Zack: Oh man, this is worse than Gumby.
Dr. Thorpe: What do you get when you cross Kenny Rogers, Bigfoot, and Grizzly Adams? The best movie ever made, probably, that's what!
Zack: To make no mention of the disproportionate rubber man they are bending over their heads in a blood-drenched fiery hell.
Dr. Thorpe: Yeah, his head is smaller than his hands. He deserves to be killed by a demonic country western yeti.
Zack: "Your giant boots displease us! Your feet are as big as your torso! Prepare to be bent like a pipe-cleaner!" This is probably the Indian version of Sesame Street. Snuffleupagus is going to teach us about numbers by tearing apart a screaming clay man in gay biker leathers.
Dr. Thorpe: I wonder why the right side of the Khatarnak is so much older than the left side. He's all grey while the guy on the right still has rich brown hair. Maybe one half is just really vain and uses Just For Men to hide his grey.
Zack: I bet it's in the process of reproducing. In a month there will be two of the one-headed Katarnaks.
Dr. Thorpe: Even if their hair is different, at least you can tell that they have an unwavering unity of purpose. They both just want to scream their heads off and rip a man in two.
Zack: Yeah, they really want to get the word out about this one. You would think being covered in hair and all they might be a little more cautious around so much fire. But they are just so focused on tearing that guy in half.
Dr. Thorpe: They had some PR problems in the past when they tried to branch out and do songs and movies and stretched themselves too thin, but now they're back to the basics and we can all tell that they just want to yell a lot and rip people in two.
Zack: They took some clarity classes from a self-discovery program at Bally's and now they are doing what they are best at.
Dr. Thorpe: And we can forgive them for taking a few wrong turns in their career, because when it comes to yelling and tearing people apart, nobody does it better than the Khatarnak. Even the guy who's about to get ripped up is rocking out a little bit about it, because he can tell that the masters are at work.
Zack: He knows he will achieve fame and glory in death that he never could have achieved by himself, all thanks to the magic touch and the hearty bellow of the Khatarnak.
Dr. Thorpe: The proportions in this picture are fascinating. The gay biker has one leg that's about a foot longer than the other and the Khatarnak has one arm that's way longer, too. In the biker's case it's understandible because the Khatarnak has probably stretched out his legs quite a bit in the process of ripping him up.
Zack: Well, if you look the big arm is on the same side as the old head so maybe as the Katarnak ages its arm continually grows in size. Simple biology. The more I look at this picture though, the more I bet the Khatarnak is friends with Santosh. Not good friends, mind you, but the kind of friend that you will talk to if you see them at the store and make vague plans to do something together that neither of you follow through on.
Dr. Thorpe: Yeah, the Khatarnak is pretty busy most of the time with his other head, and Santosh is usually out with some pudgy girl who he's going to talk up and then probably eat. And the Khatarnak probably thinks Santosh is a little sleazy because of the girls he eats, and Santosh is a little uncomfortable around the Khatarnak because he's loud and smelly. They don't dislike each other because they go back a long way and were probably on the high school football team together or something, but they'll just never get very close.
Zack: They were close in college though. Khatarnak and Santosh used to collaborate on some of the best performance art the pan-dimensional horror galaxy has ever seen. I'm talking skinning people alive and launching them into pools of tar with a big pink catapult while Santosh stomps on a floor covered with cymbals. The crowd ate them up. And then of course Santosh ate most of the crowd up.
Dr. Thorpe: Things got weird after Santosh caught the Khatarnak making out with its own other-head, and they just haven't had much to say to each other since.
Zack: What can you say after you see something like that? It's like every type of uncomfortable sexual situation rolled into one.
Dr. Thorpe: And of course after that the Khatarnak grew big beards to make sure everyone knew it wasn't gay.
Zack: I think they really drifted apart when all Santosh could talk about was the latest developmentally disabled fat girl he was seeing and all Khatarnak cared about was Linux and open source.
Dr. Thorpe: And they're both thinking "you used to be cool."
Zack: Neither of them would say that though. You can't confront a pan-dimensional monster when there are only like five of you in all of India. It will be all over the papers.
Dr. Thorpe: The Khatarnak is probably just ripping that guy up to show Santosh that it still has some balls, but Santosh is sitting at home watching it on TV and thinking "if this was 1988 that guy would have been dead in half the time and been in twice the agony."
He had a yellow inflatable tube around his waist, the kind with a comical duck head. There was a tiny fish in one of his hands, and a trident in the other. In the background a squirrel wearing shades was water skiing.
Republicans announce that all legislation must be voted on at 2am in a secret chamber, with no one but the lobbyists who write the bills seeing a single line of text. Democrats' Response: Stumbling around a field stepping on rakes, handles smashing them directly in their faces every single time.
For fans of meaningless awards, these awards are extra meaningless.
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.