"I bought this albino kangaroo jacket from a second hand market in Iceland. It was so weird that I had to get it! The cap is from Norway.
It's important to look strong - like old women often do.
One of my favourite designers is Daniel Palillo because his clothes are so big."
Dr. Thorpe: Now that Hugo Boss is in hell for designing Nazi uniforms, I bet Satan just sits him down and shows him pictures like this all day long.
Zack: "HA HA HA, Hugo, look at this. She said Daniel Palillo is her favorite designer because his clothes are so big. He makes clothes for Paul Bunyan. HA HA HA."
Dr. Thorpe: I like her little black medical bag. It's full of instruments to skin more yellow labs and bathroom rugs to make her coat ever more menacing.
Zack: It's full of box cutters to protect her from the other hobos standing around the burning oil drum. They covet her stainmaster coat.
Dr. Thorpe: She honed her fashion sense by watching that scene in Empire Strikes Back when Luke sleeps inside the giant dead thing.
Zack: This is pretty much what I imagine the Heaven's Gate people would have worn if they had lived in a colder climate. She's already got the track suit and sneakers on. Now all she needs is a UFO in a comet tail and a nice cot to relax on.
Dr. Thorpe: She's got that glassy-eyed acceptance of death that usually accompanies the death cultist, too.
Zack: "People laugh at my coat and talk slowly because they think I have cerebral palsy, but what does that matter when I leave my flesh-body behind and travel to the Next Level?"
Natural and supernatural horrors mount on an expedition to an island music festival for the wealthy.
With college finals approaching, it's time once again for Microsoft Word autosummaries of all the old, boring books you were supposed to read.
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.