That Jennifer Lopez. I mean, whew. Look at her. She's got hair like a wheat field in the wind and brown eyes richer than all the Rockefellers put together, and full, luscious lips just made to shout, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" And in the photo on the back of the package, and in the liner shots, she's wearing this sort of faux-denim outfit that sure as hell isn't anything Levi Strauss could ever have imagined (except on those late nights at the mining camp when even a 250-pound guy with a pickax and a layer of grime an inch thick was starting to look pretty good). To call it skintight isn't quite right, because no one's skin is that tight -- except maybe hers. Mmmmmm. She wears her top unbuttoned to just north of her navel and loops her throat with a necklace hung with gold strands just a touch lighter than her complexion that pull your vision down, down, down, like arrows directing you to the main attractions. And what attractions. As Dick Enberg would say, "Oh, myyyy." Unfortunately, you can't see all of her attributes in the images no matter how you turn them or press your face against them, but that doesn't really matter, because anyone with the slightest capacity for creative thought can picture them: all those glorious twists and curves leading along her torso and around her legs and across a derriere that may not actually have its own insurance policy but damn well deserves one. And...hey, whaddya know? This thing comes with a CD, too.
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