One time I was delivering a registered package to a house. I rang the doorbell. A gigantic woman filled the threshold as the door opened. I'm 5'10" tall and found myself staring into the enormous cleavage of insanely huge breasts squeezed manically into a tube top. "Registered parcel," I said and handed her the signature sheet and a pen. Then a monster hairy paw easily twice the size of my own hand came into view and took the pen from me. "THANKS," came the voice, rumbling up from deep within granite tombs, a sound not unlike the thumping of dynamite in the earth from a nearby quarry. He was obviously not quite that far down the road to being a she. Before I could so much as move out of the way, the owner of those gigantic tits--probably standing six and a half feet tall and outweighing me by 100 pounds--exited the house in a hurry followed by a willow-thin boyfriend who looked kind of like a dark-skinned version of Ichabod Crane.