HCwDB of the Week: Ronnie the Rivethead and Woo Girl Kelly
Last week was a week for visits from old friends.
And by “old friends,” I mean legendary uberdouche mockworthy hyperpuds who deserve nothing but scorn and a good showering of epithets and mock. Like The King, The Starry Blight and Hello Kitty Hott, the legend that is Smoot, and we even found The Starhawk hangs with Hello Kitty Hott and The King.
But amidst the classics, we found a new and distinct pud macking on hott in the douchiest of ways. Ronnie The Rivethead, and the tastiest of party girl woo hotties, Woo Girl Kelly.
As reader DarkSock put it at the time:
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Ronnie, a veteran of the 2007 U.S. led invasion of Homoslavia, threw himself onto a Faberge’ Egg grenade to save his platoon. He lost the use of his left nut and eventually lost his taste for girls and barbeque; eventually diagnosed by the VA as suffering from Post-Dramatic Ass Disorder.
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DarkSock’s backstory is both metaphorical, as well as literal. Ronnie’s sagging pimple flesh and diaper, plus Woo Girl Kelly’s ridiculous hottness, was too toxic a combo to ignore.
A well deserving HCwDB of the Week coupling, and the last of our entries before next week’s open vote for HCwDB of the Month.
Also, props to Grampa Joel. Who still wins at the game of life. As well as Mahjong by the Ft. Lauderdale pool at 2pm.
Well done, Ronnie. Now, if you’re going to actually grow a mustache, shave that shit off your lip and let it grow in right.
In Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse news, clue 52A from today’s New York Times crossword puzzle reads, “Hairdo of Snooki of ‘Jersey Shore.'”
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Have we thanked you yet for the plague you’ve unleashed upon us, DB1?
Ronnie is so excited about his nomination and vistory that he just Poo’d his diaper … woo to woo!
Cindy smiled as the roofie she fed Justin kicked in; it looked like she was about to add to the cockk ring collection on her wrist.
BeJizzled!™
I heard a week back there’s a new sign in the asstrological calendar. I hadn’t seen the picture until today. “Ronnie the Rivethead” doesn’t quite have the same je ne sais quoi as Aries, or Capricorn, but it’s a helluva lot better sounding that Sagittarius. That’s just gay.
Since everyone except Sock and Mr. SS are apparently in a cave somewhere with Pfah and Plinky, let me ask a question: Is anyone else madly in lust with the librarian hott in the Rhapsody ads? She makes me want to download thousands of Jack Johnson songs. Or whatever other milquetoast Adult Alternative music that’s happening these days.
Seriously, were I to meet a Ronnie in person, I’d be tempted to walk up to his, open hand slap the rivets on his head repeatedly, and ask, “Seriously, douchebag, doesn’t that hurt?”
Ronnie appears to be wearing a diaper of sorts. Only acceptable if you are a baby, an old incontinent person, or you eat a lot of Indian food. Like a lot.
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If this new bedazzled face trend on douches continues, I’ll be bedazzling my gun in my mom’s basement, with Cheeto breaks of course. Gotta feed the fire with something, might as well be delicious cheesy goodness.
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Congrats Ronnie, when your balls drop and you stop raiding your sister’s jewel box, give me a call. I’ll forward you to my friend Greek God Like Bodies and Masculine Features. That guy needs the hookup on the 24-7 reg down low like no other gay dude I know. And I know a lot of gay dudes!
@ Mr. White,
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Would that I were in a cave. I flew in to Quebec City last night around 10 for a nice three-day run of meetings. It’s f*cking penguin popcicle cold up here! It’s also my fourth week in a row of travel away from the wife and tatar totts. For those of you born under the asstrologica sign of Ronnie (newest sign in the Bro’diak, look it up), that means I have a joooooob. I make muuuu-neeeeeey, you know, the stuff your parents give you after you bitch and whine for hours on end, the stuff that when yuou give it to people they give you glasses of liquor, or shiny shirts, or tattoos in wierd places. Except where you buy one glass of club swill I buy rounds of quality whiskey. Where you buy a shirt that make people snicker behind your back, I buy shirts that nobody gives a f*ck about because they care about me, the person IN the shirt.
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Did I mention its f*cking rock tit cold up here?
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And Rhapsody Librarian Hott should be ashamed for dancing with a circus chimp. That’s just animal cruelty.
Let’s face it.
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If Kelly Hott told me to bedazzle my face and wear a diaper, I do it just for a chance to sniff the curry powdered taint of the Pakistani mother that bore the one-armed child that carved the copper alloy bracelet that Kelly Hott is wearing.
Also, there is a small chance Ronnie just arrived from an alternate dimension out of the Stargate behind them.
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He’s still a douche, but at least he does it to appease Ra.
@jonezy, I don’t think he does it for Kelly. Just sayin.
Yep, gotta agree with this one. At first I thought he deserved sympathy for a rapidly advancing skin disorder, but no, no sympathy for him.
Ronnie bravely fought through the pain and discomfort, and still managed to make it to the club, despite being peppered with bird shot while attempting to steal a cantaloupe from Farmer McGregor’s vegetable patch, the night previous.
I didn’t vote for Ronny.
You didn’t either.
Librarian hot makes me think of peace signs, Joni Mitchell, and patchouli oil. She also reminds me of nature bush, sweat, and bad acid trips. And by acid trips I mean locking her in the back of my VW van with the monkey and heading up to the mountains with two cases of Boone’s apple wine, a multiprpose tool, rope, and a dremel.
@Mr. White: I’d not seen those commercials before, but now that I have, yeah I have a crush on her. Huge.
Rosie the Riveter is rolling over in her grave.
She could at least show some sideboob.
In addition, there is a slight possibility of Ronnie just arrived from another dimension behind Stargate.
Raves were pretty phucing awesome till douchebags like this guy showed up. Then I just grimaced, scratched my head, and walked away.