Dr. Thorpe: Lady (or dude or whatever), your eyes aren't the part we're worried about.
Zack: Maybe they just got really creative with the rest of the censor bars.
Dr. Thorpe: I think the police put that on there to protect the privacy of the victim. Have you ever seen a photo that looked more like someone being forced into a "sexy pose" at gunpoint?
Zack: Well, there was that Lohan spread in New York magazine, but I don't think Ketamine counts as a gun.
Dr. Thorpe: I can't tell if she's posing or if she's in some kind of yogic suicide stance and she's about to exert pressure from both hands and snap her torso in half like a pencil.
Zack: There's something really disturbing about the door. Like this picture was taken in an office instead of an apartment. I can only imagine what sort of crazy German office isn't thrown into tumult by the emaciated man-girl wearing a pink wool tabard.
Zack: Not to mention what appears to be a giant year-old used tampon serving as a miniskirt.
Dr. Thorpe: If you leave 'em in long enough, they swell up and grow around you.
Zack: Only if you have whatever orifice belongs to the third gender that exists only in Germany.
Dr. Thorpe: And yet, even if that were true, it's still not as gross as her top.
Did Louis C.K. jerk off in front of two female comics? And why are these ladies squandering an opportunity to learn from a comedy legend?
Elliot said my breakup must have been due to the sweater curse, an unexplained phenomenon where anyone who gives their significant other a hand-knit sweater gets dumped. The only way to break the curse, Elliot said, was to destroy the sweater.
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.