

        
 
                      SUMMER FESTIVAL

                            by 

                         Joe Doe  
 

WHEN THE POLICE DEPARTMENT DECIDES TO OPEN UP A STRIP-SEARCH 
DEMONSTRATION TENT AT THE CITY'S SUMMER FESTIVAL, TV REPORTER 
DEBBIE NORTON GETS THE INSIDE STORY.   



DN: Hello, everyone.  This is Debbie Norton, and I'm live at the 
downtown Summer Festival.  Food, music, and fun are once again 
the heart of the annual festival.  But this year's visitors will 
find that the city police force has added something new.   

As part of Summer Festival, the local police force is giving area 
females the chance to experience an actual police strip-search. 

I'm standing in the police department's strip-search tent with 
Captain Bill Gropem of the city police.  Tell me, Captain, how 
did you get the idea for this event? 

BG: Well, Debbie, you may remember that we used to strip-search 
attractive young ladies for even the most trivial offenses until 
we had that big scandal and all those lawsuits a few years ago.  
As a result, a lot of local women have never experienced a 
strip-search.  Attractive women who want to be searched are 
often forced go on driving tours of the Deep South. 

A truly professional strip-search is an unforgettable experience, 
which is why we are offering it at this year's festival as part 
of our department's "Community Outreach Program."  This program 
really allows the officers to get a feel for the women of our 
fair city.      

DN: How much does it cost? 

BG: The actual strip-search itself is free of charge.  However, we 
do charge the male spectators who sit in the bleachers surrounding 
the strip-search area 50 cents each.  And there is an additional $5 
"Deputation" charge if one of the spectators wants to help conduct 
the search.  And, of course, the videos are sold separately. 

DN: But...50 cents doesn't seem like very much money to watch all 
of these beautiful women strip down naked.... 

BG: We intentionally keep the prices low to encourage community 
participation.  

Of course, some of the women don't like it much.  The low prices 
mean that the women end up undressing in front of...a rather large 
cross section of society.  This sometimes causes some problems. 

DN: What sort of problems, Captain? 

BG: One corporate executive objected to having to strip in front 
of a homeless man.  It seems she had been snubbing him outside her 
office building for years, repeatedly calling the police to roust 
him.  Naturally, when she was forced to strip down in front of him, 
the vagrant became quite boisterous.  He made a lot of crude and 
very graphic remarks about her body, and he taunted, "You don't 
look so snooty now that it's YOUR turn to prance around in front 
of ME." 

She was blushing crimson, and begged us not to make her strip "in 
front of that BUM!"  But a little bit of embarrassment is no reason 
to stop a search.  Of course the audience just loved it, and a few 
of the guys even gave the homeless man some spare change so that he 
could afford the "Deputy" fee. 

DN: You mean the homeless man actually CAVITY SEARCHED her? 

BG: You bet, Debbie.  He did a very thorough job of it too, I might 
add.  

DN: Um...I'm sure he did.  Tell me Captain, what will happen to all 
of the money you raise? 

BG: It will all go to our "Police Children's Charity" group. 

DN: The tent is unbelievably crowded, and the videos are selling 
like hotcakes.  How much money have you raised so far? 

BG: Only about $20, Debbie.  Unfortunately there isn't much money 
left after you deduct the cost of the overtime, the free beer for 
the officers working the booth, and the complimentary videos we 
give out to the workers and the city officials.  But everyone has 
a good time, and that's the important thing. 

Face painting and pictures of McGruff the crime dog are okay, but, 
as you can see, we're generating quite a bit more traffic this 
year. 

DN: That's an understatement; this place is PACKED!  I'm going to 
ask my cameraman, Steve, to pan his camera over to the area near 
the entrance to the tent, where those women are undressing.  Is 
that where the processing begins, Captain? 

BG: Yes, Debbie, that is the actual stripping area.  Women are 
assigned their numbers, and they place their purses and other 
valuables in the numbered crates given to them by their "strip 
officers."  Each woman's "strip officer" guides her through the 
process and ensures we check every nook and cranny. 

DN: By "other valuables," do you mean their clothing? 

BG: Yes, Debbie, that's correct.   

DN: A-all of their clothing? 

BG: Every stitch! 

DN: Do any of the women ever ask to keep their underwear on, 
Captain?  I noticed that there is a whole bleacher area filled 
with hooting and whistling men directly in front of the stripping 
area, and numerous video cameras are recording their strip from 
every angle.  Do any of the women ever get cold feet? 

BG: Yes, Debbie, particularly after they remove their shoes and 
socks.  Ha-ha.  Just a little police humor there, Debbie. 

DN: Very funny, sir.  But can you just answer the questions? 

BG: Don't get snippy, young lady! 

DN: Sorry, sir. 

BG: Some of the women change their minds, but it really doesn't 
matter.  Before any woman enters the tent she signs a release form 
that authorizes us to strip her naked and perform a cavity search.  
It also contains the video release rights.  Once the form is 
signed, consent is given. 

DN: So you actually force the women to strip? 

BG: "Force" is too strong a word, Debbie.  Usually just the sight 
of four or five beefy police officers glaring at her is enough to 
convince the little honey to start shucking down.   

But, if they still hesitate, we warn them that resisters get 
a "baton search."  And when they see one of us sticking a big 
black police baton into the tub of lubricant, well, the little 
darlings generally can't wait to start peeling.... 

DN: Do the women always realize what they are agreeing to?  When 
I signed a form outside, the officer said it was necessary for 
insurance reasons.  

BG: Yes, that's true.  The insurance company doesn't like it when 
fancy pants lawyers bleed us dry in lawsuits over so-called 
"gratuitous and totally unnecessary" strip-searches.   

DN (thoughtfully): Um...I did think it was strange that none of the 
guys on my camera crew had to sign.... 

BG: Sometimes we do get women who get in line simply because they 
see other beautiful women and assume it must be a beauty contest 
of some sort.  And some women think they are signing some sort of 
petition.  But let's be honest, Debbie.  A beautiful woman has to 
be pretty stupid to sign a strip-search consent form without 
reading it.   

DN: I didn't read the form, Captain.  When a smiling, clean-cut 
police officer in a uniform asks a woman to sign a form that has 
the words "Community Friendship" at the top.... 

BG: Hee-hee.  We got you fair and square, Goldilocks!  Don't be 
such a poor sport! 

DN: So some of the women in the tent don't realize they are going 
to be searched? 

BG: Ha-ha-ha.  Only the blondes! 

DN: I'm a blonde, Captain. 

BG: Yes, Debbie, I can see that.  And a very lovely blonde, if you 
don't mind my saying so. 

DN: Thank you...I think.  About how long does it usually take to 
search a female suspect? 

BG: On hot days, the little bimbos dress in next to nothing, so it 
doesn't take long to strip them down.  And I do love stripping the 
little teasers.  Pretty women enjoy prancing around in their half 
shirts and shorts, with their cute little belly buttons on display, 
but you should see the panicked look in their eyes when they 
realize they are going to be showing a lot more skin than they 
intended. 

Of course, during the week, women come over from downtown for 
lunch, or after work.  They're typically wearing business suits 
like the one you have on.  It takes a bit longer to strip them 
down.  How long it takes depends on how much they are wearing.   

For example, tell me, Debbie: exactly what are YOU wearing? 

DN: A white blouse and blue skirt, and my news blazer of course. 

BG: Well, I can see that, Debbie; I'M not the one who's a blonde.  
I meant...what are you wearing...underneath?  If you were going 
to be searched, what would you have to take off? 

DN: I'm wearing a slip, and a matching bra and panty set.  And a 
garter belt and hose. 

BG: What color are your bra and panties, Debbie? 

DN: R-red, but I don't see where that has any relevance to.... 

BG: I like red lingerie, Debbie.  I bet you look sexy in it...cute 
and bouncy, but kind of slutty too.  Is it all soft, and fancy, and 
lacy?  I bet the guys would love that. 

It wouldn't take long to strip you down, Debbie.  But I would take 
my time...and make sure you peeled it off nice and slow, so 
everyone got a good look.... 

DN: Um, I think we're getting off the subject, Captain.  I 
understand that you are using a controversial face scanning 
system to identify female felons.

BG: It's not really controversial, Debbie.  We set up video cameras 
throughout the festival, and the computer scans their faces and 
identifies felons.  Naturally, we bring them down here for a strip 
search before we fingerprint them to verify their identities.   

DN: Are they put through the same strip-search process as the other 
women? 

BG: Yes, Debbie.  All of the women are stripped buck naked and 
given a thorough cavity search, regardless of whether they are 
technically charged or not.  For purposes of the search, it 
doesn't matter if you are a felon, a college professor, or an 
advertising executive.   

You could even be a TV news anchorwoman.... 

Did anyone ever tell you that you have a lovely figure, Debbie? 

DN: Um...thank you, Captain.  But I would really rather stay on the 
subject. 

BG: But I am staying on the subject, Debbie.  Most of the women in 
here are pretty, of course, but you're a real stunner.  And I bet 
you'd look even better without that business suit.  Long shapely 
legs, pert breasts, a tight, saucy little backside.... 

DN: Um, Captain, let's talk about the scanning process some more.  
Have your computer identifications resulted in any arrests? 

BG: Two, Debbie.  We captured one woman with several overdue 
library books, and one woman who had over $50 in unpaid parking 
tickets.  Both of those little miscreants felt the hand of law, 
let me assure you! 

DN: Do you ever get any false positives, Captain?  Does the 
computer ever identify any women as criminals who are totally 
innocent? 

BG: Very rarely. 

DN: Are those women strip-searched? 

BG: Regrettably, the actual strip-search takes place BEFORE the 
fingerprinting, so I'm sorry to say that they are searched.  But 
it is important to strip-search suspects as quickly as possible. 

DN: How many false positives have you had? 

BG: I don't keep count...a few. 

DN: According to my sources, the computer system has wrongly 
identified almost 4,000 women in the last 7 days.   

BG: That many?  Ha-ha.  Well, golly gee-whiz.... 

DN: One of your men told me that he uses the computer system to 
restock the tent when the supply of "fresh meat" is running low.  
Attractive female secretaries and executives who come over for 
lunch routinely find themselves dragged off the midway for 
humiliating searches.   

BG: There are fewer volunteers during the week, Debbie, so 
naturally we step up computer surveillance to fill the excess 
capacity; that's good law enforcement.  Besides, the Summer 
Festival is supposed to be fun, and we are just trying to meet 
audience expectations. 

DN: One of your men told me that they scanned the pictures of 
female neighbors, co-workers, and even local celebrities into 
the computer to create false positives.  Several female police 
officers and FBI agents, four female judges, and two of the 
female pop-stars performing at the Festival were stripped stark 
naked and searched in front of a crowd of drooling men. 

BG: Well, boys will be boys.  A harmless little prank never hurt 
anyone.  If a man wants to slip a police officer a few dollars to 
scan his neighbor's picture into our system, where's the harm?  It 
just makes a better show for everyone. 

Besides, I bet the video we made of that blonde bimbo singer is 
going to sell a lot more copies than her crummy album will.  When 
I drove my finger home, she really hit the high notes. 

DN: That's hardly the point, Captain.  To strip a famous female 
celebrity stark naked in front of a cheering throng is....  

BG: Your comment about "female celebrities" did get me thinking 
though, Debbie.  Maybe we should check the system for YOUR 
picture.... 

DN: I don't think that's really necessary. 

BG: You're right, Debbie.  After all, you already signed the 
consent form, didn't you? 

DN: Maybe we should...um...change topics.  After the initial 
search, the women are led over to this second processing area.  
Steve, can you pan the camera to the holding area? 

BG: As you can see, Debbie, the main holding area is a series of 
picnic tables arranged in a circle, with bleachers built all around 
for the spectators.  After the women are stripped naked, they are 
required to kneel over the benches, until the initial search can be 
completed. 

DN: I noticed that all of the women's legs are spread...extremely 
wide.  It seems like an extremely...vulnerable position. 

BG: Yes, Debbie, it's meant to be.  The disrobing process takes 
the ginger out of most of the young ladies; a slow, embarrassing 
striptease-to-order in front of a mob of cheering louts is a real 
lesson in humility.  But, if you look closely, you'll notice that 
a few of the women still have a tiny hint of defiance in their eyes. 
Thirty minutes on the bench, with their legs spread nice and wide 
for all the men to enjoy, flicks away their few remaining crumbs 
of pride and self-respect. 

DN: I can see that there are placards between each woman's legs.  
What are those for? 

BG: The signs display each woman's search number.  For example, if 
you wanted to search that cute little redhead at the end of the 
row, you could go to the "Deputizing" table, pay five dollars, and 
tell them you want to search ABD7.   

The officer on duty will swear you in as a deputy, and, when the 
little redhead is led over to the examination table, you'll be 
given a rubber glove so that you can "lend a hand."  And there's 
plenty of lube for everyone, Debbie. 

DN (under her breath): Sounds like a free grope to me… 

BG: It's not free; it's $5.  And I prefer the term, "community 
policing," young lady. 

There are other advantages to the numbering system as well.  The 
procedure is designed to transform these women from independent, 
successful career women into helpless, pretty playthings.  Taking 
away their clothes, ogling them, slapping them on their bare 
fannies when they dawdle, and replacing their names with numbers 
destroys their self-confidence and quickly reduces them to the 
status of powerless, naked bimbos.    

During the half hour the woman is on the bench, the men can 
communicate with the women by calling out their numbers.  For 
example, you'll notice that man in the front row is telling 
ABD7 that he has already purchased his deputy's badge.... 

VOICE OF THE MAN IN THE CROWD: I'm going to enjoy watching you 
wiggle around my finger, you little red-headed fox.  Look at that! 
Her little bottom hole is puckering up.  You just can't wait, can 
you, Little Red?  Don't worry...it won't be long now. 

BG: Of course, in many cases, the men are fortunate enough to 
actually know the women they are searching.  The strip-search 
tent allows male flunkies to search their female bosses, lowly 
orderlies to search doctors, and construction workers to search 
the women who run their contracting companies.  But, in those 
cases where they don't know the woman's name, the number allows 
a man to communicate his intentions. 

It's pretty funny really...watching the young ladies' privates 
pucker up and quiver while the men tease and taunt them.   

Of course, some of the women actually get a little excited; a 
few try to wipe themselves, but we don't allow that.  We make 
them kneel there, with their legs spread nice and wide, and the 
juices dribbling down their thighs.   

DN: Although it is quite warm outside, I noticed that it is very 
cool in here.  Is the tent air conditioned? 

BG: Yes, we do everything we can to keep the audience comfortable.  
Some of the ladies complain that it's a bit chilly, and, if you 
look around, you'll notice there are a lot of stiff nipples.   

We keep a current of cool air drifting past the benches and exam 
tables because of the bright lights we use for the videos.  It 
does make the women a bit squirmy, but that adds to the show. 

Can you imagine what it must feel like, Debbie?  Being spread out 
in front of all those men, with the cold air whistling between your 
milky white thighs?  Can you imagine how exposed you would feel, 
with your bare fanny sticking up in the air and a cool breeze 
blowing between your legs? 

DN: Um...I'm sure it's a-a unique sensation.  Captain, who is that 
man standing in the corner near the benches, flexing the long 
stick? 

BG: That gentlemen is known as "The Professor," and the stick he 
is flexing is the cane that he used at the Women's Reformatory.  
He's retired now, but he graciously volunteered to help us maintain 
discipline when the girls are on the benches. 

Whenever one of women tries to close her legs, or lets her bottom 
sag down to rest on her heels, the Professor "reminds her" to 
"resume the position" by placing a few stripes across the tender 
cheeks of her disobedient little backside. 

DN: You actually cane adult women?  You actually SPANK them...like 
they were naughty schoolgirls?  But these women are respected 
professionals, and they're all over 18; they're not children! 

BG: I can assure you that the cane is as effective on the bare 
bottom of a 31-year-old stock broker as it is on any delinquent.  
Naughty girls come in all shapes and sizes.  Just the sound of the 
cane SLICING through the air brings all of the girls to attention.  
As soon as they hear the WHOOSH, every girl on the bench spreads 
her legs just a little wider, and strains to arch her bare fanny 
up just a bit higher. 

The Professor was delighted to help.  He says that all of those 
cute little bare fannies lined up in a row, twitching and squirming 
while he SWISHES his cane through the air reminds him of the good 
old days. 

DN: But these women are too old to be.... 

BG: You may THINK that you're too old to be disciplined in such 
a childish and degrading manner.  You won't like a laughing, 
whistling audience cheering every stroke.  But I'm sure that, 
after you've experienced the cane firsthand, Debbie, you'll 
understand how effective it is in teaching absolute obedience. 

Have you ever been caned, Debbie? 

DN: Of course not!   

BG: Imagine yourself nervously biting your lip while the Professor 
teasingly measured out the first stroke across your soft, supple 
backside.  Imagine your tender cheeks quivering in anticipation as 
the "practice strokes" SWISHED through the air. 

Your heart would race as you realized that you were no longer a 
powerful and successful newscaster -- you were just another naughty 
schoolgirl, anxiously tensing your bottom cheeks in anticipation as 
you awaited your painful and shameful chastisement. 

You would nervously glance back over your shoulder, but a few taps 
of the cane would remind you to keep your eyes facing front and 
your bottom raised high.  The crowd would hold its breath as the 
Professor raised the cane high into the air.... 

The harsh kiss of the cane would teach you respect for the law, 
young lady. 

Of course, first I would have to get you out of those fancy 
clothes.... 

DN: My clothes? 

BG: Of course, Debbie.  Naughty girls are always caned on their 
bare fannies, and there is certainly no reason to treat you any 
different.  Look...I think there's a space opening up on that 
picnic bench now.... 

DN: Um...let's talk more about the exam area itself.  After twenty 
or thirty minutes on the bench, the supervising officer leads the 
girls -- women -- over to the exam table.  Tell me what happens 
then. 

BG: The officer orders the woman to climb onto the table and put 
her feet into the stirrups.  Even after their experience at the 
picnic table, most of them are still pretty reluctant to "get into 
the saddle."  But the sight of the Professor flexing the cane is 
usually enough to convince them that it's time to "mount up!" 

There's something uniquely humiliating about the stirrups.  I've 
seen some of the toughest women you could imagine -- FBI agents, 
army officers, corporate CEOs -- cringe at the mere sight of them.  
Here, put your hand on one of them, Debbie, and I'll show you what 
I mean. 

DN: I think I'd rather not. 

BG: Go ahead, Debbie.  Put your hand on one of the stirrups, and 
tell me what you feel. 

DN: It feels metallic...and cold.   

BG: Icy cold, Debbie.  And that's just your hand.  Imagine how cold 
it would feel when you had to put your dainty, little bare foot 
into it. 

Can you imagine what it would feel like to have to put your bare 
feet into the stirrups, with all of these lustful men watching you, 
and video cameras recording you from every angle? 

Of course you'd WANT to close your legs.  You'd desperately want to 
shield yourself from the prying eyes and crude remarks of the men 
in front of you.  But the stirrups wouldn't let you.  The stirrups 
would keep your legs split high and wide. 

The men would see everything, Debbie.... 

I notice you're breathing faster, Debbie, and your skin is flushed. 
I hope you're not one of those little sluts who gets EXCITED at the 
thought of being strip-searched.  There's nothing worse than being 
ordered onto the exam table when you're all hot...and wet...and 
juicy.... 

Imagine the way the crowd would cheer when you put your feet into 
the stirrups and showed them what a randy, shameless little bitch 
you really are. 

DN: I...um...um...think we'd better change the...um...subject.  
Captain, I noticed an enema bag and a can of shaving cream 
sitting next to the rubber gloves.  What are those for? 

BG: Guess.  I'll bet you are a natural blonde, right, sweet cheeks? 

DN: Don't tell me that you actually give the women enemas...and 
shave them? 

BG: See, blonde or not, I knew you could figure it out.  But don't 
get your cute little undies in a bundle.  We only do it if the 
woman gets sassy.   

I'm sure that wouldn't be necessary with someone like you, Debbie.  
Or would it?  Would you strip when I said "strip" and kneel when I 
said "kneel"?  Would you spread your legs when I barked "SPREAD 
'EM," even though a hundred men were watching and a dozen video 
cameras were pointing between your legs? 

Dignified young professional women don't appreciate how soothing 
and relaxing an icy cold enema can be.  Maybe it's the feeling of 
the long, greasy tube sliding up their backsides...or the gush of 
the freezing cold water.  Personally I think it's the way the men 
in the crowd laugh and snicker, watching how they cramp, and 
wiggle, and pucker their little brownies as the icy water 
relentlessly spurts into their defenseless backsides.  

DN: I um...think I'd better get out of here....  I mean...I think 
it's time that we wrapped up this interview, Captain. 

BG: I agree, Debbie.  I think you've asked enough questions.  
I think it's time for you to experience the answers, my nosey 
little friend. 

DN: Um...well, actually...I really need to be getting back to the 
studio.  But I did have one last question.  I noticed that all of 
the women leaving the tent are wearing large name-tags with some 
sort of alphanumeric notation on it.  Could you explain what that 
means, Captain? 

BG: A picture is worth a thousand words, Debbie.  Let me show you. 

DN: That really isn't necessary, Captain.  If you could just 
EXPLAIN the tags.... 

BG: You'll notice the back of the sticker peels off, so it will 
stick right to the front of your blazer.  Here, let me stick this 
on your jacket.... 

DN: Steve, if you can pull the camera in tight, the viewers at home 
can see that the tag on my blazer says, "HI MY NAME IS..." with the 
word "Debbie" written in.  And below that are four letters written 
with a red magic marker: "CNBC."  What do the letters mean? 

BG: That is your search code, Debbie.  We'll use that to label the 
crate you put your clothes in.  It also identifies your video. 

After we search a woman, we require her to stay at the festival for 
at least an hour and mingle through the crowd with her search code 
on display.  This gives the men in the crowd the opportunity to 
"preview the merchandise" and come back and purchase the video. 

DN: But that's so...humiliating!  It's like the scarlet letter.  
Everyone who sees me would know that I'd been stripped naked.  
They'd know that there was a-a...naked video of me FOR SALE...in 
a carnival tent! 

That's terrible!  Why don't you just make me wear a t-shirt that 
says, "I'm a WHORE: Naked Videos, FOR SALE, CHEAP!"  It's so 
degrading! 

BG: It's not that bad.  The young ladies endure quite a few sly 
smiles, of course, and now and then a playful fanny pinch.  I 
suppose it is a tad humiliating to stand there, utterly helpless, 
and watch some smiling idiot casually jot down the code on his 
shopping list.  It must be hard to look him in the eye, knowing 
that in just a few minutes, he is going to see you frolicking 
around in the buff. 

The women in the crowd are far crueler than the men.  You'd think 
they'd have some compassion for their sisters, but I've seen them 
spit on tagged women, and call them whores, and sleazes, and 
bimbos.  Some of the women have been so abusive that we've actually 
had to arrest them.   

Of course they usually view things a little differently when it's 
THEIR turn to shuck down. 

DN: Exactly how many women have you searched, Captain? 

BG: Unh-uh, Debbie, we already agreed that you'd asked your last 
question.  Now it's my turn.  I have a question for you. 

Tell me, Debbie, are you a natural blonde? 

DN: Um...I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at.... 

BG: It's a simple enough question, Debbie.  Do you dye your hair?  
I can see the hair on your head is blonde.  But, are you blonde 
all over? 

DN: I fail to see the relevance of.... 

BG: Do you see the large black gentlemen standing by the stripping 
area, Debbie?  His name is Sergeant Leroy Jones.  He used to be a 
detective, at least until you did your little exposé on police 
corruption.   

When we're done chatting, Debbie, I'm going to turn you over to 
him.  He likes pretty white women, and blondes in particular.  
So I'm wondering if you're a natural blonde. 

DN: It's not the sort of thing a lady discusses.... 

BG: Are you blushing, Debbie?  Don't be shy.  You might be able to 
keep your silly little secrets OUTSIDE the tent.  But, once inside, 
everything is revealed. 

A lot of career women pretend they're prim and proper, but we find 
out the truth when we get them into the stirrups.  It's hard to act 
elegant and aloof when two dozen men are staring at your hot, 
sticky, juicy little honey pot. 

So tell me, Debbie, is your honey pot all hot and bubbly?  The way 
you're blushing, I think it might be.... 

Is your little mound covered with soft yellow peach fuzz?  Is your 
furry patch hot and wet and sticky? 

Don't lie to me, Debbie.  If I think you're lying, I may decide to 
check for myself. 

DN: NO, CAPTAIN...PLEASE!  I WON'T LIE!  I AM a natural blonde.  
Please, Captain, you've got to believe me! 

BG: I don't know, Debbie.  I think I need to check anyway.  I'm 
going to send your camera crew over to the sign-up table, so they 
can get their rubber gloves.  There are more than enough cameras 
here to cover your search from EVERY angle, so the folks at home 
won't miss a thing.   

And, from the way your camera crew is looking at you, I think 
they'll want to "lend a hand." 

That reminds me...your producer asked me to make some extra tapes 
for the gift shop down at the station.  And he's also thinking 
about setting up a Web site for downloading.  Your video is going 
to be very popular, Debbie. 

DN: But...but...you can't search me!  You can't strip me...NAKED!  
I'm a celebrity! 

BG: Ha-ha.  Gee, Debbie, you really are a natural blonde after 
all....



Edited by C. Lakewood

