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A radical blogs his wife's mastectomy. part 2


Nurse maddad and his patient went out to buy a bra for the new foobs yesterday and ran head on into a dilemma. Do we follow accepted protocol and head to Nordstrom like the rest of the bailout-hungry po'folk or do we act like the rich snobs we are and head to Wal-Mart to oppress the masses?

You know the answer already. We rocked the Status-Symbol mobile, our Kia, over to the Wal-Mart where we bought two new bras. On Sale. With CASH.

I think today we might go out to eat. I'm in the mood for something fancy, like the dollar menu at McDonald's. The parking lot at the local Micky D's overlooks the Olive Garden and it will provide us with a little bit of dinner theater to watch the peasants struggle to find a place to park the Beemer where it won't get dinged by the neighbor's Range Rover Sport. Ha! Let the squares eat government lobster. I loaded up on the free breakfast at the motel where maddmom and I are holed up, so to paraphrase Frank Booth, "Grilled shrimp Caprese? Fuck that shit, TWO ALL BEEF PATTIES!"

Even without boobs, maddmom and I can kick out the Jams, Motherfuckers!


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