Dr. Thorpenstein: You know what? I've been pretty down with all these costumes so far, but this Fozzie dress is just not particularly trampy whatsoever.
Zackula: It has a classical shape, but I think they've outdone themselves with laziness. You're essentially dressing up as Fozzie Bear's head.
Dr. Thorpenstein: Sexy Only The Head of Fozzie. You and a friend can team up and she can be Sexy The Torso of Fozzie.
Zackula: Sort of a slightly sexualized Muppet Voltron.
Dr. Thorpenstein: I feel like this is only slightly too sexy to be an every day sexy Muppet dress. Like maybe your dad says, "oh no, young lady, you're not leaving the house in that Fozzie dress."
Zackula: *Gets out measuring tape and measures from the waist to the bottom of Fozzie's neck.* "Absolutely not. I don't care where Caroline's Fozzie torso starts, in my house the neck ends below the knee."
Dr. Thorpenstein: But as a costume? I mean, not even as a sexy costume, just a costume? If you go trick or treating, people will absolutely call you on it. "No way, you can't just wear your sexy Fozzie dress and call it a costume. Get the hell out of here."
Zackula: Now add Mammoth feet and we can talk.
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.
Thirty-two of the hottest Xmas dads!
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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.