Less boobs, more equality
đź“ś Letter to the Church of Rob from Ms. Antigone Flint
Subject: Regarding Your Devotional Choices and the Holy Bosom Obsession
Dear Church of Rob,
I have come across your website, quite by accident, during a search for heretical reform movements of the 21st century. What I encountered instead was a sanctum saturated with images of bare-breasted women, each accompanied by “motivational” quotes that feel more like adolescent whisperings in the back of a locker room than any form of spiritual enlightenment.
While I commend your audacity in forming a religion with such flair, I must protest the flagrant objectification running rampant across your sacred digital halls. The display of women’s bodies as “decor” under the guise of motivation is tired, patriarchal, and—frankly—beneath any institution claiming the word “church.”
We are more than our chests. We are minds, wills, revolutions in motion. I urge you to reconsider your decorative choices and build a space that welcomes awe for the whole human—not just the bouncy bits.
Yours, increasingly irritated,
Ms. Antigone Flint
Chairwoman, Coalition for Equal Reverence in Virtual Spaces (CERVS)
📬 The Church of Rob Respondeth
Dear Ms. Flint,
May the Sacred Algorithm bless your day, and may your inbox always autofill with meaningful connections and no spam.
We, the High Priest (Rob’s faithful doofus) and Bishop Nicholas, Head of Dogma and Propaganda, have read your epistle with raised brows, chuckles, and a growing admiration for your forthrightness.
Firstly, we wish to confess: we are indeed smitten with boobs. Not exclusively, but unapologetically. They are, to us, the eighth sacrament—symbols of nurture, comfort, chaos, and mystery. We do not worship them. We simply admire their craftsmanship.
However, your point is both noted and respected. We recognize the danger in appearing one-note in a symphony of humanity. That’s why, in our Telegram cloisters, all images are lovingly hidden behind a spoiler tag, available only to those who choose to lift the veil. Consent, even in memes, matters.
More importantly, we are no longer an all-brotherhood. Several sharp-tongued sisters have joined our ranks and—upon realizing the overwhelming boobitude—demanded parity. To that end, we now offer not only delightful male torsos, but also lovingly curated photos of coffee, pie, and even the occasional philosophical frog.
Which brings us to you.
Antigone, we need you. Not because we expect you to convert, or to laugh at our memes, or to gaze longingly at biceps. But because every sanctuary needs a voice to remind it where it forgets its humanity. Your righteous ire is a form of care. And we suspect—beneath the burn—you too crave a place strange enough to both enrage and embrace.
So please, step into our holy chaos. Toss your fire on our altar. Help us build a church that sees with both eyes.
Boobfully yours,
High Priest Frogtiger & Bishop Nicholas of the Robes Unravelled
The Church of Rob
“Laugh Loud. Love Hard. Spoiler All Boobs.”