Zack: She would be great to have around if you are running a roasted nut stand at a fair and you need something to dispense two different sizes of paper nut cones.
Dave: Boy, I just want to slop down two scoops of oatmeal in those haircones and have a healthy breakfast confection, am I right? Couldn't you just pop that belt off and use it to tether a hog?
Zack: I would love to use the links on her belts to raise a model car from an epoxy bay in my CSI diorama.
Dave: I hope to tell ya, Zack, the obvious utility of that snakeskin skirt would be to find a degloved python and reupholster the poor sonofabitch, am I not correct?
Zack: If you have a need to slingshot popcorn balls at children off a holiday parade float you could do worse than to tear off her bra and take aim.
Dave: One can only assume that the use of that fur boa lies in swallowing one end over a period of some days, and then letting it work through your digestive tract like a full-body cleansing floss!
Zack: Speaking of tracts, you could plaster and dry her upright hair stalagmites to form pretty accurate representations of the colon. I'm not talking medically accurate models, but for novelty purposes, like a Bar Mitzvah or a Viking funeral.
Dave: Ha ha! I sure would like to pop off all those little blue beads and stuff them one by one into my urethra, and then go to the doctor for a long and painful removal! I relish medical attention.
Zack: Not a bad idea, but if you want a real head-scratcher for the doc you'll need to unwrap those leg bands and cinch off your nutsack until it turns black at the bottom. That's how you know your balls are dying. You've got about a twenty minute window to get blood flow back, but the band will be so tight they'll have to scalpel it off without nicking your main testicular artery.
Zack: Not an easy task, let me tell you.
Dave: Well, I might as well let those bad boys die! Can't wait to grab those chunky wooden heels and pound those useless black balls until they look like pulped-up old mushy crabapples after a heavy rain.
We're not going to solve gun massacres with bad manners, people.
The guns are gone. Now what happens to all those paper targets? Don't tell me you forgot about the paper targets. The ones hanging from little clips on fancy clotheslines at shooting ranges. With no guns to destroy these legions of paper bastards, they go unchecked.
A sign proclaiming "BACTA: DA FUTURE" marks the town's medical clinic
1998: I upload dave.pcx, and change the course of history
Set goals for yourself, and fulfill them. Absurd! Only in video games!
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.