The breast says: squoooooge, or, Why I love my friend S

Phone conversation* I had with S earlier this evening:

S: I've been movie crazy lately. M3 and I rented Killing Me Softly last night.
E: Oh, yeah?
S: Yeah. It stars Heather Graham's boobs. Heather Graham's boobs over here, Heather Graham's boobs over there...just a whole lotta the boob.
E: You know, if you were a guy, you could take that and pretty much run with it.
S: Uh...yeah. That doesn't really do it for me, though.
E: Useless information.
S: Not really my thing.
E: And I feel fine about that, really.
S: Me too. Although if it were...
E: You'd be in totally good shape. There's a lot of exposed boobs just running around out there. Exposed.
S: Yeah there are.
E: Although if you take that image literally...
S: What, disembodied boob, just running around?
E: Yeah. That's not so hot.
S: Where would the legs come out?
E: Uh...
S: I mean, how would it...run around?
E: I don't know. I guess I pictured it with legs. Maybe it could roll, though, like a wheel.
S: A wheel? It's a boob!
E: Yeah, you know, on its side. Except I guess it would go in a circle, since it's not really perfectly round. It'd run a little retarded. Why, what were you picturing?
S: I was thinking it would sorta...squooge along.
E: Squooge? Whaaaat?
S: You know, if you lopped it off, the bloody gory part would be like its...slug foot or something, and it would...squooge.
E: You mean scrunch up and then stretch out, like an inch worm? Using the bloody—?
S: Yeah! Exactly! Squooge!
E: Oh yeah! That's totally how it would move.
S: ...
E: ... That's just...ew. I have to go take a shower now.
S: Yeah. Me too.

*Slightly paraphrased, but not enough so that you should stop being afraid.