Comment of the Week: Jacques Doucheteau
From Wednesday’s discussion about non-douchey male body products, Jacques Doucheteau weighs in with the Comment of the Week:
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I just use Fast Orange with pumice. Why? Because I have a real job and fix my own car/appliances/house unlike all the sissy boys that want to smell like daisy’s and little girls’ bedrooms.
Once a year or so the wife will complain that she’d like to go out to dinner without me smelling up the place with the stench of transmission fluid and bear scat. In these instances I use the old standby passed down from my father, and his father. And they fought in WARS goddamn it. English Leather. Big wooden knob cap, smells like über-musky baby powder. Basically, it’s man powder. If it adequately concealed the acrid aroma of mud soaked canvas and Jap blood, it’s good enough for me.
Rub a sprinkle of that in your ass cheeks to prevent the chaffing from all the hairy, sweaty, grunting sex with WOMEN you’ll be having.
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EDIT: Pic swapped out due to possible Vegas Trannydom. New pic is of America’s future. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Her breast implants scare me a lot. And not in a good way.
That Lynda Carter sure can pull some turds.
Genius. Pure genius. Son.
@’Sock: Sumbitch, I had to look at her again to see what you meant. But damn, Lynda Carter’s natural tits are bigger than the baby bolt-ons she’s sportin’. As with Ted, I too find myself frightened by them.
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@Jacques: Salty. Fuccen. Tears. Bro.
Addendum: Hell, the douchebags’ tits are bigger than the aforementioned baby bolt-ons.
No way those are bolt ons. Who would go to all that expense and pain to get tits smaller than a poodle’s?
Yeah, I’m thinkin’ those are emaciated titties – l’il rock-hard mounds of tissue devoid of all the pleasurable soft fatty tissue. A slightly distended stomach buys a first clue. Maybe the Wonder Woman checks dried up, just before the body started to?
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An’ speakin’ of tissues, Jacques, I salute you! You write fuccen poetry that makes me weep with pleasure.
If you are having hairy sex, make sure she’s not a dood.
Check under the hood, ya can dew that with your monster huge mechanic skillz.
….unlike all the sissy boys who want to smell like daisy’s and little girls bedrooms…
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Jacques brings up a good point. Masculinity is treated as a disorder in today’s society. When grade school boys are boisterous or aggressive, they’re hustled away to hidden basements under the nurse’s office and given a summary evaluation. The man-hating dykes on the nursing staff thumb through files and leaflets issued to them by The Machine to label them: Attention deficit, hypertension, incontinent, learning disabled. Thus labeled, they’re implanted with a microchip. The nurses then strap them to cold marble countertops, straddle these small boys like they straddle their Harleys, and administer heavy medications, mild electrical shocks and estrogen. Once “adjusted,” they cease interrupting class and become quite complacent. They grow up staying indoors and watching Oprah and The Doctors with their moms.
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It sounds crazy, but this shit is true. I saw it all on 60 Minutes one night while tripping on adderall® and ritalin.®
that is a man, not a woman
Whatever, s/he ain’t very pretty.
I can’t tell if the douche on the left is pointing at her “boob” mockingly or in a “hells yeah” fashion. Well played douche on the left.
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And both of these stains need to be doused in Agent Orange soap.
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@Hermit, if you don’t eat your meat you can’t have any pudding.
How can you have any pudding if you don’t eat your meat?
Dude. Someone hand me an X-acto, some hydrogen peroxide, and a turkey baster. That girl’s got a nasty looking pair of abscesses on her chest that need to be taken care of.
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Oh wait, nevermind. Bro’s going in with his finger to dig out the pus. He’s even got a can of
iodineBud Light for antiseptic use.@ Tard,
Real women have hair, though you wouldn’t know it if your sexual knowledge is based solely on what you masturbate to in Maxim and Redtube. Women that hack and scorch off the glorious tufts of wiry mammalian steel wool that frames their sex parts (either side of the titties, and a wooly afro down South) are not women. They’re damaged girls trying desperately to reclaim the childhood they lost when they first traded their body for a clove cigarette in their older brother’s best friend’s van.
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They mutilate the natural beauty of their bodies and advertise their devalued wares like day-old bread with the “$1 off” stickers, trying vainly to reclaim some self worth before their sexuality goes stale and moldy. But hey, all those extra bladder infections are worth never having to pay for your own drink. Right sister?
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You boys can have your little girls with no hair down there. I’ll stick with grown WOMEN, who are comfortable with who they are and the wonderful mat of pubescent growth that caresses their feminine features and says, “I am woman! Hear me roar as I leap into a perfect triple armstand reverse somersault open pike from the headboard onto your dick!”
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Nuff. Said.
Eh. I’m goin’ back to bed.
Now that my senior prom photo has been posted, I feel it’s safe to continue.
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The whole school system is in disarray. Our students are no longer educated, but indoctrinated into The Machine’s lye and hydrochloric acid pits, the flesh stripped from cartilage and cartilage from bone. When there’s nothing left but a bubbling, naked skull, the tiny cranium is pried open like a can of beets and injected with rainbows and unicorns, petty deceit.
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Bullet casings and condoms line the hallways, hungry rectums lubricated with fish sticks and lunchroom innuendo lie in wait in the bathroom stalls and janitorial closets. The Machine’s closed circuit camera winks it’s eye and grins, it’s administrators satisfied.
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Peering out from beneath the skirts of Nanny-State autocrats, the legless mutants click their tiny, sharpened teeth. Their tattooed skin is etched with angry, raised welts.
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Many miles away, bewhiskered, Yugoslavian matrons, their faces void of emotion, continue to beat their clothes against the rocks of a stream, polluted with spilled blood and nuclear runoff.
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Oblivious
Nice rant. I feel so much better now.
The nurses then strap them to icy marble countertops, straddle these little boys like they straddle their Harleys
“I am woman! Hear me roar as I leap into a perfect triple armstand reverse somersault open pike from the headboard onto your dick!”
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Sounds like your typical Saturday night at MO’s.
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I don’t know which is scarier…the original photo with the two tennis balls for tits or the take-your-cousinwife to prom photo that replaced it.
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BARTENDER!
Nothing like being the seventh wheel at the prom.
Joey Ramone’s autistic nephew and Johnny Depp’s “Pirates of the Caribbean”-obsessed XXY second cousin sure can pull some tail.
I still like my rubbing alcohol. Though maybe I have a special attachment to it because my old man left a dozen bottles of it behind when he passed away.
Crazy old man.
Should be the item description for English Leather on Amazon. Definite boost to sales.
Id tap Elizabeth in the white dress, shes a mess. FWAP.
English Leather indeed.
I find this most topical and bonerrific. Fucking rain http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xH-_9cwdLug
@ Nancy 5:56,
Did you say; If I don’t beat my meat, I can’t have any pudding?
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Well, after watching Rev’s Zepperella vid, the pudding flowed.
Awesome.
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I lost a good portion of my sanity and many brain cells listening to Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Deep Purple and Black Sabbath in my misspent youth.
So I posted the links to this crew and the Oompa Prompas under a facebook friend’s photo of he daughter & friends all looking very clean cut at a prom. I said she should count her blessings, ’cause this is what other parents have to deal with.
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She deleted my comments.
Pink Floyd?
@Hermit, with every comment I make on here there is a hidden reference to masterbation (except for that last sentence where I flat out told you.) Sometimes though you have to play my comments backwards or put them under a black light to get it though. And you just paid TheRev the ultimate on-line compliment, which is “I just jerked it to your link.” Enjoy your Tapioca on this delightful Sunday.
@Douchble Helix, I would have thought she would have been happy and kept it posted. Some people are just weird.
@Viagra, you are not necessary where I come from. Which incidently is Bonertown, USA.
The issue is that douchey products have achieved a sort of critical mass in which their prevalence causes inadvertent acceptance of them when interacting with other forms of socio-cultural items of hatred.
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This strange inversion occurs when advertisers attempt to incorporate douchey symbolism, yet this creates an odd realignment in which the hatred for the actual product and execution of the commercial result in a defense of douchiness. This is sort of what happened when some Cracked readers descended upon a Miller Lite commercial.
jacques is correct, re: hair.
that said, waxed labia make for easier entry. But I do like a hairy cooter. Otherwise it’s like banging some 10 year old, which is really fucking gross.
re: the prom photo above: sigh. in two years they will be in my 2nd year theory class. shoot me now.
@Troy:
No offense, but unless you teach Bandsaw Theory 201 that’s the only theory class they will be taking in two years?
There’ s a bit of baggery in the middle, but mostly I see lots of coral orange next to the purples of redbud trees. Color-bagged trumps douche-bagged.
Awesome! Viagra ads!
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But will Viagra help tranny hookers? as for the couples in the new-and-improved picture, none of the men have had sex with any of the women in that picture. Nor are the likely to score after this evening’s events without the aid of intoxicants.
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