A chance to catch a peep at a few grainy pairs of semi-famous breasts brought the Internet to its knees. Forget online news, e-commerce, stock trading, or any of the other ballyhooed uses of the Net, all it took was a bunch of bosomy stick figures walking around in miracle bras and matching thongs to cause a traffic jam on the information superhighway.

Not strictly an online phenomenon, busty women in skimpy outfits have been used to sell everything from sports cars to toilet bowl cleaners. Call it a biological reality or attribute it to media conditioning, but half-naked, anatomically implausible women, whether they are jiggling around on television or posing in still pictures, make men pay attention.

This phenomenon has led legitimate publications to exploit the selling power of nearly naked women while attempting to retain credibility. The worst example of this came in a recent issue of Esquire which purported to examine "America's fascination with cleavage culture."

In "exposing" the media's fascination with cleavage and the women who wield it, the magazine published countless photos of unnaturally inflated women. And just to illustrate how far the "problem" has gone, they splashed a picture of a top-heavy Pamela Anderson, along with the legend "Breasts" in enormous type, across the cover.

This is, of course, all about the other media's obsession with these images and has absolutely nothing to do with the circulation boost pictures of the former Mrs. Tommy Lee bring to a magazine. But whether media outlets cop to their intentions or find ways to have their cheesecake and moralize against it, too, these images have become the most overused sales tool since the introduction of the discount.

Since guys apparently go goofy at even the suggestion of seeing an attractive pair of breasts, we have created an entire class of female celebrities who are famous only because they have them, or bought them somewhere. This phenomenon, which I call "the Charlie's Angels effect," has kept hundreds of unwatchable television shows on the air and has led to the otherwise inexplicable careers of Carmen Electra and Suzanne Somers, among others.

This type of star usually begins in modeling or by posing in the more respectable nudie magazines before some network executive casts her in a television show. Invariably, the only creative content on these programs comes in the clever ways the writers find to put stars in either bathing suits or thin white t-shirts. But, it seems when you cross a certain jiggle threshold, plot just isn't that important.

Trying to capitalize on this trend, I have pitched a television show concept for a series starring a gruff, mohawk-sporting, chain-wearing bodyguard assigned to protect a bevy of swimsuit babes that, of course, also solves mysteries. Despite its high cleavage potential, the show, tentatively called "Mr. T & A," has yet to garner any real interest. But since most TV executives are men and my "agent" looks awfully seductive in a low-cut dress, I'm still hopeful.