Zack: This is a perfectly "street" outfit as long as you only plan to navigate a series of chutes.
Dr. Thorpe: I'm getting an 'execution' vibe from this outfit that I really like.
Zack: Really? I was thinking more Dr. Seuss. Sort of a Horton Hears a What the Fuck!?
Dr. Thorpe: It's hard to think of anything to say about this garment, because the picture really just says it all. And it's all in some other language, and the only words we can pick out are "death" and "urine."
Zack: In some dark alternate universe where we haven't industrialized textiles there are proud American women knitting these for the inmates at Gitmo.
Zack: Believe it or not, this is a "stress position". They're about to get this kid to crack and tell them what Horton said. We'll see what Whoville thinks of a daisycutter.
Dr. Thorpe: Being that itchy is worse than waterboarding.
Zack: They can do that too. They just jam a hamburger in the mouth hole and start dumping mustard on your head.
Dr. Thorpe: That waterboarding joke was totally topical. Jay Leno, if you're reading this, gimme a call.
Zack: Yeah, that was hella topical, bro.
Dr. Thorpe: Somehow this kind of bondage is way more "dangerous" looking than the leather stuff. All that whips-and-chains Rob Halford stuff is old hat. Now it's all about the sexual menace of hairs in your mouth and static electricity and groin sweat.
Zack: The Information Age: we fetishize our ennui. Blowing noses, popping balloons, wearing giant wool bags. It's orgasm by a thousand cuts.
Dr. Thorpe: You just got hella philosophical on me.
Zack: Suck on that hella hamburger, Sylvia Plath.
Celebrate diversity and inclusiveness at your next protest by not calling Donald Trump a nasty little-hands pisspig bitch.
A true patriot has exactly seven t-shirts, with seven slight variations on a single phrase that tell one powerful story. This is that tale.
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.