right of a line!

And in our heads, what’s to the left and right of that line can be anything. Sure, when we men stare at cleavage, in the back of our heads we all know what’s being hidden behind the curtain: more boob, possibly with a nipple or two. But in the front of our minds is a magical wonderland of mystery and adventure. Ladies, we don’t know if you know this, but when we see cleavage we don’t just see a dark line surrounded by flesh – we see an Indiana Jones-style adventure that’s been liberally peppered with obscene sexual escapades.

To us, that cleavage is a long told old wives’ tale about a mountain that, if climbed, can lead to an eternity of blissful motorboating. We fully understand that behind that blouse or dress is practically a mirror image of what is above it, just with a round thing in the middle, but it’s much more than that to us. To us, the rest of that boob might as well be that golden suitcase light from Pulp Fiction. It’s that holy artifact that we’ll probably never see, yet we hold it in such high esteem that it becomes something worthy of dedicating our lives to. 
 
In short, yay for cleavage!

And full boobs are pretty alright, too.