While it is patently obvious that any man who prefers a ridiculously-inflated set of mammarial implants to the real thing is a pathetically twisted loser, it is unfortunately not safe to assume that anyone gladdened by a glimpse of glandular droop is necessarily on the side of the angels.
Let us examine the career of a man who has done more to aid our cause than any other I could think of off the top of my head, former Food and Drug Administration jefe of jefes David Kessler. Those of you who channel surf during the so-called "news hour" may remember two-second flashes of this squirmy-looking gent from back when silicone implants were the crisis of the month for Washington and the mainstream media. Kessler, doe eyes looming huge behind the coke-bottles, twitched his way through an endless string of interviews, bemoaning the dangers of ersatz rib racks.
I found that offensive, as I'm against the inedible jello molds on purely aesthetic and tactile grounds.
Over time, the man tweaked his routine to hit all of the required outraged liberal bases, decrying everything from the greedy manufacturers who made the damned things to -- get this -- society itself for forcing an unachievable body image on women, or some such horseshit. If I remember correctly, the only suspects that avoided being tarred by the spurious splazoingy conspiracy brush were orthopedic shoe manufacturers and THE CAULKED CRYBABIES THEMSELVES!
But what do you expect from such a character? From his pubic-hair beard to his fruity hand gestures, Kessler gives every impression of being an incipient Bates Motel case. Methinks his mum dedicated too many critical hours massaging soothing ointments on his corroded bum and not enough providing the sweet and leaky nippular pleasures that a healthy man-child requires. If so, perhaps he wanted to ensure that every boob is a safe and healthy boob -- philanthropically making up for his own lost suck-time through the heart-warming imposition of armed federales into the offices of plastic surgeons all over the nation.
Hell, maybe it even runs deeper. What if Mama Kessler was some sort of insatiable sexual dynamo, always off tramping around with the men of the USS Enterprise's "B" deck when she should have been at home fondling her boy's hairless noodle? Perhaps this is Davy's unconscious way of getting back at his slutty mammy, by making all the porno-queens, higher-dollar hooers, and mastectomied matrons pay for the childhood neglect that cranked him to uber-Nannyhood.
Forget the possible repressed reasons why. The fact is that Kessler got off his soapbox long enough to ban the rock balloons! Funny, isn't it, that tobacco -- which actually kills people -- is merely hit up for an oil sheik's ransom, while crap that simply makes women look like hideous freaks is outright verboten.
This act of bureaucratic blunt-axing is made even more ridiculous (unless you are an unfortunate holder of Dow Corning stock) in that there is NO hard science to back up the FDA's case! Relying on sob stories from dizzy broads driven like cattle by their rapacious ambulance-chasers, the FDA has treated an entire industry like a white male (who is not a Kennedy) accused of baby-raping: Guilty Due to the Severity of the Charge.
So good-bye fake floats. Farewell also to the brain-fluid shunts and artificial joints that are made of the same perfectly safe materials. The other uses have not yet been banned, but their manufacturers are finding it harder to get the raw materials for these little miracles -- the last I heard, the price of silicone goop is up over 700% -- and they know that the lawyer class, only momentarily engorged, will soon start looking around for new sources of wealth ("Your Honor, my client Mr. Bastard is now suffering from sore armpit hairs due to the aortic valve replacement that saved his life").
As much as I despise Silly-Putty plumpkins, I submit that this is far too high a price to pay for their elimination. Our cause is at root a moral, philosophical, and, er, stimulating one, which can only be cheapened by accepting a default win imposed by the brutal boot of government intervention.
After all, what good are bouncy unblobbed batter bags if there are no free men (or free lesbians, for that matter) left to enjoy them?