Jerry Seinfeld, Elaine Bennis, George Costanza and Cosmo Kramer met up for lunch yet again at Monk's Cafe, their favorite diner with greasy grub and oddball customers. They sat down at their usual booth near the front door, but they weren't greeted by their usual waitress Linda, a petite struggling NYC artist. Instead they were greeted by a hot busty blonde babe whose embroidered name tag said "Elle." In fact, all four of their familiar homely flat-chested servers had been replaced by gorgeous women with giant breasts.
"Oh my
god
," Elaine exclaimed. "I can't believe Mister Vizaki fired all the waitresses and replaced them with those..."
"Bombshells?" Jerry suggested with his usual comic flair.
"Exactly,
bombshells
. Those big hooters are lethal weapons, like Mel Gibson's groupies."
Elle came up to their table and batted her long man-killing eyelashes at Jerry. He was utterly entranced and tongue-tied.
"What'll it be, darlin'?" she uttered sweetly, like Elle Macpherson.
"Oh, right... food. I'll have a cheeseburger, with extra cheese. And a chocolate milkshake, with extra... milk."
"I'm a hardcore dairy girl," Elle giggled, jiggling her ample hooters behind a red-checkered retro uniform. "Nothing beats that cool creamy taste on a hot summer day."
"I'm lactose intolerant, so I'm definitely not a 'hardcore dairy girl," Elaine grunted, annoyed at Elle's flirty approach toward her on-again, off-again comedian boyfriend. (Currently off-again.) "I'll have a tuna sandwich and a small lemonade."
"Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy," Elle replied flirtatiously, tossing her long blonde bangs with an expression that clearly indicated bisexuality.
"I can't stand fish. It always reminds me of that time I swam in the East River," Kramer said. "I'll have the All-American Barbecue Bacon Burger with curly fries, and the Jack Dandy strawberry shake."
"Oooh. The Jack Dandy is so
dandy
," Elle giggled. "How about you?"
"I'll have what
she's
having," George remarked, pointing at Elaine. Imitating that old lady who witnessed Meg Ryan's fake table pounding orgasm.
"I love
When Harry Met Sally.
They don't make romcoms like they used to," Elle beamed.
"They don't make waitresses as hot as
you
anymore either," Jerry added slyly.
"Aw, you're too kind." She pranced away from their table, with Jerry's eyes following her big heart-shaped ass all the way to the kitchen counter. Passing two busty brunettes and a bustier redhead in matching red checker uniforms.
"Holy shit. This is like a Russ Meyer movie," Elaine quipped.
"Who's Russ Meyer?" George asked.
"A sleazy guy who made some bad sexploitation movies in the 70's, with lots of busty bimbos. He's obsessed. He's obsessed with breasts. Wow, that's hard to say."
"Oooh, hachi-
mama
," Kramer cooed, ogling that redhead as she passed by. "Some gingers have all the luck."
"It's not just luck, it's also unfair," Elaine growled jealously, glancing down at her inferior b-cups.
"Life ain't fair, Elaine. I know that better than any of us," George murmured.
"Attractive people make the world go round. That's why you never see any handsome homeless guys," Jerry remarked.
"I should report Mister Vizaki to the Equal Opportunity Employment Commission, for discriminating against less-endowed women."
"Go ahead, buzzkill," George grumbled.
"In the meantime, I dare you to ask Elle out on a date," Kramer said to Jerry.
"Nah, I never go out with waitresses. They usually have too much 'emotional baggage' and student loan debt."
"Come on, Jerry. It'll give you some great material for your stand-up routines," George urged.
"She was totally eye-fucking you," Kramer continued. "You know how many guys who kill to open a 'treasure chest' like hers?"
"All right, fine. You guys will be bugging me for a fucking month if I don't."
Elle came back around with their milkshakes and lemonade, setting them down at the booth. "There you go, fellas. Nice and creamy, made the old-fashioned way."
"I'm old-fashioned too. A real suave playboy," Jerry murmured.
"Is that
so
?" Elle giggled.
"I'm like the Hugh Hefner of the east coast, without that stupid sailor hat and smoking jacket. And I don't make stupid girlie magazines that are under every pimply teenager's mattress."
"You're so funny, Jerry. I've seen your stand-up routines at Dangerfield's."
"I get a lot more respect than Rodney. Say, how about you and me have a little night on the town, after your shift?"
"I'd love that, Mister Seinfeld. I can't wait to find out how funny you are... behind the curtains," Elle replied with a sly wink. The other three waitresses stopped by and checked out those highly photogenic friends. The brunettes were Jane and Claire, and the pale redhead was Sinead.
"Nothing compares to U, ginger," George quipped, referencing an awful one-hit Irish wonder with the same first name. "You're way hotter than Sinead O'Connor. I sure hope you won't shave your head and tear up a picture of the pope."
"Hell no. Anyway, we're going to an awesome party tonight at Club Chameleon on 42nd," Sinead beamed in a sweet Gaelic accent, tossing her flaming copper bangs. "Why don't you
all
come along, for a group date?"
"Hell, why not?" Elaine replied sarcastically. "Group dates are always a hoot, at least in sitcoms."
Kramer assumed his best lothario pose, like a 1970's porn star. "We're a bunch of Manhattan cosmopolitans who love to party, and we love women with big... personalities."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Six hours later, Jerry and the gang hustled over to Club Chameleon, with a big green neon lizard over the front door. C&C Music Factory-type techno music was thumping inside the dimly lit club, with dozens of yuppies writhing on a dance floor with swirling multi-colored lights. Those four well-endowed waitresses were hanging out at the bar, wearing tight sexy outfits and nursing blueberry daiquiris with ridiculous mini umbrellas sticking out. Ripe blueberries lined the toothpick poles, just like in Weird Al's UHF movie.
"Hey, funny-boy!" Elle beamed toward Jerry. She got up and kissed him square on the mouth, much to his pleasant surprise. "I knew you guys wouldn't chicken out on us."
"We never chicken out on hot chicks like you," Jerry remarked, with his eyes locked on her DDD cups.
"My face is up here, Jerry."
"Sorry. It's like looking at the sun. You get a sense of it, then you turn away."
They got buzzed on overpriced drinks at the bar, engaging in droll sitcommie banter.
"Damn, you're the hottest redhead I ever saw," Elaine murmured toward Sinead. "I'm seriously tempted to switch teams."
"Me too, you bonnie brunette lass," Sinead replied flirtatiously, tossing her sleek ginger bangs.
Jane waved everyone away from the bar. "Come on guys, let's hit the dance floor harder than Bobby Brown on Whitney Houston."
Seinfeld and company strutted out to a sea of yuppies and shook their asses to a synthesized racket. Elle danced with Jerry, Jane danced with George, Claire danced with Kramer, and Elaine performed her trademark thumb-jerking dry heave shuffle with Sinead. Embarrassing everyone but herself.
