Zack: Budget cuts are hitting the school system awfully hard this year.
Steve: Columbine wouldn't have happened if this teacher was the teacher.
Zack: I don't know, Doom's power to corrupt is nearly absolute. I guess she could at least return fire.
Steve: She could shoot them back, but they wouldn't shoot her in the first place. Why would you want to shoot your naked hot babe teacher?
Zack: Maybe naked hot babes just make you angry.
Steve: Yeah, right, what kind of loser gets mad at naked hot babes?
Zack: We had this conversation earlier, Steve. Republicans.
Steve: Oh man, you're right. And this one is probably even more adult than the last one. It's not as bad as my Clubs, but it's pretty bad.
Zack: Like maybe Playboy bad.
Steve: I wouldn't even go that far. More like Victoria Secret bad. The kind of bad where the hot babe is wearing like a see-through mesh swimsuit but they blur her boobs so they look like a Barbie.
Zack: Still very adult.
Steve: Yeah, I had the Christmas catalog in with my Clubs and my mom burned that too.
Zack: It was a pornpocalypse at the Sumner household.
Steve: I had one copy of Club International in the space between my mattress and my bed. That escaped. That was all I had for weeks.
Zack: The salad days were over.
Steve: It was rough. Then Keith got me some floppy disks of animated pictures he downloaded from Prodigy. I had to get some weird player for my computer but they were pretty hot.
Zack: As hot as this babe?
Steve: Hot enough to stop Columbine.
Sir Mix-a-Lot's classic follow up to "Baby Got Back" has serious unintended consequences.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
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.