Dr. Thorpe:Well, this is certainly an interesting photo, but it's not what I'd call "street style," really. Unless she means "Street of Rage." I think she was one of the bosses.
Zack:She can breastfeed human growth hormone. It emerges from her nipples as a bloody mass of flexing tendons.
Dr. Thorpe:Wow, if only Joe C were alive, that sounds like exactly the thing for him.
Zack:I am extremely lazy so this is the sort of woman I should really start wooing. I could have her move around furniture and carry me up and down steps like a baby.
Dr. Thorpe:That would be the life. "What's for dinner, sweetheart?" "A dozen raw eggs, a watermelon, and three rare steaks."
Zack:I wish I knew what the street style comments for this picture were. "Damn girl, can you open up a jar of olives for a nigga?"
Dr. Thorpe:"Shit, dude, that haircut makes you look like... well, not like a girl, I guess, but it's a little bit homo, ya heard?"
Yeah, I went there. And I'll go there again. Don't believe me? I'm there ALREADY.
I stand with PewDiePie.
These all just look like normal cats to me.
From what I understand, this genre is about getting eaten by crocodiles. I excel at this.
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.