Zack:Now we know that this whole gangurization process also works on fat British schoolgirls.
Dr. Thorpe:That peace sign is a little too militaristic for my liking. It looks like she's practicing her eye-gouging stance.
Zack:Look sharp leftenant, the priestess she-hag of one thousand tongues will be visiting any moment now. Get those knees bronzed for god's sake.
Dr. Thorpe:Just as a general fashion note: jeez, those white socks don't flatter her ankles one bit. Okay, I've finished my Joan Riversing for the day.
Zack:She looks like she has inverted knees like some sort of satyr.
Dr. Thorpe:I bet she has vertical goat-pupils and a love for hedonism, too. Hedonism is somehow even more hedonistic when combined with cardigans.
Zack:Especially when they're made out of human hair, and I don't mean cancer wig style, I'm talking U-boat socks style here.
Dr. Thorpe:She probably just looks a little thick in the legs because she's a skinny girl wearing the hide of some unfortunate California beach bum.
Zack:She's one of the infiltrators. When a ganguro can pass they send them into human society to scout and to weed out the weak, wounded, and sick. She'll be helping some old man across the street and the next thing he knows he'll be in an alley with five full-bronze ganguros slicing him open like a meat pie.
Dr. Thorpe:When they're done with him he'll be a cocooned sac of hair, teeth, and dry skin. The police will be looking for a giant spider, not knowing the true terror that exists in the city.
Zack:All the same they quake in their beds at night when they hear that shrill monotone squeal of feedback ringing down the sewers and drains.
One roommate's art-fueled movement goes terribly wrong.
Emma Stone was the most paranoid person I had ever met. In private she wore a full suit of medieval armor at all times, visor down.
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.