Hard arteries and bubble gum cigarettes. Episode 2.

I don't want to give you the wrong impression and imply that blowing s*#! up in true American fashion was where our badness ended.

We didn't have much to over react to.

But we had the world around us, and all we really wanted was to fit in. So, being 8, and most of our older siblings ditching classes in high school to stay on campus and get caught, we caught wind of what is was like to be a few years older.

We didn't have the extra hormones or the menu of sensations to snap our spines out of alignment. Breasts, to us, were nothing too crazy. We just knew we didn't have them and had a vague idea of what they were for.

They kept babies quiet and made older men talk more.

Behold the inverse relationship between a male's age and his ability to keep his mouth shut in front of tetas. - Negrulous Cucurumbous, November 6th, 2008.

But we the children of South San Diego, eager to toss Old Spice Cocktails at big breasted women underhand, shattered this obvervation. Easily.

I'd meet my brothers' friends and say "Wow. You got some big ass titties. Nice to meet you."

Who knew we were before our time, getting trained in how to interact with women when we got to college. If we got to college.