Zack: Joanna entered the giant clock and was never heard from again.
Steve: If her gun ran out of bullets it would take a really long time to get them off her leg and put them into her gun.
Zack: Fashion trumps reloading efficiency. In this case looking like the S&M queen of the Swatchwerks was more important.
Steve: I wonder who she is going to fight in the clock.
Zack: Charlie Chaplin and maybe a couple of the guys from Rammstein.
Steve: This is a dumb picture though, because why shrink her down tiny and put her in the clock? That has to be expensive. Why not just throw that clock away and buy a new one?
Zack: Maybe she's inside a stopwatch that is keeping time at a hotdog eating contest.
Steve: I would just start the contest over. It's not worth the trouble.
Zack: You have no idea how much money goes into the sponsorship deals of those hotdog eating contests.
Steve: I won a cakewalk once at a school fundraiser when I was like eight. That was a dollar per person and there were dozens of people, so like 40 bucks.
Zack: Totally different. Pro-cakewalkers don't get anything near the endorsement deals of a professional hotdog eater. Some of those guys get literally hundreds of dollars from a single appearance.
Steve: Think about how many clocks that money could buy.
Are we not allowed to be real parents anymore? We may have feared the CyborFreaks, but we damn well respected them and learned about boundaries.
A thousand years ago, dudes were dying from splinters, but now the wizard potion that cleans our light wounds costs less than a Dr. Pepper in 1994. I love this medicinal 7up.
Ron Paul spins in his chair, trying to grab his decorative antique musket but Freddy gets it first.
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.