Dr. Thorpe:You'd look mildly disgusted too if you were the dude who ended up having to wear the turquoise one.
Zack:This is the Matrix circa 1973. Instead of wire-fu and bullet dodging you would have a 40 minute car chase and a big fist fight in a warehouse.
Dr. Thorpe:They're all looking for Neo, but they can spot him a mile away in his lime green leisure suit and sable coat.
Zack:Oh yeah, god, I forgot how all of the Matrix protagonists were dressed in the Wachowski brother's concept of haute couture. The horror of that happening in 1973 would have left scars on an entire civilization. Come to think of it, maybe it did happen and it was called Logan's Run.
Dr. Thorpe:There you go. And just like you said, we're still recovering from that one.
Zack:The two guys on the left in this picture work for the #1 rated realtor in the Branson, MO area. The two on the right work for the #1 rated black market organ retail outlet in Hyderabad, India.
Dr. Thorpe:And yet they all share the same sense of style. Why? Because they're all horrible creeps. You know, of all the things I might call these suits, "cool" would be last on the list.
Zack:Actually, maybe cool is right. I could see these guys trying to sell me an air conditioner. "This bad boy kicks out 500 BTUs."
Dr. Thorpe:These guys could be used as a color wheel for "shades of grandma's couch."
Did Louis C.K. jerk off in front of two female comics? And why are these ladies squandering an opportunity to learn from a comedy legend?
Elliot said my breakup must have been due to the sweater curse, an unexplained phenomenon where anyone who gives their significant other a hand-knit sweater gets dumped. The only way to break the curse, Elliot said, was to destroy the sweater.
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.