Listen, Sandy, you’re a nice girl. You’ve got an OK voice. You seem like you can call the shots. But when all is said and done, the biggest thing you have on your side is your huge rack.

I’m sure you’ve got brains, too. Hell, we all do. But that’s not what counts in this biz. That’s not what’s gonna make you a star. And I can’t make a star out of someone who can’t make the cut. Hell, a big rack helps. But it’s not gonna make the cut.

We’ve seen you before, and we like your style. We like your attitude, the sparkle in your eyes, the fight in your face. But you just can’t hit those notes. Your ass is too wide, and you can’t hit those notes.

I’ve gotta lotta girls going for this part. Girls who are good. Girls who are stars. And you just ain’t on that level yet. You’re good, but you’re not there. You need to work on a lotta things; you gotta get your chops. The one thing you don’t need to work on—the thing that’s doing half the work for you—is your giant rack.

Where’d you get that rack, anyhow? Is that from your mom? I don’t wanna be too creepy, but those melons look real. Not the fake-boat kind, like the kind I see on some of these broads. Some of those globes you could use as basketballs! Slam dunk! But not yours, Sandy. Yours look like the real thing.

Hey, does your back ever hurt from carrying around those jugs in front? Once, I had to change a tire, only I had to carry the tire almost half a mile from the station to get it back to my wheels. My back was so sore I couldn’t sit up straight for days. The thing is, I wonder if you’ve got the same problem with your rack. That thing is huge, and all on your front. I’m just sitting here, and I’m thinking, and I’m wondering to myself: Doesn’t her back hurt from carrying around those enormous ta-tas?

You know what I’d do if you were my girl? I’d take my face and I’d bury it in your mo-mos. I tell you what, if it were my choice, there’d be only one way for me to go—suffocation in your mo-mos. Or if we were in a boxing match, but instead of gloves, you punched with your grapefruits. Smothered by your mo-mos or battered by your grapefruits: either way, you could color me a happy papa.

What’s really got me going is, you mentioned you like to go for long jogs around Lakeside Park. So you say that, and I hear that, and I’m thinking, How can she handle that? Aren’t your bullets socking you in the face the whole time? I know you’ve got a harness, but gravity is gravity, kid—and I’m wondering why your cheeks aren’t black and blue.

Listen, baby, you’re gonna be a star. I want you to be a star. But you just ain’t there yet. If you keep working on those notes—and believe me, I told Chi-Chi Fernandez about you; she’s gonna help you out, kid—I know you can make it to the bigtime. I want you to make it to the bigtime. But for now, the biggest thing you’ve got is your rack.

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