This year, I’m once again participating in the Run For the Cure. So, I’m trying to fundraise, and doing it by fundraising on Facebook like most people do. Well, like last year, I kind of put the boots to my friends, especially the boys – and this year was no different. Here’s what I posted last Saturday:
TO ALL MY MALE FRIENDS ON FACEBOOK – CONFESSION: I LIKE BOOBS
I wish to take this opportunity to remind you of a problem that I have, that you all need to be aware of. I took the opportunity to do so last year about this time, and I think that as a public service announcement, and as a community minded gesture, it is high time that I let you know about my problem. Understand that this was a big admission for me, it was really quite a hard thing to confess publicly. It is this:
I LIKE BOOBS. A *LOT*.
I don’t mean in a passing way. I mean I really like boobs. I think they are bloody fantastic, no matter the shape or size. Boobs are one of the truly fantastic things that the human species developed. And, because you are male, there is a ridiculously high chance that you like boobs too. I mean like 90% or higher. They may not be your favourite thing, but I bet they have never crossed your mind whenever you have to come up with one of those stupid lists of “thinks you can live without”. Of things that men cross off of lists, “Live my life without women’s boobs around” is almost never one of them. It doesn’t even come up.
I want you to stop and think for a minute about boobs. About breasts. About ta-tas. You do several times a day anyway, so make this one of those times. Think about how many different names we have for them (fun exercise: think of how many different names for them that can get me banned on Facebook, or at least the derision of my female friends). Now think about what it would be like to have a world that didn’t have boobs. That’s right. A boob-less world. A world less ogled. A world less bodacious. One where we’ve said “tah-tah” to the ta-tas. There wouldn’t just be less bounce in your step, in a world like that.
That world is a distinct possibility. The breasts are under attack by an insidious and quiet threat, one still very lethal. To all my nerdy friends, it makes the Sith look like the Sithies (pronounced Sissies, with a lisp!). The breasts are being attacked one by one, as if hunted, and I’m taking up a call to arms. In French, the word “arms” translates to “bras”. Ok, maybe not in this particular context, but that connection alone is important don’t you think?
That world may happen to over 23,000 women in Canada this year. One in 9 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime. That, my sons, is a lot of boobs to save. Whatever can we do? What is the call to arms (bras)? Well, for me it is simple. I am running in the Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation (insert name of big-5 bank national title sponsor here…) Run for the Cure.
I’m running. I’m so committed to this that I’m running in a different city because I’ll be at a conference, but I’m still running. If you pay any attention to Facebook, you know that I run a lot, because my runs get posted onto my timeline. (Go ahead and check, I’ll wait.) Running is something I can do. I can run 5k in well under 30 minutes. Many of you run, but I know that many of you don’t. That’s ok, you don’t have to run. I will run *for you*. Hell, give me your address, and I will come over before the run, make you popcorn, and hand you the clicker(no not really, and man up and take the clicker yourself), so that you can sit on the couch and know that someone is running *for you*, so that *you* are saving the boobs. I’m doing the running and some of the saving, but you can help me without even breaking a sweat – you can donate to my run.
Donating to my run is convenient, and there is a link to do so at the end of this post. Donating to my run is also like vicarious exercise – you know that, for you, I will be running 5k on Sunday October 6, 2013 at 9am mountain time. You know me, you know I will do it, I will live up to it. It will be worth it. And best of all, you will be doing it to keep this world bodacious, and to keep the bounce in something other than your step.
There are rules, of my own devising, to this donating thing. They are as follows:
1. If you are walking, running or volunteering, thanks. Go and do your deed. Raise funds. Plant flowers. Be karmically happy.
2. If you know someone who is walking or running and is closer to you than I am, sponsor them, especially if they have boobs of their own.
3. If no one closer to you than me has asked you to donate, consider yourself formally asked. Donate to my run, cause I’m raising money. You can do so quickly and easily at my personal page – and the link is:
$20 gets you a tax receipt. $40 gets you good karma. $50 or more might get you your mojo back. C’mon. I truly only have the breast of intentions, and this way you don’t even have to break a sweat.
Here’s my last tactic: bullying. You’re a guy, and you like boobs. Grow a set of stones and donate. Last year? My appeal to you boys got ONE stinkin’ donation, out of about 250 of you guys that are my friends on Facebook. Then I had to go on and shame you all, by appealing to the girls -many of them the girls you are in relationships with and are the girls who own the boobs that you have regular access to. And they spanked you in the donations department, I gotta tell you. I’d love to be running for a bunch of boob-loving guys this year, and that would only take 30 of you to spend 5 minutes online and donating $50 each. Don’t you want to be known as a guy that really likes and cares about boobs? I thought you did.
Keep the world full of bounce. Keep life bodacious. Click below and contribute to my run you fantastic boob-loving man with a set of stones, you!
I thought that this year, that post would garner some great attention. Nope. Not a whit. Not a stitch. I got two guys that donated out of that. So, I’ve been once again forced to shame their friends, wives, and girlfriends:
TO ALL MY FEMALE FRIENDS ON FACEBOOK: THE EVIDENCE IS IN, AND YOUR MEN, AND MEN IN GENERAL SUCK. IT SEEMS TO ME THEY ARE CHICKEN-SHITS.
Ladies, I am friends with about 300 of you on this here social network. I’m also friends with many of… the men in your lives – husbands, boyfriends, ex’s, heck even some of your CHILDREN. And there is one thing I want to tell you all.
They are all chicken-shits. All of them. I base this solely on the empirical evidence I’ve collected over the last two years.
A week ago, I confessed something, something that while it’s not talked about, everyone probably had guessed by that point. I like boobs. Yup, I do, I like boobs, and I couldn’t keep it in any more. I happen to know that boobs, as a group, are under attack from a disease that has affected a lot of the great women in my life. I’m doing what I can to stop it, to put an end to it if I can, so that it doesn’t take anyone ever again, and leads to breakthroughs for other strains of the disease. I’m going to do the Run for the Cure.
To get the running part out of the way, I also want to specifically address any of you ladies who have said something akin to “geez, you are always posting about the stuff you are doing, the running, the biking, etc, etc”. Yes, in this age of technology my phone posts my stuff. It’s great, I love it. And you see it. If you have seen my running updates, you know I can run, so this Run for the Cure thing makes a lot of sense.
Now, back to your chicken-shit men. A week ago, I posted an appeal on Facebook to all my male friends. I pointed out to them that, without breaking a sweat, they too can participate in my portion of the fight to save the boobs. I appealed to them because, in a lot of your cases, I’ve met your men. I know them. And in many of *those* cases, I’ve watched them greet women. I’ve watched them talk to women for five minutes without once greeting their eyes. You could have had fire shooting out of those sockets and they wouldn’t have noticed. (And, to a few of you, you *did* have fire shooting out of your eye sockets, and they *didn’t* notice, and you know and I know it happened.)
In short, your men are ridiculous. Your men are boys. No, wait, boys would hear the word “boobs” and I would have their undivided attention. Your men are apathetic proto-males that clearly don’t realize the importance of boobs in their life. They might just have been conditioned by Facebook to simply press a like button as a show of support (because seriously, nothing says “I’m right there for you and have your back, you crazy rebels leading the Egyptian revolution towards human rights (say) like clicking an electronic button, then surfing to another and clicking one that says you like Coke Zero). I was asking them to get behind boobs. To show some support, in a sense that would give them no end of witty puns for at least a day. I was asking them to donate a little cash to support what I’m doing.
The response I got was, to say the least, lackluster from the boys. It was shameful. It was beyond low. It was 0.67% of my male friends on Facebook. You math geeks will have figured out that means *2* men, two of *your* men, donated to my run. And it isn’t like I asked for a lot, and it isn’t like you don’t get something out of it. Anything more than 20 bucks gets a tax receipt. The exceptions were notable: Tony Hanyk (thanks cuz!) and Ernest Bianchi (thanks E!)
Clearly, I believe your men, and all my male friends, have lost the plot, and now fail to realize the importance of boobs in their life. They just don’t know what it means to not have them. So, here is my appeal to you, the boob-toting, female counterparts to these proto-males who should have their man-cards revoked: DON’T GIVE THEM ACCESS TO YOUR BOOBS.
They were not willing to get off their wallet and help out. I didn’t ask them to run, I was offering to do that for them. I was suggesting that they get off their duff, click the link below, extract their credit card (and frankly blow the dust off, I think), and do something good with their money. Save some breasts. Get some great karma. so I think you should penalize them. I think you should revoke the access until such time as they pony up. A great big fuggedaboudit until they donate to SAVE your breasts. Donate to find different ways to screen you, find a damn cure, find a damned preventative cure. This is the only cause I support every year and I do it because it means so much to me.
I even appealed to the boys to think about a world that didn’t have boobs, and how sad and ugly that would be. I got *nothing* from your men.
So go grab their credit card. Go ahead, I’ll wait. Yell the following from the top of the stairs “Here’s your damned credit card, you are donating to Martin Moran’s Run for the Cure, you chicken shit, and no access to my bodacious ta-tas until such time as you do!” Or, to be passive about it,just make the donation yourself, but make it on his credit card.
Some of your boys have a legitimate excuse. I have rules to this sort of thing:
1. If you (or they) are walking, running or volunteering, thanks. Go and do your deed. Raise funds. Plant flowers. Be karmically happy.
2. If you (or they) know someone who is walking or running and is closer to you than I am, sponsor them, especially if they have boobs of their own.
3. If no one closer to you (or your chicken-shit man) than me has asked you to donate, consider yourself formally asked: donate to my run, cause I’m raising money. You can do so quickly and easily at my personal page – and the link is:
As always, $20 gets you a tax receipt. $40 gets you good karma. $50 or more might get you your mojo back. C’mon. I truly only have the breast of intentions, and this way you don’t even have to break a sweat.
I don’t know if you’ve read this far. When the boys had to read this far (which probably gave most of them a brain cramp the size of their worst ever ice-cream headache) I said this:
“Here’s my last tactic: bullying. You’re a guy, and you like boobs. Grow a set of stones and donate. Last year? My appeal to you boys got ONE stinkin’ donation, out of about 250 of you guys that are my friends on Facebook. Then I had to go on and shame you all, by appealing to the girls -many of them the girls you are in relationships with and are the girls who own the boobs that you have regular access to. And they spanked you in the donations department, I gotta tell you. I’d love to be running for a bunch of boob-loving guys this year, and that would only take 30 of you to spend 5 minutes online and donating $50 each. Don’t you want to be known as a guy that really likes and cares about boobs? I thought you did.
Keep the world full of bounce. Keep life bodacious. Click below and contribute to my run you fantastic boob-loving man with a set of stones, you!”
I am sad that I only know two guys that want to be known as “a guy that really likes and cares about boobs”.
Help me out. Help me save your boobs. With their money. You can donate at:
I don’t know if it will work – I sure hope so, because that goal is an important one to me. If you can find it in your heart, then donate – it would mean a ton to me.
Now, for a little levity: