TV series has trouble finding real breasts in Miami
by Taylor Bigler - The Daily Caller
With a wave of Hollywood’s magic wand, Dexter brutally bludgeons his victims, co-stars simulate sex and Tom Cruise looks tall.
But there are some things Hollywood can’t fake — or there are some fake things that Hollywood can’t make look real.
For the creators of a Starz series who wanted an authentic look for “Magic City,” a show set in 1959 Miami, it was nearly impossible to find local women with natural breasts.
“I’ve actually had better luck finding synchronized swimming groups than I did finding real boobs,” Bill Marinella, a locals casting director, told the Miami Herald.
“We were rigorous about everything across the board from music to architecture down to [the breasts],” Mitch Glazer, a “Magic City” producer and writer.
One of the casting notices read: “GIRLS HAD FULLER FIGURES BACK THEN. … SO NO SKINNY MODELS. ALL-NATURAL — NO PLASTIC SURGERY/BREAST IMPLANTS.”
Breast implants are the most popular plastic surgery procedure, and South Florida accounts for 16 percent of all of the country’s plastic surgery, according to research from the American Society of Plastic Surgeons. Miami came in third, behind Beverly Hills and San Francisco, for the highest number of boob jobs.
An Open Letter to the Gentleman Blow-Drying His Balls in the Gym Locker Room
Dear gentleman blow-drying his balls in the gym locker room,
You’re actually doing it.
mean, we’ve all dreamed of blow-drying our balls out in the open, but
you’re actually doing it in front of me and at least sixteen other
people that just finished exercising at this pricey sports club.
of us will do it in private in our homes, or in a hotel room using a
hairdryer a stranger might have just used to style their hair for that
big business meeting in Denver. But not you. You are not confined to
such social norms, norms that usually keep flapping, flag-like balls out
of my eyes.
Does the courage to do this in public come with age?
Perhaps it’s something a young man like me can’t understand. But you,
you are on in years; gray and spotted like a ham in a paintball fight.
Your scrotum reminds me of boardwalk taffy.
Maybe you’ve been
building up to this day your whole life and I’m witnessing the birth of a
phoenix. You are no longer a man that blow-dries his balls in secret.
You have transcended that station and now fall into an elite group of
Spartans that blow-dry their balls wherever they God damn please. If
caterpillars emerged from their cocoons as butterflies with heavy,
sagging testicles I’d imagine they’d feel the same as you might right
you’re making up for the fact that you no longer have any hair on your
head that requires blow-drying. Is grabbing a hairdryer a rote, preening
response from your
earlier years when you and your majestic mane would say things like,
“bees knees” to fresh-faced nurses at the pool hall while discussing the
Teapot Dome scandal? Did they have hairdryers back then?
I think my ability to correctly recall history is being affected by the sight of your twin sperm fountains.
especially appreciate the way you’ve got one leg up on the counter. Not
only does this allow the hot jet stream of air a more direct passage to
your gene- carrying duffel bag, it also gives me an intrusive view to
the white fields of pubis covering your taint and beyond. It almost
makes me think of Santa Claus, but I was not sexually abused by Kris
Kringle as a child.
Speaking of Christmas, were the Adidas soccer sandals you use as shower shoes a gift from a grandchild?
actions disturb and inspire, and I can’t look away. I’m either swelling
with physical repulsion or the joy a parent feels watching their child
take their first steps. Only in this case the child is an 84-year-old
man with a hairdryer aimed at his balls. Whatever the case, you’re an
exemplar of bravery. So, please, shine on you withering diamond.