She looks like a beard. A big, bushy oh-your-dad's-gonna-be-so-pissed-that-he-paid-for-that-wedding beard.

He looks like Sonny, who at 45 years old, still lives with his mother in a modest trailer home down by the river. She had put up with having to cook for him and clean up after him, but after all these years and Sonny still insisting that she dress him every morning as well, at 74 years old, she finally decided to do what she should have done in the beginning--she waited until Sonny drank himself unconscious on Wild Turkey, then paid the two teenage boys next door to haul him into the city and drop him off on the church steps in hopes that the kind Sisters of St Mary would take him in. She took comfort in the fact that since Sonny had never been more than 2 blocks away from his own home, the bastard most likely wouldn't be able to find his way back home.

He looks like he's taking sexy back. Sorry JT.

He looks like Mortivius (aka Todd), who slayed the dreaded Lord Bentamar in the epic battle of Ragonton to free the Plasivian slaves whose children held in their voices through song the ability to unlock the magical chest of the Grand Wizard Trominic of Frandolfur that contained the golden dagger of the Order of Hyanda, enabling the carrier to achieve level fourteen Dragon Stealth. But he had to go home shortly after because he has Calculus homework, and his stepmom found out he was wearing her good church skirts to the park and grounded him, so he'd better get home before she gets off work from the Big Lots.

She looks like a drama queen.

She looks like that hot Asian girl you met on the sidewalk outside the bar at closing time who you were lucky enough to talk into going home with you. Except this is how you remember her looking. You have no idea how you woke up naked this morning with your arms around an obese, bearded homeless man with facial boils and what appeared to be a complete indifference to bladder control.

But he did make you pancakes. That was kind of cool.

He looks like R Kelly version 5.2. He's time-traveled from the year 2033 to warn himself to stop pissing on underaged girls during sex because in the future when the world is under martial law and technology and robots rule the world, "them 14 year olds grow up to have themselves a real fucked up sense of payback."

He looks like a harp who's only dating her because he heard she does anal.

They look like the cause of little Billy Stanton's lifelong terror of boobs. What started as a family effort to help him with his 3rd grade science project, quickly turned into an unforgettable night when a combination of glue fumes and poor ventilation made the women giddy. Billy was arrested 14 years later in the French Quarter of New Orleans when he reflexively punched an intoxicated young woman who, thinking he was cute, suddenly appeared before him and flashed him. As officers led him away, witnesses claimed he was in tears and remorseful, muttering, "They never give you a choice....those crazy bitches just never give you a choice."

They look like...having your first lesbian encounter can be really awkward if your dad just won't leave the room.

He looks like after presenting at his ob/gyn for the 4th time in 3 weeks with complaints of severe, throbbing breast pain, the doctor shaved Jeff's chest into bra which quickly eased his symptoms and improved his quality of life.

"How did you know that would work?" the nurse asked the doctor after showing him the thank you card from Jeff with this happy picture printed on the cover.

"He's a man who keeps showing up at the ob/gyn. Sometimes you just have to treat delusion with delusion."

"Brilliant," said the nurse, as she took off her scrubs and let the wise old doctor have his way with her on top of his desk, which was their custom on Wednesdays when he could stay late at work while his wife attended her weekly bridge game.

He looks like Vladislav Kardashev, a Russian man who was somehow talked into signing up to be a mail order groom by his sister, Masha, who had grown old and fat as a spinster and was determined not to have her shy, sensitive younger brother suffer the same fate.

"In America, you find movie star to adopt you, like Angelina," she said as she filled out the paperwork while Vladislav sat quietly next to her, stroking his cat, Sergei.

"A man must be with woman, share bed, make babies," Masha said as she filled out Sergei's basic information, checking the box next to "thin" under the section "Body Type" rather than being truthful. She figured a woman purchasing a husband through the mail should not be a stickler when it comes to minor discrepancies. Vlade meanwhile, was looking out the window, hoping to catch the young boys from the nearby primary school passing by on their way home. He had a particular fondness for the slight, dark-haired timid boy who always walked alone, far behind the laughing, playful group.

"You deserve to be happy, Vlade. Do not let your life waste like mine."

Though Vlade had stoically stayed by her side and been her constant companion ever since their parents had died while they were both young, she always did feel that her inability to find marital companionship should not also obligate her younger brother to a lifetime of bachelorhood. But to be honest, there was a larger ulterior motive for this plan--she had heard from her neighbor Raina, that she had been paid 250,000 rubles for her son Boris by a lonely American widow living in Florida. And despite occasional worries about not having heard from Boris since he left for America, she now lived comfortably by her neighbor's standards. Masha hoped Vlade would fetch close to the same amount, as she had her heart set on a liposuction operation that would cost 120,000 rubles and maybe an extensive facial hair removal procedure with the remaining funds in hopes of pleasing the eye of the charming postman who had once told her she would not be so repulsive if she didn't look like a cow.

When the letter from the service arrived and stated that a woman named Sarina was interested in Vlade, Masha insisted he accept the offer. Sarina was looking for a loyal, virile man to be her companion and was willing to pay a hefty fee that would afford Masha her surgery and then some.

Vlade obediently accepted and headed off to Beverly Hills, California, where he discovered Sarina not to be the exotic, dark-haired young woman in the picture that had come with the offer, but an old, demanding Iranian woman who kept him in her house as a house boy and who often whimpered in her sleep. He did not mind though, as he had been able to take with him his faithful companion, Sergei, and he spent most of his days laying in bed in his boxers, dreaming of a fantasy life of friendship, hand-holding and secret-sharing with the slight, dark-haired timid boy he had seen walk by his house so many afternoons in his memory.

They look like members of the devout Christian missionary group, Ready for Rapture, on their way to Israel to promote understanding of the impending battle of Armageddon and to teach non-believing Jews that those who don't convert will suffer eternal damnation while those who believe will be sent to heaven, leaving a pile of their clothes behind. To their euphoria, the Rapture occurred while they were in midflight, bringing to fruition the event to which they had dedicated their entire lives. To their chagrin, it was their clothes, not their souls, that God was ultimately interested in.

She looks like she's surprised to say, the number of table accessories that she can stick up her cooter is limited to nine. He's determined that she can handle at least one more.

He looks like he just discovered that getting crabs from a teenage prostitute in Thailand ain't no joke...