As the newest hire to the Ghostbusting team, I have to ask myself, will I be an ethical Ghostbuster? Sure, if I see a ghost stuffing his mouth full of fancy hot dogs right in front of me at a ritzy hotel à la Slimer, then yes, absolutely—I’ll shoot a ghost right in his face with my proton pack. But what about the other ghosts whose crimes aren’t as clear?
There comes a time in every girl’s life when she’s approached by David Bowie to take an unchaperoned trip through a dry hell full of weird men and magic. [Ed note: To be fair, David Bowie took Mick Jagger on the same trip.] Supposedly this journey leads you through the conclusion of puberty into adulthood, or whatever. I remember the first time the Androgynous One came to offer me his crystal globes. I snorted milk through my nose and behaved like my generally unbearable self. And that’s the story of why Kat Greene doesn’t have boobs! [Ed note: Is that the trade-off? He gets to turn a baby into a goblin and the girl gets boobs? Shame on you, Jennifer Connelly.]