I’m No Hero, Just A Brave Cis Man Wearing A “Save The Titties” T-Shirt

Photo by Rosemary Ketchum on Pexels.com

Breast cancer awareness month just passed, which means I finally faced my fear of emasculating pink clothing so that I personally can save lives. Some call me a hero, but I don’t generally asked to be called that. I’m just your ordinary Average Joe, doing my part to fight this deadly disease by wearing a shirt that says “Save the Titties.”

I’m not afraid to say it: breast cancer is bad. There’s nothing I like more than a set of healthy, perky jugs on a woman, and the fact that there’s a disease out there that could impact my ability to fondle women just pisses me off. When I think about all the boobs I’ve wanted to grab in my life and imagine the impact of this terrible illness, I get so mad that I’m willing to spend $10-15 on novelty accessories that degrade women to take a stand. Hell, just thinking about it makes me want to put on my pink baseball cap that says, “Don’t let cancer steal second base!” and march straight down to Walmart, raising awareness with everyone I undress with my eyes. I don’t even care who sees me. Letting everyone know that I’m a heterosexual cis man who likes breasts is a small price to pay for saving lives.

Just because I’m a man doesn’t mean that I can’t make a difference in bringing attention to this critical issue. Wearing a “Free breast examinations here!” sweatshirt and buying the Yoplait with the little pink lids are real, concrete actions that I can take to save the bazongas and the women they’re attached to. But there’s so much more to be done. That’s why I make sure to tell every woman I meet that she needs to check her ta-tas for lumps because it’d sure be a shame if she lost that rack. Then I point to my pink ribbon keychain so she knows I’m not just ogling her as she rings up my yogurt, but that I’m genuinely concerned for her wellbeing.

But there are even bigger heroes than me out there: Men dedicated to preaching their love of, and concern for, a big ol’ set of knockers. I think about the NFL players, willing to sacrifice their masculinity for four quarters to wear pink cleats out on the field. I think about the male doctors and male scientists who chose to study lady problems for some reason. And, most importantly, I think about the brave men who support their wives and girlfriends through this terrible illness, selflessly unconcerned with whether or not they’ll have titties to motorboat when everything is all over.

Awareness is important, and I’m glad to do my part to get more people involved. For example, I have met dozens of men who identify as ass men instead of breast men, but who are still concerned excited for the opportunity to get away with wearing a shirt that demeans women just because it’s got a pink ribbon on it. This just goes to show that our differences don’t have to stop us from working together to find a cure. But until that day comes, I’ll continue to sexualize sick and dying women’s bodies in the name of awareness. Let’s keep those hooters happy and healthy, even beyond the month of October!

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