Bras eh? Mrs Gnomepants tells me she has her eyes on a sports bra to assist in her current “keep fit by doing Billy Blanks Tai Bo DVD’s” regime. Indeed, not being a completely ignorant male, I am aware that these garments cost a fair whack. What I don’t understand is why.

Undies right, I can buy a box of 5 undies for about a fiver (That’s approximately $10 in plastic money). I can make them last a good year if not longer, even by wearing a clean pair every day. Hell the pair I had on yesterday cost me about £3 in 2003. They’re still going strong and are not even threadbare. Bras, on the other hand, seem to cost an extortionate price of at least £30. Now I might be wrong, I don’t buy bras, not for myself anyway, so I’m not familiar with the pricing structure other than what has been related to me via the wife. But £30!?

So one would hope that a thirty quid tit hammock would last a goodly while, it must be made of something like Dodo fur or dragon heart string or something. Pah! How wrong! It seems that Mrs G must have bra decomposing boobies or something because I can guarantee that within a couple of months the cry of “O woe! My bra! It’s fux0r3d” fills my ears. So how come boob baskets seem to cost so bloody much? Surely this is the biggest con since razors for girls (no fucking difference to standard skin scrapers which cost us men a quid for 20). Is this some great mammary conspiracy?

Like toothpaste actually making your teeth worse to keep dentists employed; computer viruses being written by Symantec so that they can sell Anti-virus; Are bras designed to break to perpetuate the bosom support industry? Or am I just seeing patterns where there are none in order to sneak a post about tits into the blogosphere melting pot?

One for Mr Holmes, formerly of 221b Baker Street, me thinks.

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Once, long ago, I wrote frequently on Livejournal. I then moved to Blogspot, where I discovered that blogging requires an audience. So I moved back to LJ. Then over to Dreamwidth, back to LJ, up the road of self hosting with Muckybadger before giving up entirely and moving over to Wordpress. It was at that moment I decided I would spread my compostual nonsense simultaneously across the blogosphere like some rancid margarine. And so here I am. I am a badger. But then I'm not really a badger. I am a human. With badger like tendencies. I am a writer, a film producer and a social commentator. I am available for Breakfast TV shows, documentaries and chats in the pub with journalists where I am more than qualified enough to talk confidently about absolute shite and bollocks.