Dr. Thorpe: Oh damn, the grabber claw is never going to be strong enough to pick that thing up.
Zack: I think she's wearing a pie crust as a skirt.
Dr. Thorpe: That's because she's a human shepherd's pie. Inside, it's just layers of cheese, gravy, and meaty chunks.
Zack: It's too bad they don't make fishnet stockings in the size of her face.
Dr. Thorpe: Or washcloths, apparently.
Zack: But they do make tie-dyed cuirasses in her size.
Dr. Thorpe: That shirt isn't tie-dye; that shirt has stretch marks.
Dr. Thorpe: You know, I acknowledge that it's probably difficult to find decent clothes when you have extraordinary proportions, but it must be even harder to pick through that limited selection and find the single worst item of clothing for each and every part of your body.
Zack: It's like those old monster maker things where the monsters were divided into three parts and then you'd put a piece of paper on top and rub it with a crayon to make the stupidest monster possible. She is the living result of the genetic version of that process.
Dr. Thorpe: I wonder how the clerk at Walgreen's felt after he sold her that green lipstick. It was probably one of those "what hath I wrought" moments, like when Albert Einstein heard they dropped the atom bomb.
Zack: The clerk probably wrote a self-loathing note about how he was become saltpeter, the destroyer of boners.
Dr. Thorpe: Hey, here's a way to have some fun: imagine her applying that green lipstick with her lip rings still in, and the little bits of green lipstick are collecting in little goopy deposits around the rings, and when they shift around inside her lips, little clumps of waxy lipstick go inside the holes and melt into this goo that kind of trickles into the inside of her mouth and stains her teeth.
Dr. Thorpe: And then, if you really want to gross yourself out, imagine that you're looking at this photo.
Zack: Now imagine her at a club, sweating under those layers of clothing and inches of make-up. Her Mike's Hard Lemonades suddenly catch up with her and she has to go to the bathroom. She reaches into that swampy morass of fishnets and dyed pubic hair and sweat and pushes aside a pair of "BRAT" panties to-
Zack: I'm sorry, I think I'm going to pass out.
Dr. Thorpe: No, keep going, this is cool: my penis is almost entirely inside my body right now, I want to see if I can get it all the way inside out.
Zack: I can't. I'm having a chain-reaction of mini-strokes that won't stop until I close this picture out of my browser and then clear my cache.
Dr. Thorpe: Even then, your cache is going to smell funny for months.
Are you concerned that you may be a character trapped in a Tom Waits song? Be smart and learn the warning signs before it's too late. Also, it's too late. It has always been too late.
I'm haunted by a recurring vision of a skeleton flipping me off. To avoid seeing this terrifying image in bumper sticker form, I pay someone with a blank bumper to drive in front of me at all times.
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.