Dr. Thorpe: Marilyn Manson looks even more ashamed than that wizard, if that's possible.
Zack: If only Marilyn Manson had a tattoo of some other guy with tattoos on his arm it would be like turning the video camera towards the TV at Circuit City.
Dr. Thorpe: Marilyn looks like he's got a huge headache just thinking about the Escher-like complexity of the notion.
Zack: Marilyn Manson is sad about being a tattoo but his tattoo is laughing about it. "Now you know how it feels, asshole!"
Dr. Thorpe: I think Marilyn is squeezing his head to try to pop out the giant dent in his forehead.
Zack: It almost looks like someone else is holding Marilyn Manson's severed head.
Dr. Thorpe: The great thing about having a tattoo of a face is that on Halloween you can get a sharpie and draw a mustache and a hat on it, but something tells me the guy with the Marilyn Manson tattoo isn't capable of the kind of abstract thought that leads to great ideas like that.
Zack: Yeah, Marilyn Manson always struck me as having a sense of humor but man his fans are invariably humorless. They probably go as a dead body every single Halloween and then pretend to be hallucinating on a shot of Pernod they poured over a sugarcube.
Dr. Thorpe: He's just wondering if it's possible to go to the tattoo parlor and get it altered to look like the singer from My Chemical Romance so he can pick up this year's batch of high school girls at the mall.
it's hard to shake the feeling that I've always got five stars in this Grand Theft Auto known as life.
Now, inexplicably, season three is looming over us like some sort of dome. Season one's plot asked whether or not the town could get out from under the dome. Apparently the answer was "no". Season two asked "I guess we're really stuck, huh?" and the answer was "yup".
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.