Outside of having a Crate and Barrel credit card, I can pretty much lay claim to a down the line hetero life. I love big bouncy tits as much as the next guy. Maybe even more if the next guy is Kevin Spacey. But I’ve never understood the merging of boobs and food and sports. I like them all, but I don’t see how combining them makes them better.
The owner of the Bikini Sports Bar and Grill chain just spent seven years trademarking the term ‘breastaurant’. It’s supposed to give him an edge over Hooters and Tilted Kilt and other big boobed waitress sports bar which apparently are the only area of the dining industry that held their own during the recession. But, let’s be honest, the food at all these places sucks. It’s big batch fried frozen wings and things. The tap lines on the beer are traditionally musty. And the TVs and sports bar arrangement is invariably crappy. That’s because like a girl with big tits, these restaurants, err, breastaurants, don’t need to try hard to please you. Busty girls just lay there all smug like they’re Mr. Potter and you’re Jimmy Stewart in desperate need of a bank loan.
Girls with tiny tops are notoriously better in bed. I’d let them operate my sports bar. Or, even better, people who actually like sports and know how to cook a decent hamburger. If I want to pay to see the bigguns, I’ll head to a gentleman’s club like my father and his father before him. And I’ll grab a sandwich along the way.