Appearing In: Street Fighter 3 (Multi)
Thanks: Justin Hayabusa
Zack:If one of those split-gender costume people ever needs to pray to a god, here he/she is.
Dr. Thorpe:Somehow a bikini-cut Ace bandage is more offensive than just going nude. It makes you think that something terrible is hiding beneath it, like disgusting inhuman genitals that look like a sea anemone.
Zack:Yeah, it really disrupts the bizarre lines of Gill's physique. Giant feet, huge thighs, waspish waist, huge arms and hands, tiny head, massive girlish country-singer hair and it's all joined together beneath this ugly gauze wrap.
Dr. Thorpe:I'm glad you said "country-singer hair" because I can't shake the feeling that this guy is a redneck.
Zack:Yeah, that tiny third eye probably opens into some dimension where Hank Williams Senior and Dale Earnhardt are sitting around on milk crates seeing who can spit farther.
Dr. Thorpe:I think the third eye is some sort of mystical compass that leads him to sporting goods stores where he can find size forty-eight shoes. I can imagine him working at the carnival, making frozen bananas with his left side and hand-dipped corndogs with his right.
Zack:He probably talks in some over-amped Dragon Ball Z breathlessly exerting voice but with a hint of a twang. "Ya'll waaaant a FRIED PICKKKLEEEE!?," and then he's surrounded by a corona of pure energy.
Dr. Thorpe:Gosh, I hope he changes that bandage pretty often. I bet he gets a little gamey on the hot side.
Zack:Really that bandage implies that he has some sort of wound under there. Mayhap he's a freshly made eunuch? Some sort of harem guard for a guy who likes his girl side hot and his lettuce crisp and cool. Fire for the harlots and ice for the perishables.
Dr. Thorpe:And Robert Plant hair for BOTH!
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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.