Most images have been removed to prevent chafing.
New York - Flab is in and fashion mavens at New York's top houses are. Men's fashions are expected to do a 180 this fall when the new breed of male model waddles down the runway.
"If a man's belly doesn't droop over their belt, it's just not sexy!" explained Monica De Borfee, an editor at Vogue, "but when a guy's flabby gut swings low around his equator, well, you can't hardly hold the ladies back! They WANT him in the worst way. I tell you, we've put some former truckers on the runway and had near-riots!"
American men, once considered seriously overweight if not morbidly obese, are right into the "thick" of things where Dame Fashion is concerned. Memberships at fitness centers nationwide are expected to drop off radically, while beer sales are expected to double.
The bad news is that male pattern baldness is still considered "gross," though there are signs that even THAT standard may soon turn around.
Ms. De Borfee believes that the new Focus on Flab will make high fashion more appealing to the average American male, and that the new ideal male form of tubbiness can only do good for haute couture and clothing industry in general. "Buff doesn't sell clothes," she said, "but the more man there is to clothe, the more you can expect to see him en Vogue!"
PACIFIC OCEAN - Seven survivors stranded on a desert island have banded together to vote one of their own off the island. And the loser is: Ginger, the movie star.
Ginger, who'd earlier admitted that she hadn't done much work on the island because she expected to coast by on her charm and good looks, claimed to be stunned by the decision. "I think there might be an alliance," Ginger said, flashing an angry look at the Skipper as she extinguished her torch.
The Skipper, who attended the tribal council in the nude, simply smiled enigmatically. But Mary Ann, when asked point blank if any alliances had been formed, paused for a few guilty seconds before finally answering, "No. No. I just vote with my heart. And I didn't like that Ginger washed her evening gowns in the drinking water."
Tensions, in fact, seem to be running high on the uncharted desert isle, as the full import of their situation finally seems to have sunken in. "There's no boats, no lights, no motor cars," said Gilligan, a mighty sailor man who until recently served as first mate of the S.S. Minnow. "Not a single luxury."
Mrs. Howell, wearing a stunning Prada outfit from the trunk full of clothes she won in an earlier team challenge, agreed. "It's primitive as can be."
And there are signs that any alliance that had existed may be crumbling as personality conflicts become more and more apparent. The crusty Mr. Howell has said that although he liked Skipper at first, he's not crazy about sharing a hut with a homosexual. Indeed, only the Professor seems to feel relatively assured of his position, since he's the only one who can catch fish and build radio transmitters out of coconuts.
In fact, the final outcome may be decided by Gilligan, who refuses to budge from his plan to vote alphabetically. "I guess that means I'm out of here next," said Thurston Howell. "Unless I can convince him to call me 'The Millionaire.'"