This month we’ve seen sporting stars get famous for all sorts of fantastic things. But I’m famous for something that took no motivation or training to achieve, a natural endowment that has put me on the covers of magazines and kept me alive in the hearts of my countrymen. I’m sad to say that I have never run extremely fast or jumped incredibly high, and I’ve never thrown anything, caught anything or shot anything with great precision. I’ve worn the occasional leotard and more than my far share of Lycra, but my gift to the nation would be just as delightful in a ball gown as a basketball jersey. Not to put too fine a point on it I have the kind of breasts plastic surgeons dream about.
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I know it’s unattractive to gloat but frankly I like to talk about them. And since we’re celebrating the best of British at the moment why not include the best pair of breasts you’ll ever see? Not only do I like to talk about them but I also love to touch them, stroke them and show them off to my closest gentlemen friends. They are perfect, they would outscore any other girl you put forward in a London escort Olympics. They’re big, beautiful, natural and all mine. Why not shout it from the rooftops occasionally?
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As we sit in the pub or on our couches, watching elite athletes show you what the human body is capable of, don’t feel guilty about your lack of sporting prowess or your love of a few too many cigars. Think about all the things we do well that a man who trains 7 days a week can’t or isn’t allowed to do. I’m sure you can think of a few naughty specialties of your own that would put Michael Phelps to shame, and possibly make him blush!
