Hello medicators, and welcome to Big Boob Friday.





Your model was born August 7, 1978 in Wembley, England. 5′ 4“, 46-26-36 and 122 lbs, please welcome Miss Linsey Dawn McKenzie!

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HHD – Monkey Style

So – it’s an honor to be allowed to fill in for teh Rocket Chick; i’ll try not to fail to launch this bitch in an appropriate manner (one that your mom would like).

I went the extra mile and commissioned a song to be written specifically for this poat – leon’s pricing was a bit high but he promised that he wouldn’t eat too many ‘shrooms whilst composing this amazing journey of musical  majesty –

What do you think?



now onward to the hunky humps that the hostagettes and jewstin have been waiting for:

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Flight Club

I fly a lot.  Maybe not Phat a lot, but easily a couple of times a month for the last 5 years.  There are things I like about business travel, seeing new things, trying new restaurants and meeting new people, but most of the time the obliviousness of my fellow travelers ruins the experience.

I had a short flight from Phoenix to Las Vegas on Southwest Airlines last week that was one of the worst I’ve experienced because of the guy who sat next to me.  On Southwest you can’t reserve your seat, but if you check in early or pay extra you can be in the first boarding group and get an aisle or window if you want.  The flight was sold out, this guy was one of the last on the plane, and had to sit in a middle seat.

I’m not particularly friendly, but I always greet my seatmates on a plane and smile at them to show I’m not a (complete) maniac.  This guy ignored my greeting and plopped down hard on top of the seat belt, spread his knees wide into my space, messed around with his backpack rearranging the contents to get it to fit under the seat (throwing elbows the whole time), and then rocked side to side trying to get his seatbelt out from under him, bumping shoulders with me and the aisle seat dude.  Once he got settled, rather than try and make himself smaller, he squared his shoulders against his seatback and moved his elbows out on the armrests, making claim to as much space as possible.  Not so much as an “excuse me” or “sorry” or “by your leave” was uttered.

Now, I have personal space issues.  This guy was manspreading against my legs and arms, and if I moved towards the window to get away he would expand into this new space even further to the point where I wondered if he was actually a human at all, possibly an elasticised minion from Hell sent to test my ability to resist the overwhelming urge to strangle him with his own headphone cord.

Once it was obvious he was not going to try and stay within the middle seat boundries, I began to lean into him a little bit just to show I wasn’t going to huddle up against the window.  This did not give me any more room, but seemed to wear him out to the point where he wanted a nap.  As soon as we were at altitude he lowered his drink tray and put his head down.  Now, this relieved the bad touch on the arms and shoulders for which I was grateful, but his leg was still up against mine, and as he started to nod off, he began to slide his head to the left , leaning over against my torso and threatening my lap with his big stupid head.  I made eye contact with the guy in the aisle seat who was gazing on in wide-eyed horror at my situation.  That was when the smell hit.

Spready McNaperson was floating air-biscuits.  Eye-watering, gag-inducing silent but deadly noxious fumes were emanating from the heart of hell, stabbing at my senses.  I coughed.  I coughed again.  I said, “YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME” loud enough to rouse my demon seatmate from his slumber.  Again, he didn’t utter a word.  By this time everybody within smelling range was having a bad flight.  Farty McSpreaderson started to drift off again, but this time I was ready for his antics and lowered my seat tray halfway down and jammed it into his shoulder.


He seemed to appreciate the support and fell back asleep.  He tooted again so I made it my mission for the next hour to talk loud, push up against him, cough, and basically do everything I could to stop him from getting to sleep again.  Not my best flight.

TL;DR Stay inside the invisible lines of your airplane seat and don’t fucking touch me you worthless smelly piece of flying garbage.  Die in a fire screaming,  I hate you.