Zack:"Wait until you check out this nigga's Beanie Baby collection."
Dr. Thorpe:"Hey yo grandma, get y'all ass over here and clean up this fake ivy and shit, it distracts the eye from my motherfuckin' miniatures."
Zack:"Yo, and on your way could you pick up my Woodstock and Linus stuffed animals? Snoopy be gettin' muthafuckin' lonely."
Dr. Thorpe:"Hey ma? Drag ya wack ass home and tie my motherfuckin' shoes, you left a nigga standin' here like a buster with his kicks all unlaced and you know I can't bend down to tie the motherfuckers cause my shorts is down so low my ass would be all hangin out and shit."
Zack:"Ma! Ma! Help me, my pants is eatin' my fuckin' legs and shit! My knees and my ankles is mergin' and morphin' together!"
Dr. Thorpe:He looks like Kid Rock's midget sidekick on casual friday.
Zack:That dwarf was the only thing that made Kid Rock tolerable. I could just imagine him on his tour bus lowering the dwarf gently into its terrarium and putting some baby mice in there for it to eat.
Dr. Thorpe:I like to think he had one of those artificial strap-on nursing breasts and he would hold him in his arms and let him suckle after the concert.
Zack:Whatever method Kid Rock used to care for his midget, we both know that the tender and nurturing side of Kid Rock died with the dwarf.
Dr. Thorpe:"Hey yo Kid, it's Joe, what's a playa gotta do to get some milk up in here, cuz? I'm fuckin starvin my ass off, my moms and I just hit up Halloween Boo-Tique and bought some little stuffed ghosts and now I just wanna lie back and get me some teat."
Zack:"Kid, come on, don't play me like that. I can't stand your pumped out bullshit tastin' like your fucking refrigerator. I need it fresh from your succulent bosom."
Dr. Thorpe:"Shit, this ain't even warmed up, you think I'm some kind of bitch? Bring me my motherfuckin' blankie before I bust your wack ass."
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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.