I’ve been stuck staring at this…ummm, story…ever since Ace first brought it up the other day.
Mum trolled as boobs ‘steal spotlight’ in ‘indecent’ dress at son’s birthday party
A mum claims her own cleavage “stole the spotlight” from her son’s birthday party.
Raquel Dicuru, 37, was throwing a party for her son’s seventh birthday last month while her sister-in-law filmed her lighting the candles on the cake.
It wasn’t until the mum, from Tonbridge, Kent, watched it back that she saw her purple sundress revealed much of her chest.
Happily, the comely (and hoo boy, is she ever that, as can be seen in the several other pics included with this bodacious article) Ms Dicuru has boucoup chestage to reveal, and it looks to be well worth the revealing, bless her perfectly proportioned, shapely heart.
Raquel’s riposte to the juiceless, withered old killjoys who took umbrage with the inadvertent display of her succulent fun-bags was spot on:
In response, Raquel has told her followers to “get a life”.
Attagirl, you tell ’em. I could be mistaken, I admit, but I can’t help but get the distinct feeling the bluenoses’ unsolicited critique just might have been motivated primarily by envy—the males, because they ain’t got anything like that waiting for ’em at home, and the females, because ditto. Certainly, it’s a pretty safe bet that young master Dicuru saw quite a lot of those tig ol’ bitties early on, or at least until he was weaned off of ’em—one assumes under extreme, kicking-and-screaming protest—and was therefore already quite familiar with the edifying spectacle anyway.
For some strange reason, this feel-good story puts me in mind of a certain RAB classic.
Now as it happens, among a crap-ton of other artists the Stray Cays covered that one early in their illustrious career, with Setzer tacking on one of the coolest verses yet written as a bonus:
Well, I’m smoking past the filter
And it’s burnin’ my lips
Yeah, I’m smokin’ past the filter
And it’s burnin’ my lips
My whole body is a-shakin’ right to my fingertips
Yep, you go on and try and tell me that ain’t just like mama used to make. Knowing Brian as I do, and I know him pretty well, he would be extremely gratified that I’d thought to include him in this particular post, and for all the right reasons too. A little extry rockabilly twangerrifickness for ya.
Lots and lots of excellent, obscure stuff on that album, but it’s that first tune I particularly wanted to call y’all’s attention to. If you’re into it, the fifth song—”Hot Rod Baby—is another one of my all-time faves. GONNA SUCK THIS CAT RIGHT UP MY PIPES…
Update! Yes, I know, I’m obsessing here, but can you blame me? Actually, I been mulling it over trying to come up with some conceivable downside for the kid here, seeing as how all those green-eyed bluenoses claim to be upset about how his hot MILF ruined his birthday for him by the heinous, hateful sin of letting ’em breathe without malice aforethought, and I confess I’m drawing a blank on that.
I mean, the child doesn’t look to be terribly upset in the two (2) pics he appears in in the article, as far as I can discern. And honestly, why would he be? Mama made the both of ’em famous the world over because a bunch of self-righteous Holy Joes got their panties in a bunch over nothing whatsoever.
Think of it: for the rest of his life, he gets to tell his buddies the funny story about that time he and his mom made the newspapers and got everybody all in a dither because, even pushing 40, she was still a sexy, eye-catching lass. He’ll be laughing over this tempest in a teapot from now on; he’ll consider Year 7 the greatest birthday party he ever did have. It’ll be a long, long time before he has to buy his own beer once he’s old enough to belly up to the bar for a pint of stout at his local pub with a story like this to recount.
And like I said earlier, it ain’t as if he didn’t already KNOW his mom was sporting a righteous shirt-full long before now; he didn’t just learn of it after every swingin’ Richard in once-Great Britain got all frothy and fizzy-lipped over it and pointed it out to all and sundry with great outrage and vexation. If there’s any real downside to be found here, for anybody at all except the aforementioned Holy Joe and Jane—who really ought to just shut their yaps and mind their own beeswax—be damned if I can find it.