Zack: Topping the list of articles of clothing least likely to be worn by a heterosexual man this season...
Dr. Thorpe: Now featuring the EZ-pull cock exposure ziptab!
Zack: The world's most horrible hand grenade.
Dr. Thorpe: An explosion of sweaty leather-scented maleness.
Dr. Thorpe: This guy is worried that his shorts don't broadcast the message clearly enough, so he has to go to the beach and lean on dudes until one of them doesn't pretend not to notice him.
Zack: "Hmmm, let me see, red faux captain's hat, a red peasant shirt and some leather short shorts with a pull ring zipper. Hmmmm, yes. The perfect outfit for my last day of Navy SEAL training."
Dr. Thorpe: I feel sorry for the blonde guy, he's just standing there going "yep, just a day at the beach, absolutely nothing going on behind me, just standing here lookin' good. Nothing at all happening here." All the while thinking "please go away, please please please please please..."
Zack: I would feel sorry for the blonde guy, but I'm honestly having trouble imagining a scenario where these two guys don't have gay sex that doesn't involve some sort of meteorite or sudden pterodactyl attack.
Dr. Thorpe: You're only saying that because your imagination is built for one thing and one thing only: picturing gay sex.
Zack: Also gay sex being interrupted by dinosaurs.
Dr. Thorpe: God, you are such a homophobe.
Zack: Hey, God created the dinosaurs to punish the gays. It's right there in Leviticus. "He who shall know another man so shall know the cruel talons of the raptor. Thus spake Jesus and then Jesus cast polymorph self and transformed into a bugbear. The sodomites scattered."
Dr. Thorpe: "And upon the sodomites was cast a plague of giant serpents who did rend them during their coupling. And when their deeds were done and the sodomites were slain, the beasts were buried deep within the Earth, and their bones were unnaturally aged to test the faith of the non-believers."
Zack: "And the Lord did come down to Moses and sayeth 'ye shall judge your brothers and ye shall place those of unnatural sorts into the part of the boat alongside the dinosaurs. And lo, did Moses do as the Lord said and for 40 days and 40 nights there was a terrible screaming as the sodomites fell to the wanton claws of the dinosaurs."
Dr. Thorpe: "And Jesus did attain level sixteen, unlocking two feats of immeasurable power."
Zack: If Theodore Roosevelt hadn't killed off the last of the dinosaurs I wonder if they would be marrying gays in this crazy mixed-up modern world. I wonder if it's a sin for a dinosaur to have an abortion.
Dr. Thorpe: I wonder if human bones will age really, really rapidly and futuristic archeologists will dig us up and think that we lived 900 billion years ago and wildly miscalculate the age of the Earth based on it and royally piss off God yet again and get killed by hurricanes and other such acts of divine wrath?
Zack: Yeah, I wonder about that too. I watch forensic files quite a bit and they never seem to find a patch of oil at a crime scene. It's always skeletons, rotten corpses and traces of blood. If our bones decayed like dinosaur bones it would make crime scenes a lot more happy. No more "oh no, another dead hooker" it would be "hooray, another three gallons of crude oil!"
Dr. Thorpe: "No, this can't be the body we're looking for. This man died two million years ago."
Zack: "Call in the archaeologists. We found another fossil wrapped up inside a carpet remnant."
Dr. Thorpe: "Amazing. This corpse predates human civilization, but he's holding a cell phone!"
Dr. Thorpe: No wonder monks have to sequester themselves in bare rooms and think all day, or whatever. This is difficult material.
Boats! They're great. But what should we name them? Let's find out...
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.