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Zack: Alright! Porn fan art for the Simpsons back when they were just shorts on the Tracey Ullman Show!
Dr. Thorpe: They all have blank, confused expressions on their faces. It's as if the artist drew them in that position and then suddenly granted them awareness, and this is the instant that they began to take in the situation that they'd been placed in.
Zack: Yeah, Lisa particularly seems to have just recognized the horror that has been thrust upon her. I think if you're imagining stuff like this while you watch the Simpsons you probably don't actually like the Simpsons.
Dr. Thorpe: I have to assume that people are just making these images as juvenile jokes, because thinking about someone getting aroused by this just flips my dome. I mean, would they come up with back stories about why Bart and Lisa and Maggie ended up having sex, or would they just take it for granted that they do have sex and imagine them in the act?
Zack: I had done my best not to think about this stuff as genuine attempts at eroticism, but now that you mention it, you're probably right. On the other hand, some people devote an awful lot of their life to this stuff. Like some old guy who should be building model trains in his basement or something is spending his golden years drawing pictures of a yellow baby performing oral sex. He has hundreds of these drawings. It's a mania. I find it hard to fathom there not being some degree of sexual dysfunction behind that.
Dr. Thorpe: And I'm sure he's thrilled by the "I'm not alone!" factor that the internet provides. As long as there's more than one person who shares your perversion, it's legitimate.
Zack: Yeah, there are no doubt many enclaves on the Internet creating feedback loops in which retirees are trying to one-up each other with the cast of Hey, Arnold! and lactation. Let's move on, because this conversation has taken a turn for the depressing.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
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
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.