Zack: Bride of the bobble-head homunculus.
Dr. Thorpe: This is a total "before" and "after" shot. That's the same dude.
Zack: Sometimes a man wants to feel pretty. Sometimes you just have to put on some makeup and a tiara, step out of Satan's claws, pop your tiny frame into a big prosthetic body and be the belle of the ball. It's also good to know that freakishly huge headed midgets still have good fashion sense. I absolutely love that powder-blue sweater and slacks number he's wearing. I think I even see little blue mittens. That's adorable!
Dr. Thorpe: Yeah, and he looks so calm and collected even though Satan is about to smash his precious little body. He's such a great mix of cute and dapper, it's like he can pull anything off, so it's no big stretch when he decides to be a woman once in a while.
Zack: The horror comes from the fact that he nestles his cute little body inside a hollowed out cavity in the neck of a decapitated woman's corpse. To be beautiful he must also be evil.
Dr. Thorpe: But the point is, he pulls it off. You can just picture those darling little arms yanking on tendons inside the hollow neck to make her arms move, and his little legs pumping like he's pedaling a bicycle to make her legs go.
Zack: It's a Cinderella story. Giant-headed midget wants to dance with the prince but he will never get into the ball with his tiny body so he makes a pact with Satan that until midnight he can inhabit the corpse of a beautiful woman and dance the night away. Of course we know this ends in tragedy when he dances too long and his corpse carrier turns into a seething mass of snakes as he is trying to flee to his skull carriage. Double tragedy when the prince brings by a glass slipper and it's like a hide-a-bed for the midget body.
Dr. Thorpe: Even if that's not the plot for this movie, which I'm 90% sure it must be, it definitely should be. It's a story that needs to be told. The only problem is that I had already written the first draft of a very similar script, and now I have to can it because India has beaten me to the punch again.
Zack: Was that the one you gave me a rough draft of a few weeks ago where you cast yourself as every male character and had pornographic scenes where you comb women's hair? The one with actress suggestions written in the margins and most of the women were silent film heroines who died twenty or thirty years ago? That one was incredible!
Dr. Thorpe: No, that was another script I was working on, "The Bacchanal of Illusions." That's actually getting made.
Zack: Oh thank god, if that one died I would be heartbroken. I loved the part where you comb the woman's hair for twenty minutes while you do a soliloquy that's just a paraphrase of the lyrics to Pass the Duchy.
Dr. Thorpe: The hair is a metaphor for rape, and if you couldn't see it, you're an idiot who doesn't understand movies. Also, for anyone reading this, I still need a guy who does a good Yogi The Bear impression to be the narrator, so contact me please.
Hows about you, me, and five uncomfortable minutes in my basement apartment next to the dusty Christmas tree that's still up from my last visit with my estranged children.
The Upper Kitchen Cabinet Where Your Roommate Keeps His Food: You’ll 'need the footstool' to reach your roommate’s 'fine selection' of 'stale cereal,' but he'll never notice if 'only a little is missing from each box.' Feel less guilty by reminding yourself that Jeff 'acts weird around your girlfriend,' and always 'asks about her.' What a 'creep.'
This ain't your daddy's globe...! .... or is it?!
Fashion SWAT... the fashion industry is obsessed with impracticality. We know that what designers create was never meant to be worn by the grimy masses, but that doesn't somehow diminish how ridiculous many of these costumes are. Make no mistake, they are costumes, and like a Halloween prize pageant we will turn our discerning gaze on the grievous fashion misfires of Paris, Milan, and New York. We're not pulling any punches, and we're definitely not interested in making any friends. We're Joan Rivers without Melissa Rivers to temper our screeching. We're the Fashion Police in jack boots. We are Fashion SWAT.