Monday, September 24, 2012
"Bozies in Brooklyn"
This pic is an except from Michael Chabon’s latest McSweeney’s article, “The Time In That Bar By The Place I Used To Know.”
It’s a pensive and whimsical paean to a lost, mythic world of Brooklyn bars in the pre-internet age, written in short, staccato sentences that alternate between pop culture deconstruction and British literary L’Enfant allusions to the Amis/Hitchens years. And, of course, with the obligatory reference to David Foster Wallace.
EDIT: Since “A Chick in a Bikini Riding a Bike” was taken off YouTube, I took down the link. You’ll just have to imagine its awesomeness.
I literally did not see the scary-ass douche in the far right until the third time I glanced at this photo; then I literally shit a cold green monkey with a barbed-wire tail.
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WTF??!?
Jewish weddings have never been as good since Baby was put in a corner and Uncle Fester was force to pee on the dance floor.
Behind scary ass is the weddings benefactor.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Alphonse_James_de_Rothschild.jpg
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Chabon’s stories usually have a gay character but he went off script here and has two
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Dude on the right is giving “The Sparkley Eye of Dangle Love”
Some fine looking tit-tays right there.
Speaking of DFW, D.T. Max penned a bio, Every Love Story Is a Ghost Story: A Life of David Foster Wallace .
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Infinite Jest, still the best book ever…..
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Incandenza
The Twins peaks speaks to me as I would like to climb both sets of mountains.
Just finished Infinite Jest today, and it was one helluva ride… It also got me thinking… I may not be up to scratch on my Ass Pear La Plant, but considering that we have yet to see her face (correct me if I’m wrong), is it possible that she may be the real world equivalent of the P.G.O.A.T.? Cuz her backside sure is damn pretty!
Dude on the right is a nurse at the local V.A. Hospital who fondles old war veterans when he draws their blood. Then, in the privacy of the medical waste disposal room, he masturbates into vials of tainted hemoglobin.
Those Jersey funbags you could speed bag with your tadpole cannon like you’re fuggin’ Sugar Ray Leonard.
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Thats one smilin’ motherfucker, thats for sure, someone stuffed a dildo up his ass!
dems some nice tittays can’t argue that.
I haven’t seen that much silicone in one place since the time I had to seal the hot tub.
@hermit, gross.
@ I douche, therefore
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Just finished Infinite Jest, eh? Was that the most fucked up thing ever?
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Was that an ending? What’s with Hal, does he recover? Ever hear of a wilder suicide? Wouldn’t you like to know who DFW based the P.G.O.A.T. after?
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Aren’t Pemulis and Troeltsch the funniest fuccen characters, maybe ever? Especially Troeltsch with that talking like a sportscaster into his fist thing , then turning to the person next to him and holding it in front for a “color” commentary?
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I do that when I’m lit at the craps table. A running commentary on the action while making up nicknames for the other players…. it’s always annoying… right into my cigar toting fist mic
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The hilarious list of movie titles in the footnotes?
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And Avril? The way he describes her I want to bang her hard ….
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Ennet House? Pure comic gold… how did he dream up these characters, then make them so believable ?
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anyway ……..Just sayin’
@Troy
I’m gonna respectively disagree with you, chick on the right yeah I’ll give you silicone but the one on the left I firmly believe those are the real deal and by firmly believe I mean they make my mind spin imagining all the jiggliness they’re capable of that and she looks like a naughty Jewess (Much Respect).
Tittaes!
Chick on the right — I don’t care if her tits are composed of ground up rhino shit, I’m going there like Han Solo thru the Canyon of the Crescent Moon. Wait, I’m getting my analogies crossed up…
Chick on the left — I’d like to add some *guy* to her eyeliner.
oh SHIT!! I just saw the freak DarkSock was worried about. Yikes
Weird eyes-first time he’s seen breasts: fake on the right,real on the left.
@Et Tud D- I agree. The one on the left is likely natural. She has meat on her chest and collar bones, indicating large naturals. The one on the right was the one I was talking about. Fuccin plastic melons. Nasty.
As much as I abhor plastic boobs, though, I must say that there are people who need them – I’ve known a few women who had the frontal surface topology of Euclidean surfboards. They got boob jobs, but not the freakish DDs we see in this photo, but just good old normal B cups. Results? They felt more “feminine” and more attractive. Because they were. One girl especially. She worked in the same office as I did back in the early 80s. Flat as a wall. A wall I tells ya. Then she got a nice pair of B sized Boobies, and she went from “willowy attractive” to holy fucking cow smoking hott. It wasn’t just the Boobage, though – it was the change in her attitude towards herself. She saw herself as more attractive and then started acting more attractive. She went from calling my ex on the phone every weekend weeping about how lonely she was, to happily married within a year. Went to the wedding
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HORRIBLE WEDDING – but it wasn’t her fault – her sister, the maid of honour, was a booze hound and passed out about an hour before the wedding. When she was 15 minutes late someone found her passed out in her car in the parking lot. So, there was a run for smelling salts, coffee, some make up, etc. Meanwhile the guests were sweltering in this tiny little shitbox of a church – the AC was barely working. The wedding finally got underway when the bearings in the AC finally died and put out a high pitched squeal that went through the entire service. Of course, what little cold air it was pumping stopped, and we all nearly asphyxiated from the heat. The reception was dreadful. In the basement of the same miserable church. It was one of those holy roller baptist churches, so there was no booze served, and I then understood why her sister got loaded before the show. The food consisted of little sammiches on white bread. The cake was good. After the reception my ex, and a few others and I went to a bar and got completely fucking loaded. My ex, a feisty little sociopath, had a thing for Scotch, and drank us all under the table. How one human could consume that much Laphroaig was always a mystery to me. It’s also a mystery to me why I know how to spell Laphroaig when I can’t even stand the stuff – liquid dirt in my opinion.
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But back to the point – plastic boobs are good for some people. But they are few and far between – the titless wonders of the world. For the rest of the females, they have no excuse. Even sweet little A cups are a delight. What nature provided is usually best. But when you roll double zeros on the 20 sided genetic dice, and come up with nada in the chest department, and you’re in a world that expects at least double 1’s, then, cashing in a few chips for plastic is money well spent.
Women who go from B cups to DD or E I find repulsive.
This picture reminds me of the first time I saw fake knockers. Miss Monroe had just come over and given Mr Sinatra head – he liked it when she was naked in red high heels wearing a man’s dress shirt, unbuttoned – and she liked to strut around the pool showing off her stuff. Back in those days they used to inject the silicon right into the existing tits, and they was all in a weird kind of shape. Like odd shaped footballs.
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So I turn to Petey Lawford and says, “Wow, Miss Monroe’s got some funny looking knockers,” and that’s when he tell me they are fake. And I says, “What do you mean fake? I saw ’em hanging there like bread fruit, who could they be fake?” And Lawford explained the whole thing to me. Madon!
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This picture reminds me of that day, but with renoB killing gross skanks instead of Miss Monroe.
They’re golden. They’re not globes.
The Christmas party at the Institute for the Study of Male Pattern Baldness kicked into high gear when the Buxom Twins showed up.
If DFW were still around and saw this pic, I’m sure ‘Infinite Chest’ would be an equally daunting read.
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I’m definitely using that joke again…
The goofy looking retard on the right steals, and soils, the picture. Other than that disturbing distraction there’s a couple of nice looking pairs of melons there.