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By Charly Brown
Synopsis - The year is 2,000,001.
The human race has emerged from what appeared
to be an eternal adolescence marred by an unabashed desire for self destruction.
Clawing its way back from oblivion in the wake
of a nuclear holocaust, man kind marches on.
In this instance, I use the term 'man kind' loosely. Thanks to the tenacious force of evolution that pesky Y chromosome has deteriorated to the point of being virtually non existent. Sorry boys, but nature says that you're now redundant. Parthenogenesis is the new black. |
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The demise of the Y sees the dawn of a new age.
Our childish obsession with fairy tales and folklore (see also: religion) has been replaced by a devotion to the celestial truth - the divinity of mathematics.
The majestic power of prisms has been harnessed - technological advancement and enlightenment are one.
A master race of lithe, androgynous, ninja femmes reign supreme.
One might be obliged to entertain trivial fantasies of rampant 'girl on girl' action
at this point. However there's no time for cherry chapstick and pillow fights when the world is under constant threat from hostile takeover
at the hands of extraterrestrial forces. |
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Those school yard days of in-fighting are long since past. War now rages on a cosmic scale.
So how does a modern woman maintain a sense of personal style when the typical 9 to 5 work day has been replaced by the grueling task of protecting life as we know it?
The divine Claudia Adinda - oracle of fashion
and outfitter to a Master Race of fierce fashionistas ensures that womankind are always dressed to kill.
If it weren't for the fact that those green men from planet Zargon had advanced beyond
the inconvenience of emotion, you could bet your
ray gun they'd be shaking in their space boots
at the sight of Earths formidable army
of Femme Warriors. |
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After an arduous day in the trenches, all a girl can ask for is the servitude of a lapdog - someone to lick the grit of the battlefield from her boot heel after a hard days work. In times like these, thank goodness for those last remnants of the male species, those relics who cling on for dear life as they teeter on the verge of complete obscurity.
It's a Woman's world... |
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Montgommery The Swan's
day out |
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The Cross
he Loves me She loves me not |
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Personal Style Project with
multidisciplinary artist
Arielle
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