"You look great, Gwen. But we really need something to fill up this empty space in the foreground. I know. How about a golden demonic satyr!"
Hey, it's a blouse made of recycled tires. This must be MR.'s "eco issue".
Who needs sheet music? This pianist is nose deep in her "clef" and doesn't miss a note. Bravo.
How is that there's a semi-nude woman standing there, yet I can't divert my eyes from those awful acrylic ass cheeks?
Quite obviously the picture showed a little more than they were allowed to show (i.e. the dress and the water didn't obscure things quite enough); thus the horrible yellow bar that transects her waistline with an equally horrible headline.
Nowadays magazine editors would Photoshop that plug and outlet into nonexistence. Not back then. No, sir. Donald forgets to unplug the goddamn radio, and it's in the picture for eternity!
"Umm. Ma'am. I'm just here to take pictures of the water damage in the foyer. You really don't have to pose. In fact the insurance company doesn't even need you in the picture at all."
"Yes, yes. Drink up, my sweet wife. You just go on and have both these glasses while I entertain Kevin downstairs. If you need more I'll leave the bottle on the chair. Toodles!"
As Phyllis caught her breath after being punched in the face, she has a moment of self reflection. The flashbulb goes off at the exact moment she realizes she'd made a very bad career choice.
"You wouldn't by chance be standing with your dress around your knees talking on a gigantic antique telephone, would you?"
"Why, yes. Who is this?"
"Get out now! You're in grave danger!"
I have no idea where I was going with that one, folks. But it sounded like it could be the start to the interesting story. Instead, it's the end of this post. Bye, for now.