There you are, minding your own business, innocently chatting up a transvestite, when you're confronted by a dreaded raver girl. She stares at you with her cool eyes and pastied nipples, sizing you up, coiling as if to pounce -- and suddenly you black out and awake an indeterminate amount of time later at the bottom of a dry well, battered and reeking of lotion. As children, we all learn this scenario in school -- but it couldn't happen to you, right? Wrong. For your safety and awareness, we sent our heroic photographer Aaron Thackeray to Skylab to capture photos (see full slideshow from the party here) of these lasses in their natural habitat for identification purposes and tips on how to escape their alluring wiles. The markings on this lady's teats clearly peg her as an excellent specimen of homo skankiens, a fearsome and majestic hunter. She displays her battle scars -- and her mammaries -- proudly. Even more so than a cargo van full of hard candy and scented oils, this is possibly the most terrifying sight a human can witness: Teeth bared and adorned in ceremonial garb, this lady inflates herself into the "intimidation posture," hypnotizing you like a cute, tiny little bunny rabbit before a venomous snake. In this scenario, the best course of action is to drop to the ground and throw sand in her eyes, temporarily blinding her until you can make your escape. Like an astrophysical singularity, this one's gravity is forceful enough that even her clothing has collapsed upon itself, forming what scientists call "rave matter." Those who approach her will suffer a similar fate, drawn like a bug in a whirlpool over the cusp, falling inexorably toward an event horizon of nipple. Like the betta splendens, rave ladies, when confronted with one of their own, will often territorially face off with one another, warily circling, sizing each other up before a fight to the death. If you come upon this scenario en media res, back away slowly -- do not make them aware of your presence, or the only thing they'll be fighting over is your mauled remains. Another example of the seductresses plotting, this time at a more advanced stage of combat -- but this time, you've been sighted. Faced with almost certain death, your only option at this point is to run away, hoping the fearsome maw of her opponent will slow her down. This hideous two-headed rave lady sports an insect-like appendage on her back, which she uses to camouflage herself from her own predator species, the formidable brotus date-rapis. Luckily for those below her on the food chain, she also has the symbol tattooed on her back, giving you some advance notice before she sees you. Like Jareth the Goblin King, these two will attempt to keep you distracted by dancing with you until the thirteenth hour, when your baby brother will be transformed into a goblin and David Bowie keeps him forever. Also, that's about when the ecstasy starts wearing off. The robot, who also has moon boots just in case it gets really cold. There is no escape from her and her army, which will destroy you by voguing until you die. In the opposite vein, this one takes a holistic approach to prey-baiting, hunting with the slickness and agility of the panthera pardus. Moments after this photo was taken, she batted blue-sleeveless shirt guy over there across the room like a chew-toy stuffed with meat. Run.
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