Who Run The World? Moobs!

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In the midst of doing everything else, I forgot to finish a post about Rick Ross gracing the cover of VIBE’s sexy issue. As everyone turns their obsession with summer bodies to heights only a grunt-inducing trainer could reach for, all week I’ve been like, “Eh.” Then the other night I two-stepped on one Sunset Boulevard as someone drove by blasting “MC Hammer” and quickly went, “Oh!” after I finished yelling that I, too, was MC Hammer.

Rick Ross’ body is best described as, “What if Esther Rolle had let herself go?” Yet, I know of several women of different shapes, sizes and levels of esteem who salivate over Rick Ross and his saggy breasts. I am not at all jealous. If anything, I applaud him. When I do make my way into the gym, I always go straight to the bench press or some chest-related machine. I’ve mentioned this before but it bears repeating since it still frightens me: When I was fat, I looked like I needed a bra. I was embarrassed even years after I went from Fat Albert to blackened Gumby. I hated people pinching my chest like I was the Pilsbury Doughboy. The least they could’ve done is slide a dollar or forty into my shirt. Taunts deserve tips!

But here is Rick Ross with the faces of two pasty presidents splattered all over his fleshy chest. Man, does he have confidence. He also likely has high cholesterol, too, but another day, another topic. Now he’s officially a sex symbol. You mean to tell me I could’ve stayed eating 20-piece nuggets solo and still have retained my sexy status? Take my baked chicken then!

Wait, don’t ’cause there’s no way in hell I’m regressing. I already know you can be fat and healthy, but Rick Ross is kind of a few dozen WingStop orders over that limit. I also know that more times than not, bigger folks smell better. I’ve heard people make jokes that our fatter friends smell like fried chicken and fear of a treadmill. As an ex-fatty I know that’s complete nonsense. It’s more like potpourri and satisfaction.

Clearly it doesn’t matter to Rick Ross and or the number of women who love him so.  I know somewhere Heavy D is looking at the issue going, “My brother!” in solidarity. I stand with him. Gon’ head, RAWSE. Not every man is bold enough to let his moobs flap in the air like I’m in the shit up in this bitch. We should all be so lucky to be that happy with our bodies.


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