Zack: Finally, a good excuse to break out my immense repertoire of horribly racist jokes.
Lowtax: I'm assuming this ad was translated from another language into English. Like, ancient Martian.
Zack: I think people learned their lesson about this stuff when it set Michael Jackson's hair on fire in that Pepsi commercial. It's not a good idea to make your hair so flammable that a stray spark will set it off like a roman candle.
Lowtax: Well in all fairness, I don't think that was Sta-Sof-Fro, I think it was one of their underhanded competitors, like Hep-Wonda-Gel or Slick-Style-Coo. And I think the Cenobites got to this woman too, they are pulling her mouth apart with invisible hooks.
Zack: She's wearing police tape so maybe she is going to a Halloween party as a crime scene where someone was murdered with crude oil.
Lowtax: She's like the black female Hulkster.
Zack: That headband is actually a water-tight seal to keep the grease from running down her face. Sta-Sof-Fro is indirectly responsible for ruining thousands of white shirts worn by people riding on the bus.
Lowtax: How is she holding the bottle? I mean, look at the insert, that's the bottom of the bottle. It's hovering above her hand.
Zack: This was probably a case where they tricked the models. They thought they just had wet hair and were posing for a shampoo ad but then they swapped in a bottle of Sta-Sof-Fro and turned them into walking fire hazards.
Lowtax: Is that "Stay Soft Fro" or "Stay So Fro"? Because the "t" isn't really implied so well.
Zack: I think it's more like Stasso Fro or maybe Stasis Fro, like it freezes your fro in place if you are being cryogenically frozen.
Lowtax: That sounds like a crazy scientist's name. "Hello, I am Doctor Irvine Stassofro. Welcome to my haunted mansion where nothing is as what it seems!"
Zack: "Don't touch the ghosts, in fact don't touch anything. Yeah, I'm going to have to confiscate lighters and matches as well."
Lowtax: "If you encounter a greasy version of Adam and Eve while you sleep, do not be alarmed! They are just as scared of you as you are of them."
Zack: "Remember to hold up your catch-tarps when the ghosts get close. It's like being in the front row at a Gallagher show, only the watermelons are full of gasoline."
Lowtax: I really dig the healthy red neon glow the woman and half of the man have. It's like they were modeling this next to the french fry machine.
Lowtax: "Curly fries are up!" "Oh you damn right they up!"
Zack: Are you implying that because they are black they are working fry machines? You disgust me. They are beautiful coloreds in the sassy modern world free to be lawyers, airplane pilots, or even presidents. Well, not presidents, but the red glow is obviously coming from the word Curl, so maybe they don't sell Curly Fries they just sell a product called "Curl".
Lowtax: Well please note I said they were standing IN FRONT of the fry machine. Perhaps they're ordering white people to make them fries. And if they ever run out of vegetable oil, all they have to do is squeeze a couple heads.
Zack: I don't know if the FDA would approve of that.
Lowtax: You damn right they would!
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
Ignore the hype. Find out how these games will likely go right or wrong.
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.