Bob arrived at dinner in an extraordinary piece of technology, a boned *and* underwired bra that turned her boobage into two perfect, upthrust half-domes. This led to a wench-off, in which the assembled females tried to out-cleavage one another. One stray breast knocked over a wineglass and the wench-off paused to make way for the cleanup.

“What happened to the breasts?” whimpered Yoz.

Shards of glass removed, the wench-off resumed. Jeremy’s fish-eye was all over it.

“We’re colluding in our oppression!” I pointed out, to a chorus of cheers.

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