Steve: Holy crap! You can see a lot of her boobs!
Zack: Hell yeah, Sandie Duncan is stacked.
Steve: Was she that chick with the glass eye?
Zack: The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.
Steve: Maybe she bought that machine gun in case he comes back and tries to take her other eye. If he did that he might leave her another awesome boob and she'd have to buy all new triple bras.
Zack: It doesn't seem like she's all that into bras. Is she wearing a cape?
Steve: Yeah, I think so, and she's got the bikini pants to match. She must be some sort of super hero.
Zack: Rove had Gonzalez put her in charge of S.H.I.E.L.D. after Nick Fury refused to land the Helicarrier on the DNC offices.
Steve: I don't know what any of that means except for the Nick Fury part, but I bet she could kick the crap out of Doctor Octopus.
Zack: He might lay her low with some heavy petting.
Steve: Did you see the Spiderman movie where Doctor Octopus is the fat guy from Species who had sex with the alien babe?
Zack: Was that the one with the artist chick with the unibrow?
Steve: No, you're thinking of the chick from The Rocketeer and that didn't have this dude in it, that had the guy who was the crappy James Bond.
Zack: David Niven.
Steve: Anyway, I don't remember what I was going to say, but this babe is totally doable.
You Will Read This Headline. Then You'll Laugh. Then You'll Realize You Were Wrong All Along.
'We’re going to be in trouble!' Little Sister wailed, clutching her favorite book to her chest and sobbing. 'This isn’t fun like a story anymore!' But Big Sister was not listening, she was thinking. She grabbed Little Sister’s book from her and ran into town, yelling 'Help! A book made me and my sister hurt someone!'
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.