Let THAT sink in for a minute.
Thirty-five years of Wheel of Fortune, going all the way back to the days when winners had to spend every damn cent they won on tacky shit like ceramic dalmation statues and silver-plated peanut bowls shaped like fish.
That's thirty-five years of me screaming at the TV every time some idiot wastes their money buying a goddamn vowel, but it's also thirty-five years of Vanna's exquisite Caché gowns that are the epitome of GLAMOUR, her luscious mane of ash brown hair that takes hair spray like nobody's business, and a job so easy even a Trump could do it.
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