Zack:Every time we journey back through the time tunnel the world becomes even more twisted. If we make this trip many more times you're all going to be dinosaurs who live in tree houses. Also, to any Secret Service agents that might read this: we are both VERY happy that the President was not shot by the DC sniper. We both love the President very much. Perhaps more than marriage laws allow.
Dr. Thorpe:This time around, we're looking at some miscellaneous fashion horrors from the sixties through the eighties. And when I say "horrors," I mean it literally: be prepared for murderous robots, rec-room pedophiles, and a woman torn apart by wildlife.
Zack:Try to picture this woman as a young and vibrant person, dressed in sexy fashionable clothes. Then show the man at her side this picture and see how long it takes him to run for his life.
Dr. Thorpe:Jesus, it looks like she's wearing two giant felt neckties covered with cookie stencils.
Zack:I like clothes where the stitches are done with rope.
Dr. Thorpe:She just personifies everything that makes you shudder when you hear the words "arts and crafts."
Zack:I bet she has a lot of bins full of little beads.
Dr. Thorpe:Forget the vest, SHE looks like she was slapped together with paste and safety scissors at summer camp. Then some kid takes her home and gives her to his parents and they have to pretend to like her, but she just gets thrown in a drawer next to the buckskin wallet.
Zack:Her bulk will conceal old batteries and safety scissors in their drawer of least favorites. Loose broken crayons and empty stamp books will be her eternal companions.
Dr. Thorpe:I think the phrases "everything I wear is home-made" and "I am a virginal geriatric spinster" are pretty much equivalent.
Zack:I like that huge felt star in the bottom right. It makes me think she might fancy herself the sheriff of Michaels Crafts. But she didn't stop the sniper did she? At the sound of gunfire she just ambled out with her bead bins and stared down in horror at a headshot bleeding out on the uncaring black asphalt outside Michaels.
Dr. Thorpe:If she's the only thing standing between Michaels and a terrorist takeover, then Michaels has a lot to worry about once they hit the top of the terrorist "to do" list, which fortunately will be in about ten thousand years. Except for snipers, of course. Those sons of bitches will shoot anybody, anywhere, any time.
Zack:Except the president. I mean he was even in DC and everything!
Dr. Thorpe:Yeah, where are they when we need them most? This conversation is now bordering on illegal.
Zack:We walk edges that fashion hasn't even dreamt of.
Dr. Thorpe:This old Protestant crone is making me sick. Should we move on?
Zack:Her smile is the opposite of intoxicating.
"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.