Back when I was an impressionable youth, on the cusp of pubescence, my taste in women took the less beaten path, where it is today. Instead of adoring the sun-tanned California blonde of the late eighties, I would spend a significant amount of time lusting in my heart and loins for the alterna-goddess.
You know the type of girl. Pale as moon. Wore Grandpa's browlines, grandma's sundress. A second hand cardigan that was either too big or too small. A pearl necklace she would claim to be ironic but deep in her heart she loved dearly. chunky shoes. Cassettes littered the floor of her beat-up Volvo. 10,000 Maniacs, Throwing Muses, Tallulah Blue, The Smiths, The Pogues. We'd take spontaneous road trips to nondescript Midwestern towns to pick wildflowers, take in the local color, and check out some local band in the basement of someone we'd just met earlier downtown.
The televised embodiment of such a girl was MTV's Kennedy. I can't remember ever watching Alternative Nation and not wishing at one point that her clothes would fall off, even when she wasn't onscreen.
But this is a solid decade and some change before Suicide Girls and the like. Your chances of seeing that kind of girl in the nude was slim and none. Better acquire a taste for California blondes.
Right when I first started using the internet, way back in the AOL days, I heard rumors of her nude pics. I searched furiously. It quickly became a Holy Grail.
And this morning in a quite anti-climatic manner, I found it in literally seconds on Google Images. It was buried under completely irrelevant shit, and gay porn (perhaps I couldn't find it before because I didn't want to wade through that).
They're, um, quite tasteful.
So yeah, I guess all I have left is a desire to see Janeane Garofalo and her new trout lips in a blowbang.
I dunno. This looks shopped.
