Click that fucking link, now. Be sure to adjust yourself accordingly to account for the massive boner that will ensue.

Holy fucking goddamn motherfucking shit damn fuck shit damn fuck crap titties damn fuck labia poop crap fuck shit! A tactical fucking corset! It’s every Freudian complex rolled into a single garment. They need a Nobel Prize or some shit for this. There just may be some hope for the human race after all.

If you are an attractive, shapely female, buy one of these. Now. Buy several, so you always have a clean one.

If you are an unshapely female, eat less food, move around some, then buy several of these.

If you are an ugly female, bring meaning to your existence by cloistering yourself in a sweatshop to make these goddamn brilliant articles of clothing.

I was about ten years old, standing in the toy gun isle of the Hills on 26^th street in Erie, wanting to spend my birthday money.

“That one. I want that one,” I said. I had to have it. It was bad as hell. I never saw anything like it.

“No, you can’t buy that,” said my dad. “I won’t let you get it.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because…that is an AK-47…” said my dad, stopping for a dramatic, angry finger point. “…this is made by the Soviets, and used by the Iraqis. You want to get this one instead…” said my dad, pulling a different toy gun from the rack.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“That’s an UZI. It’s made by the Israelis.”

“Who are they?” I ask.

“They’re our friends,” said my dad.

You, the reader are likely saying “So what?” but Bill, my anti-Zionist communist gun-nut friend, thinks this is the funniest story ever.