Boobs are fun

I love boobs.
They make me happy.
I like to poke them,
prod them,
tickle them,
fondle them,
look at them,
nudge them,
talk to them,
reflect upon them,
think of them,
dream of them,
try to draw them,
take pictures of them,
look at pictures of them,
talk to friends about them,
talk to myself about them,
talk to strangers about them,
talk to my wife about them,
point them out to people I know and say, "Look! Boob!",
have long conversations about them,
have short conversations about them,
start a conversation about them and get pulled into a tangent and then come back around to them,
take a good long look at them,
find them in a crowd,
find them not in a crowd,
just plain find them,
imagine myself as one of them,
write blog entries about them,
find different kinds,
compare similar ones,
just ponder on them for a long time,
think about what they mean and their place in the make-up of this wondrous universe,
thank any deity I can get my hands on for them,
wonder what the world is like where they are,
but most of all, I like to just laugh at those people who have earned the right to be called boobs, because, that is pretty much all they are truly good for.
What did you think I was talking about?
Pervert.