Wow. Someone needs to calm down, I think --
-- and I don't think it's me.
Nor do I think it's particularly reasonable to assume there's no difference at all between, say, on the one hand, someone who's carrying around fifty or a hundred pounds more mass than a perky twenty-two-year-old medical student might suggest was a good idea -- and then, on the other hand, someone who's deliberately, and against medical advice, inflated her breasts to over four liters' volume in order to earn money off rich people's sad fantasies.
No judgment, or so a thicko like you would seem to need pointed out -- we've all got to earn a paycheck somehow, and from what I've heard of Brazil, if you've got an option like this one then it makes sense to take it -- but that's not the same thing as someone who "doesn't fit into some mythical ideal", and in neither case am I arguing that such a person should be "doomed to a life of lonliness [sic] and self-pleasure" for any reason at all; I don't know, nor particularly do I care, what's got you thinking that is what I am doing, but if accuracy were something of concern to you then I expect you'd like to know you are completely off the mark -- all I'm saying is, I don't get what it is with men for whom Little Happy is most effectively titillated by tits so big and so blatantly artificial that they no longer even look like something you'd expect to find on a human body.
If that's the same thing as hating on anybody who isn't a perfect 36-24-36, or whatever the fuck it is you've got the idea in whatever passes for your mind that I'm doing, then I guess you may as well just tie me to a post and set me alight right now. But, then, it isn't, is it? Of course it isn't. It isn't even close -- but then, hey, if it were a mistake that was *easy* to make, we wouldn't need you to do it, would we?