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Dr. Thorpe: Hey, this one is actually pretty hot.
Zack: This is just taken from a picture-based dictionary. It's the definition for the word "Marcus."
Dr. Thorpe: Somehow imagining that cyclops struggling around inside the other woman's womb is just really doing it for me.
Zack: Is she coming or going? You never can tell ever since the Japanese invented unbirth.
Dr. Thorpe: Hey, we all have some weird little thing that gets our motor running, and mine just happens to be aliens trapped inside wombs. And as far as I'm concerned she's going, because if she was getting back up there it's just kind of weird and I don't see why that's arousing at all. I like to think that she's trapped in there up to her neck and she's struggling to get out. I mean, that's what does it for me.
Zack: I like the motion lines around Amy's vagina. Like Leela is really gyrating and squirming around. It just makes it that much hotter. Amy is so happy about it, Leela seems worried.
Dr. Thorpe: Yeah, the power-struggle combined with the return-to-the-womb thing is what lends the picture its erotic poignancy.
Zack: I think the thing I appreciate most about this picture is the way the artist drew a shadow under Amy's left heel. Like "oh, one shadow is enough, I think I'll just stop there."
Dr. Thorpe: Maybe it's a work in progress. You can't just whip up a picture like this in five minutes, it might take a month or two of work to get it just right.
Zack: Yeah, this is like revision 16. In another month he'll have the amniotic fluids spilling out and the sheen of placenta on Leela's face.
Hey, have you guys ever seen a picture of a cat before? Well, guess what. It’s your lucky day, because I’m mixing the concept of a picture of my cat with the concept of the Internet!
Once again I'm stuck with a useless egg man statue and nobody to tend to my robust physical and emotional needs. Worst of all, the egg man didn't even come with a stool. I have to share my recliner and bed with him, and he is not sensitive to my needs at all.
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.