Zack:Futuro y Policia Androiderro
Dr. Thorpe:Looks like we've left our lighthearted action-comedies behind and moved into the real A-list fare.
Zack:The future of Mexico is pretty much the United States twenty years earlier. There will be a scene where the guy is playing Space Invaders and marveling at Informacion Compacto Discos.
Dr. Thorpe:This is supposed to take place in the future? I figured it was the Mexican version of COPS. The woman on there is obviously a surly lesbian cop thrown into a slapdash prostitute costume for a motel sting.
Zack:Hmmm, you could be right. Like I said, the future of Mexico looks a lot like the United States twenty years earlier. If that guy has a big 8-ball on that leather jacket underneath the sticker then you know it's science fiction. Arsenio Hall is probably even in the movie.
Dr. Thorpe:This looks like a movie about a Tex-Mex bar band whose bassist gets killed by a transsexual prostitute, and then the singer and guitarist have to hunt her down POR VENGANZA!
Dr. Thorpe:Asesino is Spanish for "Arsenio."
Zack:is VENGANZA "vagina"? Arsenio for Vagina? Maybe they have to swap Arsenio for a female hostage.
Dr. Thorpe:I think you've got it. Our swarthy hero puts an X on his sleeve every time he sloppily kisses a leathery boob during a dimly-lit sex scene.
Zack:His jacket is going to look like a misprint at the Spaghetti-Os cannery. He's going to need a new one by the time this movie is over. I can feel it. "Bandoleros y leche de 'X'"
Dr. Thorpe:Yeah, he gets so much VENGAZA in this movie that the pile of leopard-print lycra hotpants next to his bed starts to look like a melted prostitute.
Zack:Every time he throws a new pair on the pile a slide-whistle will play and Arsenio will lift his head up from inside the pile like Oscar the Grouch.
Dr. Thorpe:And then we'll be treated to another sickening scene of this guy raking his pubey mustache across a gigantic areola while Los Guardias play a tender synthesizer interlude. It's just impossible to look at the cover of a movie this cheap and sleazy without imagining how nauseating the sex scenes must be.
Zack:Roughly as erotic as those Lucite blocks of heartworms they have at the veterinarian's office.
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.