Zack: Save yourself, Jesus will hold them off! But Jesus was wrong, nothing, not even the Christ Child, can hold back the ravening horde of Ganguro. This tattoo captures him in the moment where he realizes his error. He's blasting away with akimbo guns but there are just too many. They leap the barrier and they bring him down. He looks up, bleeding from his eyes, and they fall upon him.
Dr. Thorpe: Not even the son of God can save himself from being turned to perfumed dust by the Ganguro death machine.
Zack: Jesus died for you squad! Set the reactor to self-destruct and get Kincaid off this ship!
Dr. Thorpe: I think we have to assume that the Ganguro caused this, otherwise the religious symbolism of this tattoo is too baffling. Save yourself... from extreme pinkeye and silver nitrate poisoning!
Zack: Save yourself from jaundice and hemorrhaging tear ducts. I like the Greek curls the artist added to the beard and hair of Our Lord. It's very Zeus.
Dr. Thorpe: And the blue skin is very Dr. Manhattan.
Zack: And the mustache is very Freddy Mercury.
Dr. Thorpe: This reminds me of the artwork that extreme schizophrenics make in mental hospitals. This tortured blue Jesus is all the poor artist sees when he closes his eyes.
Zack: Yeah, that image seems grounded in dissociative disorder. Of course the kind of zealot who would get a big blue bleeding Jesus face on his leg is probably not too stable.
Dr. Thorpe: He's either some audacious hipster who just thought it would look cool or he's some nut ball raised on Mexican sorcery-Catholicism.
Zack: My guess is he's got a bathroom full of those candles in tall jars with pictures of the Virgin Mary on them. So Mexican Catholicism.
Dr. Thorpe: Their worship of saints borders on polytheism. It's adorably blasphemous.
Zack: I know, I live in a Mexican area of Chicago. Based on their observations this part of the city is built on miraculously manifesting images of the Virgin Mother. She's holding up overpasses, she's appearing in windows. Hell, they'll put water on to boil and fall down weeping at the shit that comes out of the steam.
Dr. Thorpe: God, I wish I was raised with a soul. The only thing we get to weep at is particularly affecting Sprint commercials with guys calling their dads to tell them "it's a boy" or something. There's no mystery in the world when you're a white, secular, liberal shithead like you and me.
Zack: I'm pretty sure our soul is composed of a series of toy commercials that ran from 1984-1988. When we die Hasbro does with us what they please.
Dr. Thorpe: I can't recite the Lord's Prayer, but I can remember the tune to the "My Buddy" jingle. "My buddy, my buddy, my buddy, my buddy... my buddy and me!"
Zack: Yeah, Matt from X-E will start running a series of Pop Churches for our generation. "For penance say three 'GI Joe' themes and one 'Jem and the Holograms' theme."
Dr. Thorpe: That would be truly outrageous.
I have raised over $300 participating in quilting bees for the American Quilting Bee Society so I think I deserve at least seven minutes of your time.
Ernest Cline, writer of Ready Player One, shares his newest poem.
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.