Appearing In: Adam Warlock
Dr. Thorpe: John Kerry, having lost the election, retreats with a pained grimace to the cold reaches outer space. "Never have I been more orange or more depressed."
Zack: At least he remembered to bring along some drapes to spruce the place up.
Dr. Thorpe: Yeah, he brought his best Jamaican-print curtains.
Zack: His legs have melded into one malformed tangerine-colored trunk. He's like the worst popsicle ever.
Dr. Thorpe: You're in space, Adam Warlock. Your cape isn't going to catch on anything. You don't have to hold it while you fly around. Just set it free.
Zack: It looks like he is curtsying. Possibly to some sort of dashing space bachelor. "Do you like my cape, Xugdor? I made it from a pattern my meemaw bought from the Sears catalog."
Dr. Thorpe: He's in no condition for courting. He put on way too much instant tan, and he burst the blood vessels in his eyes from grimacing too hard. But maybe Xugdor will look past all that and just be impressed by his WWF Champion belt.
Zack: He's wearing a truss like Dr. Bong's. What is it with these guys and their support garments?
Dr. Thorpe: You get lots of hernias when you lift your big heavy cape all day.
Zack: That might explain the pained expression. Of course he is also flying around in space without a space suit, so that also could have something to do with it.
Dr. Thorpe: Yeah, it would suck to fly all the way out into space and then realize that your only power are your devious mind and love of clocks (which are the two most common powers in the comic book world).
Zack: For some reason I am just picturing this guy as a huge baby. Like he just slammed the airlock closed after a fight with his grimacing orange mother and now he's zipping back and forth through space in impotent teen rage. "GOD SHE DOESN'T UNDERSTAND ME. SHE WILL NEVER KNOW MY CLOCKS. OR THE WAY MY DEVIOUS MIND WORKS. I HATE HER!"
Dr. Thorpe: "SHE TORE DOWN ALL MY BOB MARLEY POSTERS! JUST FOR THAT, I'M GOING TO WEAR THIS JAMAICAN FLAG FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!"
Zack: "I'LL SHOW HER, I'LL TURN HER BEST SPOONS INTO BOOTS!" Other than his devious mind and love of clocks, what do you think this crybaby's powers are?
Dr. Thorpe: He can generate gigantic chocolate cookies in midair beside him. He can also grimace hard enough to cause himself physical harm.
Zack: My guess is that he can go out in space without a space suit and he dies more slowly than a normal person would. Only a few seconds or so, but man, those few seconds are awesome. Just huge cookies and the Dead Kennedy's logos everywhere.
Dr. Thorpe: And the ultimate form of I'll-show-mom suicide.
Zack: He'll spell his suicide note out with those huge cookies. It will be the most delicious mortal sin since I fucked my neighbor with a Toblerone.
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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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.