Dr. Thorpe:Wait a minute: cigarillo? Hamfisted painting in the background? Mustache? Dead stare? This must be the blimp pilot.
Zack:His sweater is unbuttoned to show off his dog-tags from the cardigan wars of 1959. No matter how much boron he injects into his carotid he can't forget seeing good fashion models die in his arms.
Dr. Thorpe:Nah, I think that's a Medic Alert necklace telling the doctors not to scoop out that eye, no matter how dead it looks.
Zack:Yeah, I think Lazy Eye is taking a break from directing his porno.
Dr. Thorpe:One eye on the action, one eye just takin' it real easy.
Zack:"Our clothes are all about relaxation and you're so relaxed that one of your eyes is taking a break."
Dr. Thorpe:I'll bet you five bucks that the doctor had this guy wear an eye patch to get his lazy eye back in shape and he was walking down the street and a guy from the Hathaway shirt company said "hey you, with the eyepatch! You're perfect!" And an advertising icon was born. "Air out that chest, we're all friends here. And don't bust your ass making your eyes point the same direction, just let those ocular muscles mellow right out."
Zack:"I'm just gonna let the other one check out this sweet painting behind me."
Dr. Thorpe:You know, this guy could be anyone. He could be a bohemian artist, he could be a successful businessman, he could be a swarthy Latin playboy, he could be anything. He's a chameleon. Which is why his EYES POINT IN DIFFERENT FUCKING DIRECTIONS."
It is standard procedure for the White House to have a synthetic. But it sometimes malfunctions...
This VR game has become sentient and is killing us one by one. But is it art?
If you think Hitler was good, you've got another thing coming.
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.