Ritz Satin Shirt/Tie Combo
Dr. Thorpe:When God comes back to Earth, surely he will be a gigantic golden man.
Zack:Why do I get the feeling that his wine glass is full of Vagisil?
Dr. Thorpe:I was thinking the exact same thing.
Zack:The one positive thing I can say about the shirt and tie is that they might just save his life when he's bicycling at night.
Dr. Thorpe:That's positive?
Zack:As long as Powers Boothe isn't the one driving the car. Then he'll just see the guy pausing to squirt Summer's Eve in his mouth and slam his foot on the gas and not let up until the guy is a gold-flecked smear on the guardrail.
Dr. Thorpe:Yeah, Powers knows that those gold fashion sense genes need to be wiped off the planet for good.
Zack:He has a sort of radar or echolocation to seek this crap out. Even if you dazzle him with sequins or deafen him with your colors he's going to sense you like Rutger Hauer in Blind Fury and your pirate shirt ass is cut in half.
Dr. Thorpe:He was the bad guy in Sudden Death, and he said to this adorable young hostage "little girl, I'm going to fill your mouth with spiders." I'm willing to bet that was ad-libbed, and I'm willing to bet that he actually will fill your mouth with spiders if he catches you in a gold shirt.
Zack:Come to think of it, this is exactly the sort of shirt Steven Seagal would wear. Just add some turquoise Indian bullshit and a squinty look for the model and you could sell a hundred to him alone. He'd be looking off into the distance and whispering something about Great Crow and Powers Boothe would just upend a bag of spiders into his mouth.
Dr. Thorpe:I think Jean Claude Van Damme actually wore shirts almost exactly like that when he was playing the "dapper" twin in "Double Impact." Which, unlike Sudden Death, was a fucking terrible movie. Because of the shirts, mostly.
Zack:Yeah, but it was a wet dream for nightclub owners who would fantasize about not one but two simultaneous Jean Claude Van Damme lawsuits.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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.