Over the shoulder boulder holder
Otto Titsling, inventor and kraut,
had nothing to get very worked up about.
His inventions were failures,
his future seemed bleak.
He fled to the opera at least twice a week.
I started my quest tonight at that pink lingerie store, eager to redeem the coupon I'd received for free perfume. The coupon also included $5 off any bra, so I thought I'd try even though I doubted I would find anything there for me. I figured if I asked for a measurement and they didn't have anything in my size, I would be off the hook and my trip for free perfume would be complete.
One night at the opera he saw an Aida
who's t-ts were so big they would often impede her.
Bug-eyed he watched her fall into the pit,
done in by the weight of those terrible t-ts.
The cute young saleswoman measured me and announced her conclusion--36DD. My inner skeptic disagreed, but I obediently went into a fitting room and immediately knew she was wrong. Moving up one size, it still appeared I was out of luck.
Oh, my god! There she blows!
Aerodynamically this girl was a mess.
Otto eyeballed the diva lying comatose amongst the reeds,
and he suddenly felt the fire of inspiration flood his soul.
He ran back to his workshop where he futzed and futzed and futzed.
One of the horrible things about being a woman? In the five minutes that it took me to leave that den of femininity and head over to a major department store, apparently my whole body changed because my next fitting--by a "fitting specialist"--concluded I was a 42B. Again, I silenced my inner skeptic and obediently entered the fitting room.
For Otto Titsling had found his quest:
to lift and mold the female breast;
to point the small ones to the sky;
to keep the big ones high and dry!
Every night he'd sweat and snort
searching for the right support.
He tried some string and paper clips.
He even tried his own two lips!
Looking for 42B? Even with the help of two salewomen, I couldn't find any bras in that size. The two women came consulted again when I told them their next guess was not even close. (If you're keeping score at home, this is size number four in less than two hours.)
Well, he stitched and he slaved
and he slaved and he stitched
until finally one night, in the wee hours of morning,
Otto arose from his workbench triumphant.Yes!
He had invented the worlds first
Trying on size number four, I quickly came to the conclusion that one more tweak was needed.
Exhausted but ecstatic he ran
down the street to the diva's house
bearing the prototype in his hot little hand.
Now, the diva did not want to try the darn thing on.
But, after many initial misgivings,she finally did.
And the sigh of relief that issued forth
from the diva's mouth was so loud
that it was mistaken by some
to be the early onset of the Siroccan Winds
which would often roll through the Schwarzwald
with a vengeance!Ahhhhh-i!
After trying on nearly 20 bras, I finally found one that I could imagine taking home.
But little did Otto know,
at the moment of his greatest triumph,
lurking under the diva's bed
was none other than the very worst
of the French patent thieves,
And Phil was watching the scene
with a great deal of interest!
Later that night, while our Brun Hilda slept,
into the wardrobe Philippe softly crept.
He fumbled through knickers and corsets galore,
'til he found Otto's titsling and he ran out the door.
The store was having a big sale tonight--buy 2, get 2 free. Having had one success, it would seem I was on my way.
Crying, "Oh, my god! What joy! What bliss!
I'm gonna make me a million from this!
Every woman in the world will wanna buy one.
I can have all the goods manufactured in Taiwan."
But with only one I wanted to take home, I came home empty-handed.
The result of this swindle is pointedly clear:
Do you buy a titsling or do you buy a brassiere?