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Dr. Thorpe: I've always had a real problem finding Betty Boop attractive, and this picture isn't helping. I think my main problem is that she has a pelvis for a skull.
Zack: She's always rolling her eyes too. If you have eyes that big you don't roll them around all willy-nilly. It's like using a commercial grade slide projector to show a picture of you giving an audience the finger.
Dr. Thorpe: But apparently her anatomical irregularities extend far beyond that, judging by her extremely walleyed and protrusive nipples and her front-facing vagina.
Zack: Her vagina is forward-facing because she's a sexual predator. She looks like she's hanging out at a running track built inside of a colorblind old woman's bedroom.
Dr. Thorpe: Yeah, you'd think a hipster like Betty Boop could find wallpaper that didn't look like a product of the late-nineties fractal craze.
Zack: Is she supposed to have some sort of membranous purple wings or did a giant psychedelic leaf just fall on top of her?
Dr. Thorpe: I think part of the fractal has become sentient and is about to consume her. She's not rolling her eyes, she's doing that horror movie thing where she thinks something bad is going on behind her but she's not actually going to look, she's just going to stop for a second and sort of look around the peripheries of her vision without making too much effort to find out what's wrong.
Zack: I had mistaken those big golden discs for earrings, but they don't look like they attach to anything. If you look at them the right way they are the eyes for the purple fractal monster about to consume her. Normally I might empathize with her plight, but frankly the wallpaper can fucking have her.
Dr. Thorpe: Good move. Never side against fractals or you'll be next.
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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.