Flying chicken cutlets and random weird stuff

Last week I felt a curious hollow feeling in my bosom.  At first I thought it was a message from the holy ghost and then I realized it was my diet-shrunken boobs rattling around in my padded D cups. (My poor boobs are the first casualty of any diet.)  I rummaged around a bit and found my trusty pair of breast enhancement devices.  You know, the ones that look like they could be breaded and fried.  My trusty chicken cutlets.  I tuck those puppies underneath my own saggy, stretch-marked ones and I'm perky once again. 

It wasn't until I was at the airport waiting in the security line that I thought about those things hiding in my bra.  I was waved over to a body scanner and had a quick flash of panic.  What would show up on the screen?!  Would I be pulled out of line and strip searched?  Would they think I was hiding explosives in those fleshy gel packets?  If I'd looked any more nervous they probably WOULD have pulled me out and searched me.  But they just calmly and politely waved me on to retrieve my shoes and bags.  Whew!

I also learned the proper way to carry your handbag.  Mine kept sliding off though.  I thought maybe my hair would give it traction but the big bottle of vodka inside kept shifting around and making it fall off.

I saw Batman!  If Batman was a woman with saggy boobs who smoked and wore a costume that looked like bad pajamas.  She was hanging with some Elvii and a decapitated Winnie the Pooh.  If I were a kid this would have been nightmare fodder.

I really wanted this Tshirt but I didn't think it would go over well at home so I got one from Hard Rock Cafe.

I'm not eating sugar but even if I was I'm not sure I'd try this chocolate.  "Bald" and "chocolate" should never be used in the same sentence but that's just my opinion.  I don't like cat hair in my food either.