It was finally spring and magazines were declaring that pretty was in. “Oh Honey… snap out of it, pretty
never left” declared Georgia (actually from Dallas), one of the Glamazon duo whose big magic
and lipscriptions were turning women all over into some kind-a gorgeous. Her partner Kitten, who despite
being hopelessly devoted to pink was actually the BADgal of the pair, laughed and patted her shoulder, “That’s
right you rebel, tell them to get bent.”
Little did our heroines know, but the evil high brow fashion critic Mr. Frosty had his lyin’ eyes set
on them. “Show offs, I’ll get even with them for usurping my position as supreme arbiter of style.
My bionic blast will bring the two of them to a silky finish.” As he prepared to storm the gilded
gates, he suddenly froze like a deer caught in the high beam when he heard a voice from the past.
“Dear John, I think maybe baby you should put that weapon back in your pocket pal.” Turning
Mr.Frosty gazed into the big beautiful eyes of his former mentor – Her glossiness Dr. Feelgood.
“You’re bluffing...” he countered, the effect somewhat diminished by his eye bright with fear.
“Oh my friend, this is strictly non-fiction.” Using her galactic shield, with a wooosh and
a ka-pow, she had him disarmed and on his knees. “You know better than to touch me then try to leave.
Seems like you could benefit from some firmology – maybe 10 years worth of hard labor tending to my dandelion
and black orchid garden.”
With the evildoer defeated, Dr. Feelgood and the Glamazons piled into their moon beam colored covertible
and drove off into the Hollywood glo hoping to beat the rush hour traffic and make it to their hoola