Zack: I think this is what a hillbilly means when he refers to a "varmint".
Dr. Thorpe: She has to do pull-ups because she lacks the physiological prerequisite for chin-ups.
Zack: Yeah, she's structured sort of like earthworm jim
Dr. Thorpe: WHAM-BA!
Zack: I wonder what she keeps in her tie. Maybe a really long maxi pad.
Dr. Thorpe: More zippers? I think when you unzip it, it just opens up the tie, like the fly on jeans. I'm not sure if it's supposed to be punk or wacky or some kind of fetish thing.
Dr. Thorpe: Like, are there dudes who pay top dollar to stick their dicks through unzipped ties?
Zack: If something exists then there is a group of men willing to pay top dollar to stick their dick into it.
Dr. Thorpe: Even her?
Zack: She doesn't really exist. She's more of an abstract idea.
Dr. Thorpe: So is her skirt. I think it's some kind of laundry-saving thing. If the crotch gets too gamey, just rotate it a few degrees, and voila! New crotch!
Zack: Gamey is probably a good adjective for whatever is behind every single one of those zippers.
Dr. Thorpe: You know, this girl comes from a tiny town really close to my hometown. If I'd spent a few more years there, there's a good chance that I'd be dating this girl, hoping that if I sat through enough bad poetry I'd get a chance to stick my dick through her tie.
Zack: We all have that girl back home with a tie we might have tried to fuck. That's okay though man, don't look back. We're in a big world full of big girls with big ties and big chins.
And you thought women had one-dimensional script intros that treated them like sex objects. Ewoks have it even worse.
No one seems to like the new Doom box art. But it's still the same old Doom Guy under that space marine helmet. Right?
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.