Zack: I wonder where you can buy a lace shooter's doiley.
Steve: Can we skip this one?
Zack: What is it?
Steve: Nothing. I just don't like it. It's boring.
Zack: Is it the backdrop that makes it look like she's posing in a Sears catalog from the 80s?
Steve: No. It's just lame.
Zack: Joking about the lameness is the whole point of this article, Steve.
Steve: She's just really weird and ugly.
Zack: That's not fair! She might not be winning any beauty pageants, but she's got that school teacher look going for her. There has got to be more going on than that.
Steve: She looks like someone I don't like.
Zack: Come on, spill it.
Steve: She looks like my mom.
Zack: Maybe it is your mom! Could it be?
Steve: No way, her name is Cassandra Sumner.
Zack: Is your mom a Republican?
Steve: Which one of them hates pornos?
Steve: She's a Republican then because she totally trashed my stack of Clubs I had in my closet.
Zack: Did she shoot them with a black .38 revolver?
Steve: No, she burned them in the fireplace and made the whole house stink because you're not supposed to burn magazines indoors.
The perfect addition to my living room. The hardy resin exterior is fantastic, because I can just hose it down to remove all the raccoon dung that tends to accumulate.
Now with the sun and the warmth and the generally pleasant atmosphere, you can no longer blame the weather for why you've spent the last sixteen hours sitting inside. You'll need to stay on your toes if you want to stay in your chair.
There's a new Tony Hawk game in town, and it has projectiles. ...?
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.