Our hearts are heavy with secondhand disappointment today, because a Hollywood icon is struggling to come to terms with a dream he just doesn’t have the goods to fulfill: Clint Eastwood is trying to make himself have cleavage in the mirror but can’t.
Poor fella’s great at a lot of things, but having cleavage just ain’t one of ‘em.
Eastwood has spent the last three hours rooted in front of his bedroom mirror desperately trying to manipulate his bare chest into something resembling cleavage, but no matter how the acclaimed actor-cum-director shifts and squeezes his wafer-thin pectorals, the alluring crevasse of plump décolletage remains agonizingly out of his reach. Whether he tries squishing his meager flaps in from the sides, scooping them up from the bottom, or even hunching his entire body forward to cluster his chest flesh as tightly as possible, the result remains sadly the same: a flat, scrawny ribcage with nary a heaving milker in sight, much less the two required for cleavage.
“C’mon, have cleavage you bee-sting-titted little twerp,” he just muttered to himself, his trademark scowl betraying deep pain and self-loathing over his less-than-ample bosom. “Show me those breasts. I know they’re in there somewhere. It’s booby time for Clint.”
Eastwood’s really giving himself a hard time about his non-existent rack. He keeps calling himself names like Flatty Harry and The Man With No Tits, and every 10 minutes or so he’ll get so frustrated that he just open-palm slaps his paltry mosquito bites as if to rebuke them for being so uncooperatively tiny. He’s even pulled up an empty chair beside him that he’s started addressing as though it represents Barack Obama, who’s apparently flaunting his own bodacious cleavage in a plunging V-neck sweater. “You must be so proud of yourself sitting there with those cannonballs smushed against each other,” sneered Eastwood just now, upper lip quivering as he forlornly brought his elbows together in vain. “Well you know what? You should be. You’ve got cleavage that could drown a fella tryin’ to motorboat it, and I’m standing here like a jackass too chickenshit to accept that he belongs on the Itty-Bitty Titty Committee. You think that’s amusing? Does it delight you knowing that your pillowy rack sprays milk by the gallon, yet these ol’ nips of mine give me nothing but dust? Wipe that smirk off your face, commie. There’s nothing funny about this.”
Man, it’s really bumming us out to see him so upset.
At nearly 93 years old, Eastwood’s likely all too aware that he may never see his reflection present eye-popping cleavage if he can’t make it happen now. A younger Eastwood could have tried changing up his diet and busting out some bench presses to give himself more chest to work with, but at this age that kind of exertion could very well kill him. Then again, considering the obvious toll his current flatness is taking on him, we wonder if it isn’t already a foregone conclusion that his single-minded pursuit of cleavage will put him in the grave no matter what he ends up doing.
Guess it’s just human nature to want the things you don’t have. Here’s hoping Clint Eastwood can stop crying macho over his A-cups and realize that winning four Oscars is just as worthy an achievement as being able to make yourself have cleavage in the mirror!
