Zack: Oh no! Oh God, they've found us! They're following our pheromone trail. When hell has no more room the tan will walk the earth.
Dr. Thorpe: The walls have been breached, we're overrun! The sickening smell of iodine and Pez stings our nostrils!
Zack: A seething river of fangs and peace-signs, propelled by a singular inhuman lust for more tanning lotion.
Dr. Thorpe: Jesus, second from the right, second row from the bottom: She looks like an Ewok!
Zack: Wicket is hanging with a bad crowd. There are a few almost normal people mixed in there though. They are just beginning their metamorphosis.
Dr. Thorpe: Yeah, like the girl in the bottom corner. Her hair is bleached, but she's still pre-op. They haven't soaked her in chemicals like the guy in "Black Like Me" yet.
Zack: I imagine this pack moving down a street bustling with life and activity and in their wake it's just tampon wrappers, energy-drink cans, and sorrow.
Dr. Thorpe: And that horrible orange slime-trail. It will look like somebody poured salt all over a massive slug made out of burnt umber Crayolas.
Zack: The real horror is that there are obviously many more of them than those pictured. Their population was vastly underestimated by Imperial census. The ganguro are a power to be reckoned with. Bronzer power.
Dr. Thorpe: They're sort of like the opposite of goths. Dark makeup, white circles around the eyes, bleached hair, bright clothes. And somehow they're much, much scarier. Goths could learn a thing or two about true evil from these cats. In order to taste true darkness, you must trade in Bauhaus for The Vengaboys.