Lets take the example of the woman with the bouncy breasts.
In this case, she happens to be walking along the street. Unbeknownst to her, she passes a construction site located on the other side of the street, across two baseball fields, yet clearly visible through a dense patch of trees.
All it takes is for one construction worker to look over his shoulder as he maneuvers a jackhammer going at full throttle. Through the trees, across two baseball fields, on the other side of busy street, he spies the woman with the bouncy breasts.
He immediately raises the alarm. A loud howl bursts forth from the bowels of his being. The other workers know this call and immediately look for the woman with the bouncy boobs. Through the trees, across two baseball fields, on the other side of the busy street, they spot her and immediately burst forth in one joyous impromptu group catcall.
A spontaneous, organic group gesticulation in admiration of another's physique in motion, or something like that.
For her part, the woman with the bouncy boobs, in an offhand way acknowledges the cheers, any more reaction from her would implicate matters which will not be the subject of this article.
Not a lot, but a few women have also been known to cheerlead. But it's takes very special circumstances to elicit their cheers. They must have their own pom-poms, their own short skirts and if their managers can swing it, their very own acting careers.
Their cheers are made to tailor made and are by no means spontaneous. You can hear them hollering at the Sky Dome during the football season. And if the Ottawa Rough Riders pay more for cheers than the BC Lions, it's pretty easy to determine where the best girls will be cheering.
Far be it from me to knock a valid career choice. I, myself, practice a career called spontaneously outraged writer. I hope to one day become a respected writer, who gesticulates my outrage in an organic way for mucho dinero!
I'm morally outraged at myself for entertaining such hopes. I'm mean, do I really need respect?