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by Katie O'Brian-Robles

I like butts.

We all have them. We all look at them and we all comment on them (if only to ourselves).

Sometimes, they’re not only amusing, they can tell you a lot about their owners.

A lot of men don’t have what you might call a recognizable butt. If they do they’ve cleverly disguised them beneath gabardine slacks or khaki Dockers. There are always a few men’s butts that are blatantly displayed under black leather. These belong to those of an alternate persuasion, trolling for Mr. Maybe.

It’s the fair sex that seems to have a monopoly on the peculiar and sometimes apparent appendage.

The finest ones belong to the “Sand-witches” that grace our beaches and surfboards. All under the age of 17. So consequently they shall be known as the dumb-ass. They really don’t count.

So let’s visit the produce department of our bottom emporium.

There are the “peaches”. Usually attached to gym rats, ice skaters or the genetically blessed. Next aisle or bin, are the “pears”. Not quite as delectable as the aforementioned peach, but still ripe for bruising with an occasional pinch (especially from the gabardine set).

Unfortunately the “avocados” are predominating. A sad overripe hatch work of wrinkles in further decline as seen on Midwestern matrons in polyester pedal pushers. Panty marks and sit marks at no extra charge. Only this morning I had the unfortunate experience of watching two Casaba Melons trying escape the confines of latex. There are many different yet appetizing rear ends. Tomatoes, strawberries, and have you ever seen string beans in cowboy boots? Fine for the rodeo set. Not so much if Rubenesque appeals to you.. Then we’d choose an apple. Probably a Delicious apple or a plump, ripe Pink Lady. We really cannot overlook the Wrath of Grapes otherwise known as cellulite. Not appetizing, but nonetheless apparent.

I like butts. They give me hours of entertainment and thought provoking images. Well I’m off to the produce market, butt I’ll see you later.