Right now I'm busy filling up with Jack Daniels, getting ready for the horrible, horrible ride north to have Rosh Hashanna (Jewish new year) dinner with my extended family. While the dinner itself shouldn't be too bad (if you can ignore the Philip-Roth-on-steroids vibe and the hordes of psychotic kids), I can't help but think about an alternative: Why can't I just go to a nice place, someplace friendly and cozy, where the heaps of whipped cream on your sundae are only matched by your waitress' mountainous muscles and luscious, plentyful and nippely breasts? Someplace like, say, 's Femuscle Diner, where tonight's special is "Gefilte Fish Like Mom used To Make It", and the waitress' bib and head gear are in white and blue, the colors of the Israeli flag. One thing is just the same as it is on any other night: those magnificent breasts are still out there in all of their dark pink-glory, for you to ogle over your schawarma (oh, yes - there's also going to be schwarma, tonight. Also: krepalach).

My rendered colors over this magnificent sketch: 

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