
Those two words are guaranteed to keep the folks coming back for more. Not the erudite commentary, nor the opinionated verbosity that drives my wife nuts. Not even my continual evisceration of Vinnie Colletta. No, its tits.
The Marvel kind.
Courtesy of George Tuska and Fred Kida: Madame Masque's rack, post-coital.
Baby! They don't grow 'em like that anymore. Scanned from the original.
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