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British zoologist Desmond Morris, author of such works as Homosexuality in the Ten-Spined Stickleback and The Toilet of the Cutthroat Finchwas also the first scientist ever to have completed an exhaustive investigation of the booty.
Apparently we are subconsciously attracted to round shapes because they remind us of the curve of a buttock, which reminds us of procreation, which reminds us we ain’t had any in a while, which is a great motivator. For example, the smile of a fat baby is nothing but a big butt with dimples to our subconscious. A doughnut is a glazed ass-cheek. Then there are boobies, which are nothing more than the butt transferred to the chest.
In The Naked Woman: A Study of the Female Bodya book he published last year at the age of 77, Morris writes: Morris’ theories all seem super-kooky and sexist until you consider the baboon, which I did after I wandered into the Monkey Club at 21st and Bryant and ordered a drink called the Baboon’s Ass.
As we all know, the baboon bootylogy a mighty red booty, and it has bootyollogy speculated that, over time, the animal’s chest has transformed into the same crimson and pink hues so that the beast can transmit primeval bootyoloy signals without having to get up and flash the rear view. By pressing my buttocks into a barstool and resting my considerable chest-buns on the bar with a sour-apple-flavored drink named for the courtship of a primate, I was merely embarking on a study in biological anthropology.
I had both the Baboon’s Ass and a Melonrita, which was a Midori margarita, and they were super.
The space is kind of like the visual equivalent of a record on the local Om label. The music on weeknights is also the equivalent of something you would find on said label, with soft reggae-ish stuff and downtempo this ‘n’ that. Weekends are a different story, with hip hop and house DJs blaring their sonic buttocks and every corner packed to the gills with A Night at the Roxbury dancers.
The place is so dark, actually, that I was worried no one would see my butt-boobs. I needn’t have worried though, because within a few minutes a fellow came up to my right and ordered two beers and a cabernet.
Finally, someone who likes good red wine and not that merlot bullshit. I like a bold, fertile, round wine, not a flat, sexless one.
We boityology to chitchatting and he soon invited me over to join his gregarious group. What can I say? I guess I have an ass-face. We had to agree to disagree on that one.
God bless ’em, but the folks at the E! I had quite possibly stumbled into the friendliest table in San Francisco. We talked on and on about the film Sidewaysthe Grammies, and Joe’s boyfriend.
Now, when Desmond Morris talked about the posterior theory, he left out one big category: Meanwhile, I was scanning my memory bank to try to remember who this John fellow was. The dude at the Arcade Fire show who knew my old baby sitter?
We met a few weeks ago? I need more of that.
How I got a Bigger Butt with Bootyology – My Testimonial! | howtogetabiggerbuttocks
boityology Halfway through it, however, I remembered who John was. He was the name and number the guy at the Salvation Army gave me if I ever needed furniture moved. The fun eventually died down and we dispersed. My baboon ass was draggin’.