Where do violent boobs come from anyway, and why I might have a pair

Or something completely different, which is in no way offensive or creepy.

There are things with heads that you can eat with good conscience. Unless you're a cabbage and then it's just cannibalism if you're eating another cabbage. And I don't know how I would feel about that. A little weirded out perhaps. Nervous. And I would want to distance myself from the actions of the said cabbage. Right here on this blog. Yes, you can quote me on that.

Can you keep a secret?

I can. Most times anyway. But I know there are people out there who just suck at anything like that. They struggle immensely when they're not allowed to tell anyone something they know. Especially if it's something supremely juicy.

Like fake boobs. Which, I must add, time and again, confound me with their juice-value. I mean, they are just boobs. Things you have to harness in the morning so they don't slap you in the face when you hit a speed bump a little too fast. Just unruly boobs.

Or am I talking of the freefalling ones, not the engineered ones?  My education might be lacking in the boob department. I just own them. It's not like I ever take them out intentionally and use them for anything.

However, perhaps the juice doesn't trickle down off of the lumps of plastic at all, but instead comes from someone's need to radically alter something about themselves. That I'll buy. And that is some proper V8 too. With a vodka twist.  

Sometimes it's just hard to keep others' business to yourself, when you yourself have none to speak of. Unless you count grocery shopping as an event. Which, of course it sometimes is, but unless you know how to spin you sticking your asparagus into someone else's unsuspecting cart, or that broccoli not being as nice as it appeared in the store just the right way, there's not much you can do about it. It's either boil, steam or bake, or some other weird method I haven't yet encountered a specifically made gadget for, although I'm sure it's out there. And possibly shaped like a Disney character.

Now, why do I have to make everything so dirty and/or so weird and complicated?

I don't know.

Boredom? Oddly wandering mind? Too much caffeine? Too little wine?

Couldn't keep my carrots in a row? My potatoes in the sack? My cauliflower well tended for?

My cherries were in disarray.

Well, I started out by wanting to tell you a secret. I did. Then, unfortunately, I branched out into the wondrous world of vegetables and from there on everything just sort of unraveled. Now, after the ingenious and not at all rambling and completely pointless build-up - especially the part about the dirty vegetables - has resulted in the secret being quite lame. And not at all vegetable-related.

I don't even know why this story involves any food at all. And none of it organic either.

I think I'll just have to keep my secret to myself, and not bore you any more.

Maybe you should tell me your secrets instead? There are extra dips in the toppings for those who give me something vegetable-related.

Crazy enough to work, né?