|"I'm not bad. I'm just drawn that way."|
Oh, I love me some Jessica Rabbit. Tall, thin, ample-breasted. Fiery red hair that begs to be noticed. Her melodic voice practically oozing out from her full, brightly painted mouth. Those hips...like two meaty shelves. The absolute epitome of feminine seduction. That is, if we're making allowances for the fact that she's a cartoon...
Everyone is convinced that this dame is as easy as they come. Well, just look at her. She's spilling out of her dress, she can't seem to converse with a man without dripping with sexuality, and, well, for fucksake, she's a *red* head. What more does one need, in order to cast her off as some kind of insatiable, sex-crazed trollop? Pin the red "A" to her dress already, so we can move on to Betty Boop.
And then, it turned out that this assumed tramp was nothing less than cross-eyed silly over her big, goofy Roger. She didn't want any of the others, no matter how she might have come across in the beginning. She loved her man, er, her rabbit with all her big, bosomy heart. At the end of the day, after all the sexual intensity, all the winking, all the hip-wiggling, come-hither looks...even after writhing around onstage, and pressing her gigantic rack into that detective's face, all she wanted was Roger.
So, chew on that a bit. Think before you judge, before you assume.
Now, get outta here. Give me some money, too.