Yes! Your opinion does not matter!

I have a big chest.  Come hell or high water or an iceberg, I will most likely float to safety.  This is not a cliche.  I can hardly touch the bottom when I take a bath.  In a strong river current, I am routinely swept away.  I can watch 3D television off the reverse reflection from my baby-oiled twins.  But they are a burden.  They are very needy of affection, love, and breast enhancement surgery.

They are perfectly capable in the work-a-day womens' world of the early 1950's, but they need some pizazz and some love worthy of the modern era.  FYI, I wear halter tops, tube tops, shoulder pads, tank tops, and thigh-high stiletto boots, even in winter.  Because we live within the Arctic Circle, we lack the perpetual orange pallor that suggests post-apocalyptic Florida health.

Which is not to demoralize the cast and crew of the Hunger Games or True Blood, but those shows are/were shit.

I am asked to define what I mean by "shit."  After all, if something's the shit, isn't it also "the bomb"?  

"Which bomb?"  I ask.  "Hiroshima or Oklahoma?"

"Whichever cultivated more shit."

"As in fecal approval or fecal rejection?"

At this point we were at an impasse.  Stay tuned.