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You Can't Judge a Brooke By Its Cover: Brooke Hogan is what you might call a triple threat. She has her own reality show ("Brooke Knows Best," even if we're still unsure what, if anything, she knows, best or otherwise), an album ("Redemption," which the Associated Press hailed as "lackluster"), and a menacing fist that implies we'll get good and pummeled unless we find something nice to say about her, oh, let's just call it an outfit. Thing is, we bruise like a peach and have a pain threshold lower than Jon Gosselin's dating standards, so we feel it's prudent to point out that her devil-red corset does a heckuva job of showcasing her overstuffed black halter, and her fused-to-her-skin leggings impressively manage to keep her lady business private (seriously, Ken dolls could take tips from those tights). As for Brooke's lethargic locks, they are truly one of the unnatural wonders of the world, the perfect peroxide-bred love child of the Nelson brothers' pretty blond manes from the early '90s and Daddy Hulk's bushy yellow mustache.