Zack: "Oh crap, the science fair is today?! I haven't even started! I'll never have enough time to learn how to spell!"
Dr. Thorpe: It's cool if you don't want to let your mom help you, but this is just ridiculous.
Zack: I can't even figure out the subject. Making cyctials?
Dr. Thorpe: Even beyond the spelling, this kid just lacks basic design skills. Way too much white space.
Zack: Well, yeah, the most important word according to that layout is "THE" followed by "SCINCE"
Dr. Thorpe: 1. Boiling water
Zack: Hypothesis: I will get an F on this project.
Procedure: This bullshit
Dr. Thorpe: Addendum to conclusion: I also have to do 6th grade again.
Zack: This is one of those projects that is so bad he probably didn't even get the mandatory participation ribbon. It'll be him and the girl who just brought in a cricket in a carboard box that she found in the parking lot.
Dr. Thorpe: Hypothesis: Cricket will escape box.
Zack: I think the only way you could pull this sort of project off is if you were really cocky with the judges. You could fake them out so they think that it's some sort of double-experiment where you're gauging their reaction. Scribble notes in a little notebook every time they say something and have this really serious face, but then when they ask you a question affect a hillbilly accent and talk nonsense.
Dr. Thorpe: "Hmmm, we'd better give him an 'A' just to show that we're on to his little game."
"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.