Zack:Doing my Horrors of Porn reviews can be an existential nightmare, but people really nag me to do them. Fearing for my well-being, I thought that maybe by crossing the streams and dividing up the mental anguish with my colleague I could somehow apply the brakes to my fast skid into madness. I was wrong. So terribly, terribly wrong.
Dr. Thorpe:This week, Zack and I have gotten ourselves into some serious hot water. Somehow, talking about awful TV fan art seemed like a good idea, but it turned out to be a truly horrifying and soul-destroying endeavor. Which means we had a lot of fun, and we'll probably do it again sometime.
Zack:Today's very special Fashion SWAT features images that are censored but still may shock or horrify you. The bold or foolish may dare to click on the link beneath each image to see the full size and uncensored version of each image.
Click here to view the uncensored version
Dr. Thorpe: Look at those abs on Betty. Either she's been working out or she just caught a cannonball on her gut like a circus performer.
Zack: They both have a corona of electricity around them. They are just crackling with pent-up housewife sexual energy.
Dr. Thorpe: Yeah, the kind of sexual energy that compels housewives to just stand around naked in empty rooms together with their pets until inspiration suddenly strikes. "Hey, maybe I'll let this dinosaur lick my female gender characteristics. If it turns out to be a good idea, maybe I'll even tell Betty to do the same."
Zack: Imagine the invitation to come over. "Hey, Betty, do you want to stop by and stand with me naked in the center of the Lavender Room? See what happens?" Man, if that sort of line really worked on women college would have been a lot more interesting for me.
Dr. Thorpe: Imagine how boring it must have been until she figured out the Dino thing. In fact, she still doesn't look too enthused. She looks like she's telling Betty about a new kind of dish soap or something.
Zack: You know, we condemn this sort of thing as bestiality but when you think about it everything, probably including marital aids, were powered by animals in the Flintstones. Dino licking Wilma's ill-defined genitals is no worse than her using some dinosaur-on-a-treadmill powered vibrator.
Dr. Thorpe: Speak for yourself, I wasn't even close to condemning this.
Zack: It's so unsanitary.
Dr. Thorpe: They're consenting adults, right? And nobody's getting hurt. What goes on behind closed doors in their big empty rooms with their pet dinosaurs is none of my business.
Zack: It's a slippery slope though, buddy. You let them have their dinosaur licking and before you know it Barney has ten wives and a pterodactyl jammed up Bam Bam's urethra.
Dr. Thorpe: Easy there partner, you're going to give the internet fan artists ideas.
Zack: I think that's pretty much the reverse of giving them a new idea. I'll probably get sued for stealing some guy's intellectual property for describing that.
Dr. Thorpe: Now that I think about it, you've probably seen that exact image before. I don't trust you to be lucid enough to come up with something like that through abstract thought, so it must exist out there somewhere, and you must have seen it.
Zack: I passed up a bunch of pictures of Bam Bam giving Barney a blowjob because they were too well-executed. I would say because they were too creepy, but as you will see that certainly wasn't a litmus test for rejection in this article.
Dr. Thorpe: By "well-executed" do you mean they succeeded in arousing you? If so, kudos on your adventurous sexual appetite.
Zack: If you think that sounds hot you should see these graphic anti-abortion brochures I picked up from the ground during my weekly stop at Planned Parenthood. Those things were loaded with second trimester suction pennies from heaven.
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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.