The boobs on the Parks Commission turned down an earlier request, and my right honorable good friends on the Pittsfield city council never got the chance to weigh in on whether breast is best.  They just as likely didn’t want to touch it. If the matter did come before them, and if honesty for once prevailed on the council, the vote would have been 9-2 in favor. Not so coincidentally, there are nine men and two women on that illustrious board.

Gundelfinger, derived from the German “der schtiffennippleszollen” (rough translation), has garnered enough signatures to place a non-binding local question on the Nov. 2 ballot. This is a sure way to determine if women will outnumber men on Election Day.

The Eskimos have more than 200 names for snow. Their expanded vocabulary for the white stuff in all its variations reflects the necessity of survival in the icy north. When you hunt for a living in the Arctic, for example, you need a word that instantly tells you if the “snow” is more like ice. Your life could depend on it.

In the same way, the English language has more than 200 words for female breasts: bazooms, melons, hooters, gazingas, and so on. The male of our species forced the invention of all these words. Once again, the number of words we have to describe an object reflects the object’s importance to the culture.

This is the Golden Age of Cleavage. It’s hard to find a bimbo sports anchor who doesn’t show it, let alone your typical 16-year-old girl. Falling right out of her top is no longer considered over the top. And right, the men of the gender are, what, supposed to pretend not to look?

As for Gundelfinger’s petition, before The Planet can decide on how we’ll vote, as always, we will perform our due diligence and thoroughly research the question. Thus, we can’t truly cast an intelligent vote until we see Gundelfinger in the appropriate state, from top down. Our question to her will be: “Uh, can I see them.” It reminds us of the Woody Allen remark about going to a Hollywood party. A woman there, trying to look 17 when she was long past her teens, was wearing a see through blouse — “only you didn’t wanna.”

Or, as Johnny Carson said when he introduced the Italian sire, “And now, here they are, Raquel Welch.”