30s slang
“Those sweet patooties are right keen — let’s hoof it to the joint from West Egg and put on the ritz, pallies!”

Be sure to don your snazziest pinstripes and fedoras tonight, fellas, because the dishy dames of lady wrestling are getting all dolled up for a scrappy ring-a-ding-dong-dandy at the hooch joint and it’s gonna be the cat’s meow!

You’re gonna blow your wig when you get a load of a mick moll named Becky Lynch, a real looker who has gams that don’t quit and will make you wish she was your main squeeze.

Tickets to the catfights will run you a five-spot, but it’ll be a right swell wingding when you and your pallies set eyes on kittens like Nikki Bella, whose bubs are the bee’s knees, and Ah-soo-ka, the mysterious minx of the Orient. There’s not a bug-eyed Betty in the lot!

Think these saucy shebas are just a gaggle of pretty lookers or dumb Doras? Horsefeathers! A gal like Trish Stratus is hotsy-totsy, but can also pug it out with a sockdollager like a zozzled Reuben on a toot.

So don’t be a palooka, old boy! Hop in your jalopy or ankle on down to the speakeasy and take a gander at these dollfaces having a brouhaha that promises to be the butterfly’s boots!