Show Me Breasts

Last night while marinating some chicken, I was watching the season finale of “Heroes.” During a tense climactic scene, the main villain uses his telekinetic power to pin his adversary for the killing stroke. And whoa, do we see the killing stroke. With just a flick of the villain’s fingers from across the room, the pinned hero’s throat opens up like a bag of chips. As the wound freely gushes blood, the poor chap slowly gurgles into the nether.

I’ve seen my fair share of bloody media, but this is grotesque. And it’s on prime time network television.

Am I arguing for this kind of content to be removed, censored, and vilified? Hell no. All I’m asking is that we get breasts.

You see, while networks can show a man graphically bleeding his life out of his neck at 9:40 in the evening, they can’t show even a tasteful flash of nudity. A woman posing for a portrait, two lovers entwined in a passionate grip of lovemaking, or even just someone admiring their unclothed body in a mirror.

We’re treated to an endlessly creative parade of explosions, shootings, and depraved crime drama on TV, but still limited to bedsheets carefully tucked under armpits, fully-clothed sex scenes, and a PG-rated attitude toward the human form. We’re content to show it ripped, mangled, and shot to pieces, but never in its natural state. I don’t think I’m wacky to think that’s pretty messed up.

I’m not going to delve into the labyrinthine debate about what’s more morally objectionable – sex or violence. I’ll leave that to commenters. But I will say it seems much easier to explain a breast or penis to a minor than a brutal sex crime or a slit throat.

Fair’s fair. Show me boobs, NBC.

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