Zack: The picture on the left looks like a picture from some episode of the X-Files where Mulder is having a dream about his father and uncle confronting aliens. It would have some ironic 1950s song like Lightning Striking while the aliens put ear-probes in his uncle and then it would be intercut with Scully having a bloody nose in the present day.
Dr. Thorpe: Sorry, I never watched the X-files episodes that contained actual plot points, because those ones sucked. I just wanted to see them go out and bust some vampires and then everything is back to normal at the end of the hour.
Zack: Yeah, "let's catch this leech man who sucks blood from people and can change shape but...do aliens exist? Are they real?!?! Will they kiss?!!?!?!?!??!?" It would have been great if the final episode of that show was the aliens appearing right as Mulder and Scully are finally about to get busy and then Scully just immediately grabs an alien and starts making out and dry humping it.
Dr. Thorpe: So when I look at the panel on the left I see a guy saying "Dere 'e is, Chawlie, dat's the bloke what shagged yeh woife." And Charlie is at that point where he's a little to drunk to process it right away, so he just sort of turns and stares for a minute and waits for his brain to get around to making him angry.
Zack: "Cawwww, what's all this then, Mildred?"
Dr. Thorpe: And of course the bloke over there didn't really shag Charlie's wife, the little redheaded son of a bitch just loves getting in fights for no reason (as do all British people).
Zack: So that explains the picture on the left, but what the hell explains the picture on the right? The kid looks like he's just been working in a coal mine and why is he trying to ruin the optics of dad's precious telescope? Maybe they're using the telescope to play some incestuous and horrific game of spin the bottle. "No! I wanted to make out with dad, not you Billy. No fair cheating!"
Dr. Thorpe: And dad is standing there in the background, watching his little idiot sons laugh horse around, and he's ready to beat both of the little bastards into a pulp. See, this is the abusive childhood that made the redheaded kid turn into the conniving fight instigator on the left.
Zack: Ah, I get it now. I think you're right. This twisted and violent upbringing is the pot from which the wretched instigator grew.
Dr. Thorpe: All the abuse and incest turned little Billy into a modern-day Iago.
Zack: At least he won't suffer the indignity of having a Gilbert Gottfried voiced parrot named after him.
Dr. Thorpe: He just goes into a bar and finds some stranger and starts making up lies. "'Ey mate, that bloke over there said checkered sweaters is fer queeeeers." And then when he gets a good fight going he surreptitiously masturbates through his loose linen pants and then slinks away in shame and cries and wishes his father were still alive so he could kill him.
Zack: But he lives in such a small town that all of the adults catch on to his habits so he starts spending his days at the local grade school tricking children into fighting one another. "Oy, over 'ere me boy, that little scamp yonder called your mother a big bottomed ape."
I have used my bot to create Olive Garden commercials. This is a bot I have. Don't question it.
Following America's defeat in World War 3, allied forces uncovered a number of experimental weapon prototypes in the hotel-compound of Trump's loyalist Space Force army. Had the war continued just a few more months, these secret weapons would have changed the course of the war.
Are there arrows in Tomb Raider? "No. Absolutely not."
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.