Dr. Thorpe:Is he wearing some kind of armor? I guess that would be appropriate, because he looks like he has some sort of inner ear disorder.
Zack:He's playing a post-apocalyptic hipster game in a juice bar. They fight over a hackey sack made out a shrunken head and then the loser is turned into a smoothie.
Dr. Thorpe:They say being a model is easy, but sometimes when you're walking down the runway you just lose your balance. That's why they invented shoulder armor for models.
Zack:Yeah, unfortunately the next day they invented trenches filled with spikes lining the runway.
Dr. Thorpe:That's why he looks so alert. He's in this one for the long haul. It's life or death in Etro's world.
Zack:Ten models enter, one model leaves. Welcome to the Etrodome.
Dr. Thorpe:The reward, should you live? An inch added to your beard or mustache. The punishment for failure? Death, or more plaid.
Zack:Man, this guy is pretty fresh meat then. That guy a half dozen before him must have killed hundreds.
Dr. Thorpe:Yeah, but you'll notice by his lack of plaid that he's undefeated. The guys with beards and plaid, they bear both the rewards of victory and the scars of many defeats.
Zack:Based on his stance he's either dodging or throwing some sort of snakeskin gladiator net at another model. Can they ever escape the Etrodome, or do they live their whole lives out beneath the hot lamps, their heart racing to the stamping feet of the fashionistas? They look to Etro in his bearded balcony and he gives them the thumbs up or down. This one has sent many a beard screaming to hell with his trident.
Dr. Thorpe:The Italian fashion industry is the last remnant of the barbarism of the Roman empire.
Zack:Just look in this guy's eyes. Look at that fucking intensity. He's going to have another few inches to twirl menacingly before the night is over. You know why? Because he WANTS it.
Dr. Thorpe:He is a swarthy killer from the East, dressed in the bright silks of his heathen homeland. He has come to kill the man with the biggest beard, and he shall not fail. His javelin will pierce the breasts of many bearded women this night.
I have raised over $300 participating in quilting bees for the American Quilting Bee Society so I think I deserve at least seven minutes of your time.
Ernest Cline, writer of Ready Player One, shares his newest poem.
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.