BOOBS ARE FOOL'S GOLD. THE ASS IS WHERE IT'S AT.

I read with interest the report here in the journal Insider Higher Ed that for the second time this year - hell, for the second time in four months - a professor at the University of Iowa has killed himself after being charged with sexual harassment.

Now, the details of these affairs are always pretty sad and morbid, which is of course why I love to pore over them. There's not much to glean from the article on the most recent incident. However, the particulars of the former case are pretty damn juicy: "In August, Arthur H. Miller was arrested on bribery charges and accused of telling female students that he would give them higher grades if they let him fondle their breasts."

OK, I'm sorry. I love the breast. I'm very "pro" breast. If it comes down to breasts in one hand and almost anything else in the other, then I'm deciding in favor of breasts more than nine times out of ten. However, breasts aren't so good that it's worth throwing away your career (and in this schmuck's case, your life) just to get a handful of nubile, perky young sweater cow. I mean, if you really need to feel something like a breast, you could do just as well with a beanbag or a ball of bread dough with a gummy bear glued to one side.

You see, I'm a reasonable man. An ass man. And I'm here to tell you, if you're going to ruin your life by making ludicrously inappropriate propositions to women half your age, it should at least be for something that can't be easily duplicated with a lump of gluten and a soft bear-shaped candy. On the other hand, it's damn hard to cobble together a halfway decent proxy for a firm, callipygous Jennifer Lopez-style booty. God knows I've tried.

Oh, and just between you and me nothing, and I mean nothing, feels like the anus of an 18-year old coed. You can't just manufacture that shit out of play-doh. God knows I've... well, you know where this is going.