I can not BELIEVE this! Brooke Hogan -- a young lady well known for her delicate, Emmy Rossum-like levels of demuritude and modesty, no? Well, that's what I've read -- wearing, erm, this? NO!
It is rare that I find myself without any comment at hand, without a comparison to something that happened on Dynasty, to one of the Wakefield twins, or on a television show airing between 11am and 3pm on a major network featuring evil twins/people trapped in avalanches, coal mines or mineshafts/mistaken paternities/fake incest that turns out to be real incest and then back to fake incest/floating heads/brain transplants/an elderly woman surfing the crest of a tsunami-created wave through the streets of town atop the coffin of her dead sister who of course isn't actually dead (remind me again why Passions is no longer on network television?). And yet here we are. I got nothing. No jokes about cougars or the Cheetah Club. No cracks about being mauled, or getting this at THE mall. Nothing springs to mind regarding the stripperlicious outfits on the recent finale of Rock of Love, or, in fact, about love conceptually. Or, for that matter, about rocks. I am out. I am broken. It's like on Friends when Joey says something that beautifully sets up a snide Chandler response, but Chandler's got his mouth full of muffin and in his hurry to get the joke out, totally chokes. My brain is totally full of muffins right now.
