Breya: Do you have any idea what possessed Captain Tagon to order this for me?
Thurl: I don't know. Maybe he thought you'd look more intimidating.
Breya: Intimidating? INTIMIDATING?
Thurl: Ummm... Er... Distracting, maybe?
Breya: I look like a surgically augmented cyborg swimsuit-model in zero gravity.
Thurl: Does this mean you don't want to pose for the enlistment brochure?
Breya: If you take a picture of me in this, your proctologist can develop the film for you when he pulls it out of your dark-room.
Footnote: Author's Note: This series of strips was not conceived as part of a "lure new readers with sex" sellout plan. I composed this storyline in February of 2000, before the first complete strips were even inked, and seven months before my syndication with KeenSpot. I'd also like to point out that I'm thirty-two years old, and happily married. This series is not some unrealized flight of adolescent fantasy, or some barely post-pubescent exercise in orectic morphology. It's a serious look at what happens when the uninformed base their purchasing decisions on the baser aspects of aesthetics. Hee hee. Lookit the big boobies! Boobies boobies boobies!