I think my body's newfound discovery that it can create life has gone to its head. Er, my head. Whatever. In any case, it has decided, completely independently of my brain, that if it can create a whole human being without any outside assistance, it makes sense to go ahead and try to take over the world.
My body, of which I no longer have any control (if indeed I ever did; I'm beginning to think it has LET me think I was in control this whole time as a part of its ingenius plan) is approaching this lofty goal via several strategic maneuvers simultaneously. The first is to cultivate my breasts into two giant, independent living organisms that will conquer, Godzilla-like, the planet Earth, one city at a time.
My body launched its plan almost immediately after conception. "Hey," it said to itself (but not through my ears, lest the traitors relay the message to the conscious part of my brain), "if we can create a whole person in the uterus, why not in other parts? There's TONS of unused space in the boobies! And - hey - there's TWO of them! We can conquer the world twice as fast!"
Ever since then my breasts have been steadily swelling on a daily basis to the point where when I walk down the street, Asian tourists point at me, shriek, and run terrified in the opposite direction. Tom and I have nicknamed my twin Benedict Arnolds Pinky and the Brain ("What do you want to do today Brain?" I hear one whisper to the other in the middle of the night. "The same thing we do every day, Pinky - try to take over the world!")
I think they've already succeeded with the male population. From what I can tell, I need only be within a ten-foot radius to render the male of the species completely helpless. That part's pretty cool, actually.
Meanwhile, not the type of body to put all its eggs in one basket, it has launched the simultaneous Take Over the World By Emitting Deadly Gasses Until Everybody Is Dead campaign. Seriously, I'm surprised Bush's minions haven't arrived at our house seeking out Weapons of Mass Destruction. There is a green cloud that hovers over our home, and I think the dog's dead. Tom says no amount of gas can make him love me less, which is very sweet, but I know a sense of self-preservation is going to kick in for him at any time, and he will understandably try to smother me in my sleep. My body has already thought of this and has it covered - it'll just send the breasts in to hypnotize him, something that has become sort of a new-found hobby for my body which, I have noted, doesn't seem to bother Tom a whole lot.
But while other people can always run away, I can't. I'm stuck with myself. I try scurrying quickly to another room when I've dropped a bomb but there are only so many rooms in the house. I think perhaps this approach might backfire on my oh-so-clever body, because I'm feeling awfully light-headed, not to mention lonely.
So don't panic yet; it's very likely I'll be the cause of my own destruction without anyone having to call in Mosura. However, if you see a giant tit coming at you, you may want to run away just in case.
P.S. for funnsies, plug the title of this blog into an online Japanese-English translator
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