Zack:The inside of that pumpkin is handkerchief!
Dr. Thorpe:Even his redeye is pink. This cat knows how to coordinate. But even so, my first instinct is to look around this photograph for a flight of stairs I can push this guy down.
Zack:Yeah, biologists talk about "fight or flight" instincts, but I think this guy represents an entirely separate third instinct where you just want to see him falling down stairs.
Dr. Thorpe:You have to wonder whether this guy has a sense of humor about himself.
Zack:If the Crips use blue handkerchiefs and the Bloods use red, what gang is this guy affiliated with? The Trisomies?
Dr. Thorpe:The famed militant white liberation group "The Pink Panthers," of course.
Zack:Someone had to stand up for the white race. We've been oppressed for the past two hundred years.
"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.