I shall demur.
Irrespective of the tempting photo.
Or her two extremely remarkable endowments.
My experience with Thais is that they are shallow, vain, and convinced that all good things except Gucci were invented by the Thais. Actually, that's my experience with a very large number of people -- the Dutch, for instance, know that the Netherlands is the very best of all possible countries and has everything worth imitating, and Bengalis sneer snootily at everybody else's literature, sweetmeats, and fish -- but what deviance makes my computer, or the evil spirit that inhabits Google Chrome, want to tell me to talk to a vacuous looking pale-skinned twat with big boobies?
What on earth would Ms. Big Thai Tits and I talk about?
Can she quote from Monty Python, or literature?
Does she have opinions about things?
Is her English passably fluent?
Literate, at all?
"ASIAN BEAUTIES" & "NEW THAI LADIES"
Look, I'm as big a sexist pig as the next guy, but if there is one thing I've learned over the years it's that a conversation with an empty-headed crap-fer-brains inevitably leaves me feeling like I want to bang my head into a brick wall. And Asian ladies who subscribe to the good services of Doctor Augmenti-tits usually don't have anything other than tits to bring to the table.
[Internal monologue: Imagine, for instance, a cocktail party encounter. If I am squiring a small discreetly bosomed and normally built librarian around, quite possibly wearing spectacles, and some other male person has a monumentally breasted companion, the natural thought is that he is seeing her because he can find her in the dark, whereas one must assume that I am seeing my good friend because she can explain Einstein's Theory of Relativity in easy yet engaging terms, good gracious it all makes sense now, or play the kazoo.]
Make no mistake; I like tits. Most straight men do, it something we actually feel good about. Tits are very nice.
But only if there is a real person who is having those tits.
And if that's the case, it is better that the tits not be so large as to invite slack-jawed staring, stupid comments, or wide-eyed amazement.
Tits are perfectly fine if they do not strain the owners' back or anyone else's eyes or credulity. From flattish double A's to perhaps as much as a C cup. You know, bosom within reason. These might be an excellent accompaniment to peppery personality, brilliance beyond all bounds, and opinions up the wazzoo. Because reasonably sized titty doesn't take away from those qualities, or detract from their impact.
[Internal monologue: The librarian or bookish person with spectacles and normal mammary glands intrigues me. I have never thought of the kazoo as a particularly noble instrument, but if I could hear her renditions of Bach Organ Concertos, it might even convince me that the great composer himself played the instrument. Or tested melodies on that instrument before writing them down.
The brainless large-fronted "Asian Beauty", on the other hand, will likely never realize that several of the men surrounding her find themselves unable to make eye-contact. They show every indication of being entranced; surely it's a shared appreciation for Gucci? Poor mesmerized bastards.]
Popsicle faced Thai sweeties just don't fit the bill. So far, the ethnicities of women who DO fit the bill have included Dutch high-school girls from the Atheneum or the Gymnasium, German communists, the brilliant daughters of several overseas Chinese families, Jewish women who know more about Judaism than the average lump of suburban gefilte fish, Cantonese women with a rich and evocative vocabulary, a crazy Ukrainian alcoholic, one Irish woman, a petite and very intelligent South Indian lady who already hated the United States, Goth chicks, and a staggeringly hot black lesbian who had pumped her lover full of bullets when she found her with another woman.
She was out on bail, in case you were wondering.
I've had great conversations with all of them.
[Internal monologue: Remarkably, none of these individuals ever explicated Einstein's Theory of Relativity to me. Perhaps they mistakenly assumed that being a pipe smoker, like Alfred Einstein, I was already versed. Well, J. Robert Oppenheimer was also a pipe smoker, and while he undoubtedly did grasp the details of the theory, my understanding is more likely on the level of Edwin Hubble (a stargazer of note) or Georges Simenon (a journalist), both of whom sensibly also preferred the pipe.]
If I hadn't been involved in a long terms relationship at the time, I might have actually gone out with them. My girlfriend until four years ago was in fact a Cantonese woman with a rich and evocative vocabulary. Actually, she still is, but we are no longer a couple.
All I will say about her bosom is that it was far from bovine overload. Which is NOT something that can be said about the pale Thai dingy-bat on the other open screen on this computer at present.
The only thing both ladies have in common is NO kazoo.
Only one of them can spell J. S. Bach.
Or Albert Einstein.
Betcha that Thai lady doesn't even have a vocabulary.
Or an opinion. About anything.
[Internal monologue: Several of my favourite people are women. It was always a pleasure to chat with them over the phone whenever I called regarding invoices that were past due. They frequently had keen insights and statements of eloquent wit. I have no idea what they looked like, but I can assure you that breasts were not part of their charm. At least not insofar as I was concerned.
I assumed they all possessed a credible number of such things in dimensions that were appropriate. I don't know, I never asked. None of them ever mentioned Einstein OR musical instruments, but I have no reason to think them ignorant.]
Adding insult to injury, it was one of those advertisements tailored to the computer user's search history and reading habits, to the side of an article about climate and this year's rainy season. I think it's the same type of algorithm that youtube uses to suggest video clips to watch or channels that are recommended. Which, at present, is Doramon in Chinese, „Preußens Gloria" auf dem Roten Platz in Moskau, premature assisted birth of spectacled flying-fox pup, a documentary about the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution, Winston Churchill's funeral, Last Week Tonight with John Olliver, Muppet Show Swedish Chef cooking lobsters, Girls und Panzer, Frederick the Great and the Prussia Enigma, and over a dozen Hong Kong movies on four different channels.
Absolutely nothing that would interest Doctor Augmenti-tits.
Youtube knows better than to slap me with Thai tits.
I have NO interest whatsoever in Thai tits.
Thais, and their tits, bore me.
[Internal monologue: Johann Sebastian Bach came from a musical family. So it is logical to believe that one of the earliest instruments he learned to play was the kazoo ("die kazö"). His friend Dieterich Buxtehude was probably also familiar. If either of those men had worried overmuch about 'brüste', we would have heard about that by now. Bach owned nearly two dozen musical instruments at the time of his death. Das Wohltemperierte
Clarification as of 9:32 AM, November 3, 2014: This post is about thoroughly resenting big breasts being flung in my face in advertisements. Even car advertisements.
It's also about Johann Sebastian Bach.
Wasn't that clear?
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.