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
Sometimes, theyre not only
amusing, they can tell you a lot about their
A lot of men dont have what
you might call a recognizable butt. If they do
theyve cleverly disguised them beneath
gabardine slacks or khaki Dockers. There are
always a few mens butts that are blatantly
displayed under black leather. These belong to
those of an alternate persuasion, trolling for Mr.
Its the fair sex that seems to
have a monopoly on the peculiar and sometimes
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 dont count.
So lets 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
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 wed 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
I like butts. They give me hours of
entertainment and thought provoking images. Well
Im off to the produce market, butt Ill
see you later.