Dr. Thorpenstein: This, on the other hand, is not offensive at all.
Zackula: It's a celebration of Native American culture. Get your hot-bodied squaw to show off her wampum in this eye-catching tribute to Russell Means.
Dr. Thorpenstein: We respect the proud heritage of America's first peoples. You'll be woo-boo-booing around the fire all night in this Pocahottie costume.
Zackula: The only trail you'll be walking is the one that leads to the bedroom.
Dr. Thorpenstein: 100% of proceeds will be donated to Native American scholarship funds when you buy this sexy costume that's guaranteed to make your peace pipe stand at attention.
Zackula: Accessorise with knee-high Roman gladiator boots, a fantasy sorceress torc, and a woolly mammoth thong panty.
Dr. Thorpenstein: Loveum squaw? Bury your tomahawk deep in this sincere, cap-in-hand apology for our colonial oppression of indigenous people.
Zackula: Go as a couple with your man in our bare-chested expansionist white man costume, complete with contract for heap good deal on land, honest.
Dr. Thorpenstein: You'll be breaking hearts AND treaties in our hunky Andrew Jackson ensemble.
Zackula: Manifest your destiny to turn heads this All Hallow's Eve.
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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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.