| «this next story is a true story. |
| it concerns to of my favorite subjects:
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| industrial theft. |
| .. and-a t-ts! |
| mmm, what a combo! |
| this is the story. |
| ..
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| the inventor of the modern foundation
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| Ent that we women wear today was a german scientist and opera lover by the name
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| of otto titsling! |
| this is a true story. |
| his name was otto titsling.
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| what happened to otto titsling shouldnt happe
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| A schnauzer. |
| its a very sad story. |
| I feel I have to share it with you.»
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| Otto titsling, inventor and crout,
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| Had nothing to get very worked up about.
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| His inventions were failures, his future seemed bleak.
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| He fled to the opera at least twice a week.
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| One night at the opera he saw an aida
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| Whos t-ts were so big they would often impede her.
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| Bug-eyed he watched her fall into the pit,
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| Done in by the weight of those terrible t-ts.
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| Oh, my god! |
| there she blows!
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| Aerodynamically this bitch was a mess.
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| Otto eye-balled the diva lying comatose amongst the reeds,
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| And he suddenly felt the fire or inspiration
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| Flood his soul. |
| he knew what he had to do!
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| He ran back to his workshop
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| Where he futzed and futzed and futzed.
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| For otto titsling had found his quest:
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| To lift and mold the female breast;
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| To point the small ones to the sky;
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| To keep the big ones high and dry!
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| Every night hed sweat and snort
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| Searching for the right support.
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| He tried some string and paper clips.
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| Hey! |
| he even tried his own two lips!
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| Well, he stiched and he slaved
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| And he slaved and he stitched
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| Until finally one night, in the wee hours of morning,
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| Otto arose from his workbench triumphant.
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| Yes! |
| he had invented the worlds first
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| Over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder. |
| hooray!
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| Exhausted but ecstatic he ran
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| Down the street to the divas house
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| Bearing the prototype in his hot little hand.
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| Now, the diva did not want to try the darn thing on.
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| But, after many initial misgivings,
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| She finally did.
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| And the sigh of relief that issued forth
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| From the divas mouth
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| Was so loud that it was mistaken by some
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| To be the early onset of the seraken winds
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| Which would often roll through the schwarzwald
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| With a vengance!
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| Ahhhhh-i!
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| But little did otto know,
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| At the moment of his greatest triumph,
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| Lurking under the divas bed
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| Was none other than the very worst
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| Of the french patentees,
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| Phillip debrassiere.
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| And phil was watching the scene
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| With a great deal of interest!
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| Later that night, while our broom hilda slept,
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| Into the wardrobe phillip softly crept.
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| He fumbled through knickers and corsets galore,
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| til he found ottos titsling and he ran out the door.
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| Crying, «oh, my god! |
| what joy! |
| what bliss!
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| Im gonna make me a million from this!
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| Every woman in the world will wanna buy one.
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| I can have all the goods manufactures in taiwan.»
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| «oh, thank you!»
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| The result of this swindle is pointedly clear:
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| Do you buy a titsling or do you buy a brassiere? |