You don't have to--she starts crying instead.

We were both spared the awkwardness of my incoherence, because Marisa chose that moment to burst into tears again. “I hate them, Mike!” she sobbed, “I hate them so much and I wish they just disappeared!”

I was all set to agree that the world would be better place without those assholes at school when Marisa suddenly started angrily squeezing her large breasts and I realized it wasn’t the jerks at lunch she was talking about. “I’m not even a human being! I’m just a walking set of cantaloupes for men to drool over. All I want is to cut them off and be normal. Why did I have to be born with the Breasts from Hell?”

Tears were streaming down Marisa’s face, and every testosterone-infused fiber of my body was 100% positive that she’d lost her mind. Didn’t she understand what a loss for all mankind it would be if those incredible tits didn’t exist? Didn’t she understand how grateful we all were and how happy she made us, simply by being bouncy and perky?