heatherbeck

New Tier for Prospective Pen Pals!

So, two things.

###

First, I just launched a new tier! It's a fun concept I've been mulling around in my mind for a while now... I would love nothing more than to get to know some of you lovelies in a way that is... tangible. Something you can hold in your hands. As a fairly anachronistic person myself, and as a person who loves the ancient art of writing words with my hands...

Pen pals. Ah, what a lovely concept. So here's how it would go. Once you sign up to that tier you'll get my email address (if you don't have it already). Feel free to ramble on in an email, ask whatever you'd like, make any suggestions, feel free to make requests, etc. We can jump on Discord to text back and forth, because a little back-and-forth might help me to get to know you a little better (I'm a decent judge of character, and you lovelies have always been a very chill bunch, which I appreciate immensely.)

And then, about a week later, I'll send out your envelope. I found the A6 style envelopes that I am in love with (this cool craft paper vibe, like, postcard/invitation sized, you know?). They're non-descript (if necessary), and there's something about that size. You can stuff a LOT inside, which is what I would like to do.

What kind of stuffings? Well, about as stuffed as I am into these bras I can't fit into anymore, wakka wakka wakka! (Yes, Brananza 2: Electric Boobaloo is on the horizon -- that site will be launched next week! But you Patreon Lovelies can drop me a line if you'd like first dibs! [Electricity was through the roof this last couple of months, so mama wouldn't mind the extra cash in exchange for one of her lovingly-used over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders].)

Oh, yeah. So, hand-written/hand-typed notes of response; stickers; photos (yes, I'll likely be sending those kinds-ish of photos, keepin' it cute and flirty, as is my fashion); clippings, trimmings, digital and terrestrial... think... Tucking a micro SD card into a mini "zine" kind of thing; a spritz of my signature scent; a piece of artwork created by me (or the girls?)... I just want to jam-pack these things with as much as they'll hold, and get a big ol' kick out of doing it.

Creativity, it has been said, rests in the limitations. And I have long loved the notion of seeing what I can pack into a small-ish space. I hope you will too. Because then, you get a fat envelope delivered to your door that you get to unpack and get a big ol' kick out of perusing it.

And I really want to stick with the personal theme. Like, getting to know someone and thinking, "hey, they'd really like this, that'll be part of it." So it's kinda like a mini, custom care package in that regard.

I'm going to start out limiting myself to only 15 of these little packages being available per month. That's like one every two days, and I can pull that off with the appropriate care. :-) I just don't want to get back on that horse of overpromising and under-delivering. So, as the old saying goes, quantities, for now, are limited.

In the end, it's just a delightfully fun way of getting to know each other, and is a cool little branch of the whole Heather Empire. :-P

So if you're interested, head to the new tier, "The Heather Beck Monthly Mailer" here on the Patreon! It's $125 per month, shipping included to wherever you might be, which is a good chunk of change... But that'll cover materials, costs of things to go in there, and really, the time it takes to create something limited, personalized, and rare. (Like moi, [albeit la Miss Piggy].) I want to really make each of these into its own piece of art that persists long after it arrives.

You can just do one if you'd like, and see how it feels, and then downgrade your subscription, I won't take it personally, and you can always pick it back up later. It's one of those "in this economy?!" kinda things, but offense won't be perceived if you want to get flexy with it. Or, just keep it going, and we do the pen pal thing, buckaroo!

###

Let's see, there was something else...

Oh yeah! These pics are of me rocking the ol' Double Bra. J cups, but with 56-inch bands for MAXIMUM SISTER SIZING. (Good God, my bra situation is a catastrophe these days... more to come on that...) It's handy for those days when I can't smush into the counter and need a little bit of a lift... But it does cause the headlights to shine high into the heavens!

XOXO,

( . )( . ) 8008135

005: The One in Which She Talks About Natalia and Olga for About a Half Hour.

It is a truth, Universally Acknowledged, that you figure yourself out as you go along. And sometimes that has something to do with the fact that you are a person who just-so-happens to have tig ol' biddies. This is Episode 005, the one where I talk about such things at length. I love you guys.

(Editors note: Oh yeah, you’re right!

https://titsintops.com/phpBB2/threads/after-macromastia-and-gigantomastia-is-titanomastia-and-copiomastia.13574881/

)

The glamour…

… Does melt away just a little when you consider that a good chunk of my shirts are just things I wear so day-to-day spills and dribblings don’t tend to build up too much upon clothing I rely on to look presentable.

Ones & Zeroes

I guess if you get enough of them, the sky is the limit, right? Anyway. My ramble about the Last Invention of The Homo Sapian. (I’ve got a little Neanderthal blood in me, so let’s not mess around with all that nonsense, as I will break you, Dolf Lungren style.)

(Editor's Note: For the purposes of irony, I feel compelled to be transparent and let you know that the attached photo is a fan-generated piece of fictional photography, I think contributed to by AI. Though I do have to admit that the resemblance...? Not too shabby. )

Get Yourselves a Lucky Coin.

As the great Tobias Funke once said: Somewhere Over the Rainbow, There's Another Rainbow. I am sure there are more jokes to be made. I am also certain that that there is always money in The Banana Stand.

This is an essay about lucky coins, the practice of being both analyst and therapist (such an unfortunate business card), and a reading of a Tom Robbins essay that was published in Playboy in 1991.

In short, just another day in the life of Heather Beck.

I love you all. Even if I just blue myself.

Footsies?

Just curious more than anything. There’s a theory that the part of the brain that likes large JubJubs is right next door to the part that likes footsies.

I’ve always been curious about the attraction. No objection, judgement, or anything, as I think it’s kinda cool to have a “thing.” (I mean, look at me.)

I’m just curious what the allure feels like, and what thoughts it sparks.

Feel free to DM me if you’d prefer anonymity. Bonus points if this pic becomes your wallpaper. 😘

Printing Out The Schematics

I think it's important to provide an update to everyone. Headphones recommended. And much love to the Lovelies.

Electric Boobaloo.

Yeah, subtitles rock.

(This is the pic on which the cover to EtHBE:2 is based. I'm sure it's a limited edition thing and is positively Tantalizing.)

004 - Politics and the Great F.S. Gatsby.

I sincerely apologize, in advance. Wakka Wakka Wakka!
But I do have a feeling that a few of you might... love the idea of falling asleep to something like this?
If you like this kind of thing, let me know. For real, it's a style that feels good, and I'm looking for a style, and this is my stab at making something pretty that I haven't elsewhere.
Please, do let me know. You can just do a 1-10 scale thing. I'm a Stats girl.
Oh, and also, more or less background sound, how the editing works, etc.

Love you all. :-*

H

PS. Stupid AI illustration, right?

Lovely Rita Instagram.

That’s the offending picture. “S€%ual solicitation and all that. So one weird doghouse punishment? I can’t DM anyone for three days.

Here was the text!

Pretty brutal, needless to say. I was obviously in the wrong, 🙄 and will await my judgement by some tragically underpaid dude in Bangladesh.

Im also in the process of transfering ALL of my content over to my very own site. More will certainly come, info wise.

[Update: I submitted for a review, and the image has been Re-posted, and i can now be granted the privilege to DM again. 30 minutes? Hmmph.

Still. It does not change my resolve. It is disconcerting to have all this stuff that you spend time on, a diary of sorts, and have to feel out it being taken away.

Plans are being formed. All quiet on the front. Figuring out who is watching the watchmen.]

Sharp Edges

Why the heck does the last bra that is both ‘commercially available’ and also ‘fits’… Why does it make Olga look so pointy? 🫨

A Tale of Two T!dDieZ! - Chapter 2: Pillars of Softness

I suppose, all I can say is... Enjoy! And also, the French are the best. I think the story got carried away; the wrangler -- myself -- only has the greatest affection for francophilic culture. And, I think my pervy ChatGPT is obsessed with the idea of phallic baguettes. Sausages too...

So many metaphors... Uh Oh. This might end up being the greatest story ever...

Chapter 1:
https://www.patreon.com/posts/tale-of-two-t-1-137159260?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_creator&utm_content=join_link

003 - Cervantiphants!

I knew I had something for that!

Otherwise, it would have been... Hummn.

It reads like 'elephants.' I shall speak for myself otherwise!

An acquired taste.

Or, I’m sure, a niche interest.

Or perhaps, as Benoit Blanc would say, “Compels me, though.”

A fan sent it along. I think it reminded them of me.

Needless to say, Nat and Olga are, at the very least, behaving themselves in this version of yours-truly. Attention, however, has shifted, apparently — can a girl get a break? 😅

It does raise a question, though: In its simplest form, does this notion (fanciful and fictional as it is — and I promise I’m not turning this account into a second-hand kinda thing, where I just repost other stuff; it’s just that this pic is a good illustration of the idea)…

Shit, where was I…

Oh, yeah. In general, does this pic “do it for ya?” Totes curious. Feel free to leave it in the comments. Have at it; use your imaginations, Lovelies.

(Also, I’m sure credit is due for this pic. I do not know the original artist, though I will happily credit them or remove if necessary, all that good, chill stuff, because art, baby!)

Ridiculum (c. 10,000 AD)

This is nothing of import. Do not worry about this. It is only an abstract ideal. It deserves none of your time. This is not a place of honor; no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here (though I don’t ever think it will be repulsive to us 😉).

Move along, as there is nothing to see among this hostile architecture.

A Thoroughly Mediocre Tour.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, dozens of frames per second must be worth a jillion words.

Yeah?

Yeah.

Tantalus No. ?

More tests are needed. Back to the lab!!! There’s a freshie on the device:

Hashtag Breasteract. Hashtag Hyperbewb.

Tantalus Number … ?

One of the coolest things is when you have 15 different ideas, and then you watch them all merge into only one idea. This is where efficiency and creativity careen into one-another at breakneck hyper-speed.

Like when you have a bunch of goofy lore that you want to turn into a puzzle? That’s also a clue? That’s also a story in-and-of itself? That’s also an experiment in temptation? That’s also… A lamp?!

(And also… A booby trap?)

Ha. Couldn’t help myself.

Tantalus number… Oh, Jeez. The nomenclature isn’t so two-dimensional, is it. Not really 3D, either.

If only there was a four-dimensional shape. At least in shadow…

Heather Beck has asked you to participate in her cavalcade of malcontents on…

Yeah, or whatever. I do not have a LinkedIn that anyone can join. Which must make you 59% more affectionate toward me. That’s what the algo sayz!

But if I DID have a LinkedIn, I suppose this would be a very affectionate and thoroughly professional headshot. I took some liberties with filters, because you have permission to do that once you’re over 40, garsh-danggit.

Folks wouldn’t even know that I am so be-titted! (Such tasteful cleavage.) I’m a shoe-in to be an intern. Probs for Conan.

Maybe.

If I went off the deep end…? I think I could still pull-off such spectacular bosoms. Maybe. Thanks to you-know-who for passing this along. Definitely.

002 - Tantaluseses

Let's keep on top of Mama Heather and the Girls. (Reowr.)
Away with you, ADHD! A foul besmirch to you, procrastination! A pox on reluctance, and a plague on all The Houses of capitulorimoritude! (I just made that word up. You're welcome.) For now is the time of... ThE tAnTaLuS!!!!1!!
(essusesssssss...)

Tre Fiumi.

Just so y’all know the answer in advance of everybody else. In short?

About 30 pounds. Mas o menos. That’s the point where you Really Start Going… Shit. That is, in fact, a whole lotta boob.

I’ll let you meditate on the idea of 30lbs. For a moment. Ruminate at your leisure, lovelies.

A Tale of Two T!ddiEz, Intro/Chapter 1

I am so sorry to have to subject you to what is quite possibly the worst piece of literature that has ever been conceived.
I am also surprised that the previous sentence didn't necessitate a comma. Huh.
Again. I am very sorry.
Unless I win a Pulitzer. In which case, you are welcome.
Finally got a comma in they're!... Ah, dammit!
###

Text (ORSHEARN!)
Chapter 1

The city was alive. Not literally alive, like a beating heart or a walking man, but alive in the way that cities are when people are inside them and doing things. Cars honked. A dog barked. A bus squeaked its brakes. Somewhere far away, a bell rang, and nobody knew what for.

Heather Beck stepped out of the hospital at exactly 11 a.m. in the morning, which is a time that people agree is both before lunch but also after breakfast, so you can see why it is important.

She had just spoken with the doctors, who said her condition was ongoing. The condition was called giant boob syndrome. They said it in a serious voice, but Heather had heard it so many times that it sounded almost like a nickname now, like “Shorty” or “Lefty,” except hers was “Booby.”

Heather adjusted her blouse, which was too small but also somehow too big, the way paradoxes often are. Her blouse strained over her mountains, her planets, her sweater puppets, her overachievers. They stuck out like two mistakes in an otherwise perfect essay, except the mistakes were good ones that everyone wanted to see.

The sun caught them too, casting shadows that confused passing pigeons. One bird tried to land on her right one, which Heather had privately named Olga, but the bird thought better of it and flew away.

Traffic paused. A taxi driver slammed on his brakes, not because of Heather’s yabos, though maybe partly, but also because there was a red light. A man on a bicycle rang his bell furiously, which sounded like a dinner bell, and Heather felt a little hungry, though not for dinner.

She walked down the sidewalk with determination, or maybe hesitation, or a mix of both, which is possible if you don’t commit too strongly to one or the other. Her chest—her twin torpedoes, her cannonballs, her bouncy castles—moved like two jellyfish in a tide pool: in sync, mysterious, dangerous.

A mime was pretending to drown by a fountain, and then a fire hydrant actually burst open next to him. The mime waved for help, but people clapped instead, thinking it was part of the show. Heather nodded in respect. Art was hard.

On the corner, an old man dropped his cane when she passed. He bent over to pick it up, and then fell down instead. A group of tourists stepped around him to take pictures of Heather, though they pretended to be photographing the architecture.

Heather sighed. Life in the city was hard for a woman with chesticles like these. Her doctors had said she should avoid heavy lifting. She thought that was funny, since she was always lifting her own heavy things.

A little boy pointed and whispered, “Mommy, are those balloons?” His mother covered his eyes and said, “Don’t stare.” The boy said, “But they’re so big.” The mother said, “Yes, but that’s private.” Heather thought about correcting her, but decided that balloons could be private too.

She passed a bakery. The smell of bread filled the air like bread usually does when it’s been baked. A man carrying a tray of baguettes out front tripped over his own shoelace, and the loaves went flying into traffic. A bus honked. Bread scattered. One baguette landed across Heather’s cleavage like a tightrope walker. She flicked it off casually.

Finally, she saw the sign for the grocery store in the distance. The store looked majestic, like a castle, except smaller and with sliding glass doors instead of a drawbridge. Inside, she knew, there would be mayonnaise. And possibly destiny.

She took a deep breath. Her chest heaved like a stormy ocean with two large buoys floating dangerously close together. Somewhere, a police siren wailed. A man sneezed. A baby laughed. The city lived.

And Heather walked toward the grocery store.

001 - "If" Erin Go Braless

And may you be in heaven half-an-hour, before the devil knows your dead.
Please do let me know if you happen to want to hear the most absolutely tawdry limerick in all the land.
PS: I'm gonna make a conscious effort to say "Uh," less. It appears that I'm a bit out of practice.
Hope you're keeping well. ;-*

A Fascinating Phenomena.

I suppose that if you know what it is, you know what it is. We're all inundated these days, so it's not the easiest to keep up. I'm still belly-down on my CI Fever, waiting for the perfect wave to ride the hell out of. Ripping, is what they call it? Cowabunga, in any case.

Though, I guess I'm a couple of years after Fallon and Paris. Ah well. It's still fun to look at.

I do, actually, try to wonder sometimes, if this is (or isn't) what the ownership of imagery will look like in a hundred, or two-hundred years. Depends on how long until we -- hopefully -- don't blow ourselves to Kingdom Come.

'Who in the ever-living fuck knows, right? In the meantime?

Eyy, well... Pretty to look at. Yeah?

Souks

Ha! Heh, heh... I always loved that. Because "Casablanca is in the desert!"

Except that it's not -- it's a very sea-faring district. It's a very utilitarian place, don't get me wrong. Very much the financial district of Morocco. Beautiful mosque, right there on the sea.

Great wine in Morocco, too -- they just keep it for themselves!

Shukran, y'all. ;-)

H

Those wacky, winding alleys.

So at some point in the not-too distant past, I was wandering around… Umm… Marrakesh. Yeah. Marrakesh. Boy, lemme tell ya. That three hour train ride from Casablanca is a doozy. Go ahead and grab that ticket in advance. Next time you find yourself headed to Marrakesh.

That is a very suitable amount of backstory to justify the existence of this acquisition. To supplement this backstory, I will contrive to tell you that… Let’s see… The Jemaa el-Fnaa is particularly lively after the sun goes down. There’s a lovely riad not too far down the east-bound street on the southern side (very tranquil), though if you dare to head up to the north end? Make sure to have an extra 100 dirham or so so you can bribe a kid to lead you the way out. (200 for them to show you the nearest bar, because who do you need to flash to find an absurdly overpriced shot of JW Red in this town?! JR, you’ll have your criticisms, but believe me, the nearest drop off KY is farther away than you’d think!)

You barter. You wander, and you barter. It’s hardly savage. Places never are when you all know just the way things are expected to be. And everyone likes to have fun. Except for the people who hate having fun. We laugh at those people behind their backs.

And, I like bartering. It’s one of my favorite things, in a culture where bartering is expected. Playing the game. “For special friends of Rick? 100 francs!”

So yes, that’s the story I have created to explain this delightful urn, which I aquired. The purpose of it is to contain spices. That is what I was told, and I am certain that is what I will use it for.

My absurd spice canister. Reasonably priced, as i am only apoor corrupt official.

My long-winded fabrication. Gin-joints, towns, worlds, we’ll get drunk, drive all night (in that order).

My Dune. (I went there for the waters! Ah, well. I was misinformed.)

…Or maybe, just my local headshop. They do fine work; they’ll have to do the thinking for the both of us. Time to fire up… the microphone. Looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

###

PS: Let me know how you might feel if I were to round up the usual suspects, and if you would like to be in the lineup…

#teaser #thafukkapodcast!? #maybe #goingfulltime

And never speak a word.

Decisions were made. These are decisions for which I take full responsibility. They were decisions that began with a simple idea: what if I were to wrap up a whole bunch of pasta Alfredo inside of a pepperoni pizza, as if I were mocking the very notion of a burrito. My shirt bears the scars. But what of my soul?! May God have both mercy, and also a decent happy hour.

(Another) Teaser for “Windowsill”

Only because I just posted little teasers to social media, I thought I would start practicing what I preach, and post the interesting stuff when it flitters across my desk. Teaser for “Windowsill.” Inspirational photomorph by TGI. Soon to be a series, here on Patreon, at the audio tier. It’s about a Heather who has all the Heather attributes… with the subtle quirk that she gets to have a whole day, each week, where she gets to be SMALL. But! She has to be preposterously enormous the next day.

Oi. She didn’t ask for this! Wonder what kind of madness will unfold?!

Time for worldbuilding, my favorite part.

TNT

This New Thing. One that I'm trying. I love this pic. Makes me happy. So, uncharacteristically, I am not postponing it any longer until "the words come." There will be words. I think y'all know me well enough to know that when the talking comes, the words are not in scarcity.

Yeah, they're bigger. The words are, too.