Friday Thoughts and Links
I’m in a generous mood these days. So I’ll probably give Army Bob a nottadouche and a goinpeace for scoring Tonya The Hott Older Sister of Your Best Friend In Tenth Grade.
Even if sleeveless army tanktops are all sorts of 1980s festering festoon.
So’s while your humb narrs was in New York, I sat down to go an in-depth podcast with the great Mandy Stadtmiller of xoJane and News Whore. I’ve long been a fan of Mandy’s writing ever since she first interviewed me for the New York Post back in the day when my show was debuting on MTV.
And since we’re probably approaching some sort of finality around here at HCwDB, I thought it was high time to sit down and talk through the journey of my life and all things hottie/douchey dialectical. Check out the podcast here.
If you do listen, let me know what you think of it in the comments thread. I’m curious to hear your thoughts.
Anyways, and aways we go… here’s yer links:
Your HCwDB Buy Some Amazon Stuff and Help Support the Site Link of the Week: “Experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger portion of the truth arises from the seemingly irrelevant.”
Brothabag Leon. Still out there. Still with swirly fung.
Well, that’s one way to fight the power I suppose.
200 year old douche discovered. It wasn’t Gene Simmons.
Billy Ray Cyrus’s Achy Breaky Heart 2 drips with douchal stank.
Real life Barbie wants to be ‘brainless.’
White Trash Alert: Twinkies now available at Big Lots. I love Twinkies but have never been in a Big Lots. I am half-white-trash. Gray Trash?
An abandoned high school in Detroit comes to life with photographs from the past. Eerie and beautiful.
And so we drift off into another weekend eve… the languid smells of lavendar and burning tar choke the Hollywood freeways with the congestion of a million piddle butts. And so many carry on for a two day break from a five day week with the peanut at the end of the rainbow the chance to do it all over again.
A lone drifter riding a hard-pressed horse stepped down from the saddle and whipped the dust from his headband by a few stiff blows against his chaps. He stood for an instant looking up and down the street, crowded with buckboards, saddle-horses and men. It was two hours to noon but Douche City was a twenty-four hour town with forty thousand head of cattle held on the GRAIN plains outside of town, and more coming in every day.
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Pushing his way through the bat-wing doors, he crossed the nearly vacant room to the bar. “Rye,” he said, and glanced quickly around the room through he shaded spectacles. In the distance, a lone coyote wailed.
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Only two men stood at the bar at this hour, a burly cattle-buyer and a tall man with massive, orb-like ears protruding from his head like some overgrown kangaroo mouse. Several other men played cards at the scattered tables, all within range of His voice.
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“Have you seen Lämp?”
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There was a sudden stillness in the room. A hardened cattleman at the nearest poker table picked up his cards, glanced at them, folded them into a neat pile and placed them quietly on the table. “No, I haven’t seen Lämp, and I’m not likely to. . . Nor are you, mister. Lämp prefers to be left alone, and if you know anything about Lämp you know it’s a smart thing to leave alone.”
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“I’ve been sent to find him,” the puncher intoned gravelly and stubbornly, “an I’mma stay at it until I do.”
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A man had moved to the bar beside him. He was a square-shouldered, barrel chested young man with a look about him that did not abide. Bad stock, he was. Moreover, he knew the man by sight, as did a good many Douchian men. Kettlehead, as he was commonly called, was a veteran of the Fishlap-Gator feud and one of the most feared men in Douche City.
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“What do you want with Lämp?” Kettlehead asked as oil dripped from his furrowed brow.
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“Looks like a range war shapin’ up in the Old Chode Country,” the puncher told them.
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“Don’t look for Lämp, then.,” the brutish-buyer advised. “That’s a thing that minds its own affairs. A thing that should never be named, let alone be a paid warrior for any man.”
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“This is different,” the puncher replied. “I’m an old friend of his. And I am no Man.”
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The puncher strode towards the doors, paused, then turned to his captive audience, his spectacles lowered slightly…
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“Tell ‘em… tell ‘em… ƧäɱȗƦœ ṦḉờỠħė sent for him.”
First of all, I’d like to stick that 200-year-old douche up Brainless Barbie’s a-hole. And by “200-year-old douche,” I do NOT mean my cockk. She may be a plastic fuccen idiot, but I’m sure she’ll still retain her ability to splurge on bullshit with her sugar daddies’ money.
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Second, kudos to Crucial’s wonderful Western! Looking forward to the next act.
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Last, it may be time to fap to Tonya and Coitus Eye Pear…..especially as I imagine their torrid sapphic love affair.
Yes, I meant the plural possessive form.
The sleeveless shirt alone= chode. Not to mention the obvious scrote by association rule.
Tonya looks wholesome. Army Bob looks free range, but not good free range.
Our boss: DB1
Made a most valiant run
But we all succumb.
And now… we wait.
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Huddled beneath the corrugated metal separating our thinning, graying pates from the acid heavenly downpours, shopping bags pulled tight to our necks, we shiver against winter’s onslought.
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We wait.
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For soon the Phoenix shall arise, as foretold by the ancients in the long long ago of the way way back thymes.
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We wait.
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And scratch.
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And pick boogers.
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And emit mild portions of flatulence.
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But we wait…
That 200-year old douche looks like Lenny’s homemade Power Hitter.
Crucial Head’s foreboding tale of the Old West sent shivers up my spine. Lämp is a mystery cloaked in an enigma wrapped in an extension chord.
Crucial’s allegorical tale gave me goosebumps and an erection that did not cease and desist even after I dunked it in a snifter of the finest cognac.
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Combined with DB1’s cryptic comment regarding the future of the site I am reeling whilst masterbating…
Interesting podcast, that chick(respect) sounds dirty. When’s the wrap party? and can I bring anything?
Listened to the whole podcast. Played a couple games of Axis Football League and 36 holes of computer golf.
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Gonna miss this place. And by miss this place I mean increase my porn site viewing by 7% up to 58% of my ‘net exposure.
Have at it Db1, don’t give up trying to create a good product for those blood sucking, child eating, back stabbing Hollywood fucks. We can always use a funny man around here
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P.S. my farts smell like throwing hair on a tire fire . Should I see a doctor?
Sorry this is shutting down, DB1.
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But did you have to go out with an interview by this dumb bitch?
http://nypost.com/2010/02/02/my-night-with-a-prosti-dude/
It’s fitting that the site, and everything else in the country, is going in the shitter at the same time. I hear all mocking will now be controlled by the government.
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Rev, do I make a left turn at the moose or a right?
ObamaMock will be the mock of the land when this site shuts down.
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However, it won’t be as funny or creative and I t will cost at least 50% more. The good news is that if you like your current style of mock, you can keep your style of mock.
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The government launch will be April 1, bit don’t be surprised if it’s really July 1 and only a few of the Regs actually make It thorough.
Also, Crucial’s allegorical tale gave me goosebumps and the enormous erection that did not cease and desist even after I dipped it into a snifter of fine cognac.
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Rev, do I take a left or right at the big moose?
“We done seen our Son grow up.” The holy man said as he had said so many times before but still unspoken; blessing the seasons fresh white olive harvest and praising the Sweet Lord’s annual bounty. Rejoice! Rejoice! at the thing ye hath seen done among us on our latest campaign.
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The hours of the harvest times do make the way of man. He must reap and he shall sow, and Shall they all be in their Seasons, the bittersweet winds of change. And with that change, the weight of an almighty becoming appearent in the nearby wood, apparition of those thing still to come.
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Long dreams linger into the fall and the times fall grey. Autumns sweet smokey smells beckon him back to philosophize on his trail. Fun had in youths benevolent splendor wondered, long from now. The Piper smokes his pipe and sees his sights and tell tales of fact and folly.
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All along the drink and drug do besmirch a voluminous expanse at this point…..the edge of insanity. Let the tale be told that they passed here. The ragged, the lecherous, the tellers of tales..untold in their telling. Young vagabonds and auteurs. Liars and scoundrels and maker’s of the mark. Future night trains go running through the imagination.
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The task at hand fades to memory. No more warrior. His odyssey complete. He returns to his farm and sweet, sweet Death (respect).
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What the fuck are we gonna do know!
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I’ll play us out. …..Stoned as Lenny’s dog eating a tray of cooling weed butter.
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Prolapsed Drunk. Son
Oops! Son.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MH3pSeUUz0c
BOSS,
Truly, with all due respect, HATS OFF. Sincerely…
Since my discovery of this website, it’s seriously been the one and only site I absolutely make sure to see each day.
Any bad day could be turned around with a solid, intelligent laugh from this site. It’s brilliant.
The long-term dedication, integrity, intelligent social/psychological humor/commentary & the dedicated fans, coupled with the unforgettable photos, is and always will be, pure genius… This site NEEDED to be and you made it so.
I will miss this site deeply. It’s like seeing the last episode of M*A*S*H, but I understand all good things must come to an end.
…although within all the fans, the mock WILL continue!
I second, “Et Tu Douche” in saying “When is the wrap party?!” Because this certainly deserves to go out with a bang! No joke, let’s all raise a glass together!
By the way, if you’re ever in San Diego Boss, let’s grab a beer or some surf and congrats on the wife & kid.
And again, a very sincere THANK YOU for all the laughs, they’ve been priceless to say the least…
Onward and upward my friend!
~Battlescrote Gallactica
Ole Brothabag Leon…”No dudes because I love only women.”
Quothe he.
I guess DB1 is saying “I CAN’T STAY HERE UNDER THESE CONDITIONS”. I will miss this place. There has some damn fine humor on here.
Left at the big moose DW.
I peed in a blog once.
DB1, I listened to the podcast, enjoyed the candor, and I think this:
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I grew up in the Jerz’, Bayonne, of all places.
Where the douchebags all have real names with their faces.
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They were neighbors and classmates, thank goodness – not kin.
It was a cultural war where to leave, was to win.
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And here on this site, I found a community with vision
to expose douche-absurdity through crowd-sourced derision.
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This hilarious trip was a live-sized catharsis
peppered with mock, and pear, as bare arses.
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So let me write here, before this is all done
to say thanks, to you bastards – and DB1.
Was a good run, my pear loving scumbags.
Alas, after excessive exposure to the douchescrote, the shock value wanes, and one must find other sources of entertainment. I visit this often, still, but I just can’t must up anything remotely original anymore. No more Medusa raging against her nemesis, scrotal stubble. Darksock still pees in horses’ butts but methinks some of the pleasure has gone by and he does it only out of ritual.
Lamp still loves pear. Always will. And the beef will always be porched. The jelly dong shall not be forgotten.
I shall imbibe heavily tonight. My currency of drunkenness shall be Makers 46 and I shall not regret.
Keep on keepin’ on my fellow baghunters.
Ps. Don’t send Santa cards this year. And none of that pussy ass milk and cookies. It’s either black tar heroin or it’s nothing. Bitches.
Where you been dude?
My regret is that I hung back and just enjoyed everyone for so long, but didn’t contribute. So many times my wife would hear me laughing hysterically in the next room and she would say “Are you reading HCWD again?” Yes. Yes I was.
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Son.
3regards