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Zack: Don't do it, Doug! There is nothing funny about this!
Dr. Thorpe: Oh man, Doug got Patti pregnant again. This is indeed a very special episode of Doug.
Zack: I wonder if the person who created this even speaks English. Maybe this is just another one of those sweatshop illustrations.
Dr. Thorpe: Yeah, a definite third-world vibe here. Maybe this is a cheap knockoff of REAL erotic Doug art.
Zack: This is like the kind of fabricated evidence that would show up on an Al Qaeda message board to prove just how decadent and heathen America is. Like a picture of George Bush's head Photoshopped into gay porn or something. Some Islamic group is producing shoddy fanart of kid's shows to paint the worst picture of the United States possible.
Dr. Thorpe: The punctuation of it doesn't really help the meaning of it. What do ellipses and then exclamation points mean? The statement is emphatic, but only after a certain period of time? She gets loud after she stops talking?
Zack: I'm sorry, I'm having trouble seeing what you're typing because all that bright green burnt out half of the color rods in my eyes.
Dr. Thorpe: Yes, I'm afraid that my rod will be burnt out from this long stretch of pedophilic porn, too. I think I'll go outside after we're done and just holler at women like a construction worker to clear my mind.
Zack: I think we need to ban kid's cartoons from having characters under the age of 18. If we don't stuff like this and...the...Rugrats image.........!!!!!!!
Dr. Thorpe: People would just make cartoon porn of the adult characters as kids. There's no getting around it.... .....!!!!
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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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.