When properly clothed and supported.
Here’s Audrina Patridge in London last night facilitating the illusion that her breasts reside in the same area code and you can actually touch both of them during intercourse without calling a cab. It’s like the exact opposite of all that fan-fiction I wrote:
“As I caressed Audrina Patridge’s ample love melon on LC’s couch, I quickly realized the distance between the two was far greater than I calculated. But the L Train doesn’t run for another hour. Damn!
With necessity being the mother of invention, I summoned Battle-Cat from He-Man. This would be our longest journey yet, except, never mind, I’ve reached completion. Cancel that order.
She saunters to the kitchen for the adding of meat to bread while telling me how any woman who requires more than 15 seconds is a Godless Jezebel and devourer of children which she then says she’s incapable of having. I immediately tell Spencer to shut off the camera. I’m aroused again, but this time it’s not for MTV. No, no. This one’s for the DVD.
“RELEASE THE KRAKEN!”