TheDiva
They've really had to cut back on the budget for the SI Swimsuit Issue...
GlitterRock
Roger Corman's "Lost."
'Like, the plane crashed and stufffffffff.....'
Mattteus
Nana? NOOOOO!!!
DiscoBoy
"Help! I'm trapped inside one of Generik's shirts!"
crazyredheadedchick
Wow. The set looks more real than her tits. The set designer gets extra lime in his Corona tonight!
TheLurker
What the? *squints* The Bounty logo? 
GlitterRock
Is that ...toast?
SpaceToast, is this one of your girls? 
TheSpaceToast
Sadly, yes, Glitter. All members of the Space Toast Quick Reaction Team get those tattoos... I won't tell you where mine is. Her name was Yelissa. I remember it like it was yesterday.
She was one of the best. Top marks in the School of the Americas -- sniper, demolition, sexual seduction, even offensive yoga. For three years she had languished in the Agência Brasileira de Inteligência, but I took her away from all that. My name, I explained, is Space Toast.
Imagine a world, I said, like Defenders of the Earth, only where Ming the Merciless is still Asian, and instead of Buck Rogers you have a skinny graphic designer who enjoys The Amazing Blondel with relatively little shame. Ours is a secret team tasked with making the world a better place.
It was just after the Sonny Bono "tree" job, and the team was riding high. Yelissa joined our ranks like butter on warm, browned pumpernickel. Scryverne, our southern French Buddhist mystic was even rumored to be carrying on a few behind the scenes games of "hide the gumbo" with our new recruit, but as long as it didn't impact company I said let it be. All three Hanson children were taking nicely to the sweet, career-curdling smack, Blink 182 was being booed off the third stage at the Warp Tour (ahh, the regrets of 20/20 hindsight) and we were working on extending the Superman curse to Dean Caine. It was a good time, and it should have been her time. Alas, in my euphoria, I gave her a grain more than she could carry.
Paul McCartney was readying another "comeback" tour without ever going away in the meantime, and the memory of whatever was once good about the Beatles was inches away from the crass, cheap commercialized roomtone that in my boyhood had swallowed Springsteen's "Born in the USA" and shat it into the mouth of the Reagan reelection campaign. Yelissa was poised at the door of our stealth helicopter peering down the gunbarrel of a silenced, flashproof FAMAS when she suffered an attack of what we in the biz politely refer to as "acute podiatric hypothermia." Appropriately, he was soundchecking a version of "Back in the USSR" perverted as "Back in the USA" to please the crackers. I reminded her that he was nothing without John. She couldn't pull the trigger. I even played her some of his '80s stuff, but she just covered her ears. In the end, we had to disengage.
I offered to keep her on the payroll, reminding her of the Leonardo DiCaprio fiasco I myself had precipitated out of fear of hitting Kate Winslet, but her will was broken. She left the team and melted into the underground of godforsaken Arizona Bay, gone to all trace until today.
I wish I had not seen this, but some things can't be undone.
DiscoBoy
Space Toast has just rendered whatever cap I could've made completely moot. I salute you, sir!
JMShearer
I've mentioned before that generally prefer the chest area for shots like this, and this only serves to prove why.
Mattteus
They left out the M in the first word.
GlitterRock
Dub Taylor: pussy magnet.
Mattteus
Not every car can pull off a skinny mustache.
Zee
*pan up and it's Frankie Muniz*
TheDiva
*pan up and there's another pair of knees*
Dita DuPave
*pan up and it's a mannequin without an upper torso*
DiscoBoy
*pan up to Jaye Davidson in "The Crying Game"*
gleeb
*Pan down, and there are hooves.*