Your week just isn't complete until Rip Taylor showers you with confetti. They used to throw you panties from Victoria's Secret when you performed, but today they're more like Queen Elizabeth's secret. You've got yourself one nasty case of neon burn. The hookers you date begin looking less and less like Elizabeth Shue, and more and more like Elizabeth Dole. Siegfried still leaves you cold, but you're beginning to think that Roy is one hot potato.
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