Dammit, blondes should definitely not be forced to fade away. Instead, the little vixens filled with honey and curves and dimpled noses should prance around from town to town just for the hell of it. I have no idea why, but I continue to be fascinated by women with honey-colored hair. If I’m being truly honest, though, I don’t discriminate if she’s brunette, or raven-haired, or a redhead, but for whatever reason blondes pack a little extra wallop when I step in the ring.
So, yes, I liked Rebecca LaFontaine even I couldn’t trust even six words out of a sixty word monologue that she might spout off to me between the sheets. FADE TO BLONDE felt like a true icon in the midst of my two star slump fest. But it had more bite to it than a piece of chocolate covered in chili pepper. Ray Corson had an attitude that just wouldn’t quit, and the pages clipped along faster than a pair of scissors through tissue paper. So I did what seemed appropriate: I gripped my chair with both hands and held on tight. The dialogue had more firepower than a machine gun; there wasn’t a spineless character to be found; the race was over in record time and it was nearly a photo finish.
The ending was a blow to the gut and a jammed toe, but in a good way, and I may have lost a tooth before the ride ended. But I did manage to keep myself apprised of the situation, even if I had to blow my nose on more than one occasion. If you like your cases hard and your women loose, then find yourself a video camera and saddle up my friend, because this is one ride where you might want to hold on tight.