Zack:Oh, this one is fantastic. "Gee!" is fucking right.
Dr. Thorpe:Jesus, look at the pompadour on Don Henley.
Zack:It's like Charlie Sheen with hair-only hydrocephalus.
Dr. Thorpe:No way man! Look up a photo of Don Henley. I'll bet you fifty bucks this guy is related to him. And look at the knot on his tie; it's the size of a fist!
Zack:Back in the seventies were all trousers cut so that you stepped on the cuffs constantly?
Dr. Thorpe:Yeah, and the creases had to be severe enough that it looked like you had four legs.
Zack:Four legs and two tiny hooves for shoes.
Dr. Thorpe:Imagine if you worked for some company and you needed to hire an ad agency and you sat down at a meeting with these guys. There's no way you could trust them. They look like surrealist gangsters in zoot suits. This crew has "taking our business elsewhere" written all over them.
Zack:"Ceci Gee is great for the professional, no matter what your profession is!" (From left to right) Jurgen Aschlo, Gestapo Interrogator, Greg Woolsey, Junk Bond Salesman, Michael Abramowitz, Entertainment Lawyer, Luke "Luke" Crowley, Knight In Satan's Service
Dr. Thorpe:Suits sharp enough to overturn any conviction!
Zack:Yeah, I think I've seen these same guys on the back of a phonebook posing in some library. "Have you been hurt by asbestos?"
Dr. Thorpe:"Buster Knox Bail Bonds - Two for one bail-outs every Saturday night!"
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.