Dr. Thorpenstein: Ooh, yeah. I can get into that. It's the sexy, specifically male version of a chicken.
Zackula: No licensed characters here, just the raw eroticism of a rooster translated flawlessly into a skirt and leggings.
Dr. Thorpenstein: Oh no, did Tara show up in her sexy specifically a male horse costume? She's going to get ALL the boys, flopping its big polyester horse dong around like that.
Dr. Thorpenstein: What's up, boys? I don't produce any eggs and I'm ready to wake you up early.
Zackula: Awww you wanted to sleep in? Get your scramble on? Too bad, this heartbreaker is here to fight with razors tied to her talons.
Dr. Thorpenstein: Come over here, fella, my meat is stringy and gamy and I just wanna chase you around the yard.
Zackula: I can't wait to have kids with you so I can jump at their faces and claw out their eyes.
Dr. Thorpenstein: Wanna get out of here, big boy? Let's take a dustbath in a Mexican guy's yard.
Zackula: You think I look hot now, wait until you see guys betting on me in the back of a taqueria that was closed because of a shooting.
Hows about you, me, and five uncomfortable minutes in my basement apartment next to the dusty Christmas tree that's still up from my last visit with my estranged children.
The Upper Kitchen Cabinet Where Your Roommate Keeps His Food: You’ll 'need the footstool' to reach your roommate’s 'fine selection' of 'stale cereal,' but he'll never notice if 'only a little is missing from each box.' Feel less guilty by reminding yourself that Jeff 'acts weird around your girlfriend,' and always 'asks about her.' What a 'creep.'
This ain't your daddy's globe...! .... or is it?!
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.