Saturday, April 23, 2005
Belated Fraiku
Biff Precious ponders
Invading A-Rack; decides
Jherbouti instead
Charles Douchewin said…
It puts the face to
the hole, and it gets the nose
the flat-fronted nose
DoucheyWallnuts said…
Jen’s Siamese Twin
Chad didn’t get the memo
“Tank tops only, brah!”
Vin Douchal said…
Bieber Douche looks like
Distant relative of “Zyzz”
Without astethic
Jacques Doucheteau said…
Dude. Where the fuck did
the black guy’s hand come from
in this photo?…Weird.
Dickey Fingers said…
Lindsey Graham’s plan
for rotating first lady
has just won my vote.
The is DARPA Doiuche.
.
Data analysis on everything from the weather as known by satellites, to storage facilities and transport of the grains and results of Monsanto latest “splicings” are the starting point of massive leverage of the financial kind: that which we all need most… food
.
And it only gets more bleak from there.
.
That horseshit started in the 1970’s. And it’s still not spoken about today. We, as internet ducks of a,professional,mature, only ever see satellite cloud photos and pictures of the world, never the fact that those putting up sophisticated satellites have been able to monitor everything that impacts the growth of food stuffs, for nearly 50 years. And have been doing so, and exploiting that information in every way they can possibly do so. Globally. Everyday.
.
I remember my Uncle explaining this capability to me in the mid 1980’s and expecting this to become at least some source of concern and discussion in the coming years. It’s still completely ignored, and yet they’re far more exploitive and much more highly leveraged against that information with the facilities that modern derivatives play in things.
.
And Trading Places always seemed oddly antiquated because it didn’t mention this capability, at all.
It puts the face to
the hole, and it gets the nose
the flat-fronted nose
You ask: is that glass
half-empty, or half-assed? Well
my friends, it is both.
Plaid Chad’s eyebrows say:
“I think I’m on the wrong floor.”
Right where they like him.
Take heed and dig what Crucial Head be puttin’ down, Sons.
.
Multinational food conglomerates have been spiking everything from Wheat Thins to Sun-Maid Raisins with microchipped tracking devices and thought-control enzymes since the first ships touched down in Roswell. Evidenced by the popular television series “Bonanza” where nineteenth-century ranchers wore polyester tights and silk scarves, looking eerily similar to the uniforms worn by Capitan William Shatner aboard the Starship Enterprise. Connect the dots and fear The Machine.
Jen’s Siamese Twin
Chad didn’t get the memo
“Tank tops only, brah!”
If nor for devil
Monsanto, the world would be
In dire food shortage.
.
Best practices in
Agriculture have had a large
Impact as well. Son.
Young Zyzz accepts
Smooch from his Brosephus.
“Requiem For A Queen”.
The only person with
A clue is Ringo Largeman
And his bunny ears.
Dark Sock crashed my
Party again, At least he didnt
Get to real horses.
.
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10153367987402037&set=pcb.10153367999452037&type=1&theater
creepy Children of
The Corn extra in plaid is
most normal bro here
Is it just me or
Are those Duggar chicks good
For legitimate rape?
I interrupt our regularly scheduled mock to say:
Crucial Head, Kemosabe.
Surely, you meant the 1870’s. Because therein lies alot of Gov’t horseshit still not spoken about today. Gould and Fisk make Madoff a boyscout, while Grant promised Indians peace, but killed so many Buffalo their only safe place was the Bronx Zoo.
Sure, Grant passed the Civi Rights Act of 75′ (1875); but has it taken effect?
And am I right when I say the Souix should’ve cut a deal with Custer to keep him fighting congress on War Department corruption? They should’ve made Custer take the stand again, and again. Culture jamming FTW.
Thems were the days, sons, when we still had US presidents who’d killed people with their own hands.
Souix, who? That’s right.
You Salmon Fuckers.
^Sioux me, because spelling is only one of my glaring inadequacies.
Tornado party
in Arkansas storm cellar!
Blowin’ goin’ down!
Tornado party
in Arkansas storm cellar!
Who let black guy in?
Biff Precious in the
bomb cellar! Apoca-LIPS
comes fast for Flat Nose!
Jen’s Siamese Twin
Chad didn’t get the memo
“‘Mo’s before Ho’s, brah!”
These two guys in green
Jumpsuits came into my house all
Wet. Should I worry?
.
Asking for a FIEND.
Help me.
Oops!
Hot Chick with Douchefags?
Or pre-op Caitlyn wannabes?
These metro’s annoy.
Pasty Jen needs to
learn the sit-up exercise.
Gunt hangeth over
Rev I’m sure they were
just out for a walk in woods
not crazed escapees.
Group in this photo
Prove Jabronis have some sex
And sometimes babies
Hard to decipher
Which of them love to eat dicks
Lets say, all of them
Stackhouse called us all
“Water drinking jumpoff fags”
We drink other stuff
Tatted gay couple:
I defend your rights, brothers
What’s your sisters name?
” Party breakin’ out !!”
T.S.A. patting down room
We all cop a feel!
Frat house holding tank
For Philosophy majors
And recent drop outs
This babe qualifies
for “Hottest Girl Next Door Hott”
In this year’s Douchies
Bieber Douche looks like
Distant relative of “Zyzz”
Without astethic
I actually work in a cereal factory and can attest that Crucial speaks the Godforsaken TRUTH. That was kind of a shitty haiku though.
Dude. Where the fuck did
the black guy’s hand come from
in this photo?…Weird.
Get a fucking new shirt biff naked. I am in a contractual rage.
.
Fuck Clinton for lettin’ those dudes out of her county. Get it?
County?
.
The fucking penguins are starting to recede up here. Am I really up here or are all of us waging the beast against barry’s so-called ISiL AND TYE WORLD IS REALLY UPSIDE DOWN.
.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y8kI7IW0q6Q
Legendary journalist and writer Hunter Thompson plays golf
In April of 1958, a 22 year-old Hunter S. Thompson wrote a letter on the meaning of life when asked by a friend for advice. What makes his response all the more profound is the fact that at the time, the world had no idea that he would become one of the most important writers of the 20th century. Therefore his beliefs about purpose were hypothetical—they were statements of faith.
But if it’s true that our beliefs really do become our reality, then there’s no better example of a life fully realised than the one of Hunter S. Thompson. Let his perspective inspire you:
…
April 22, 1958
57 Perry Street
New York City
Dear Hume,
You ask advice: ah, what a very human and very dangerous thing to do! For to give advice to a man who asks what to do with his life implies something very close to egomania. To presume to point a man to the right and ultimate goal — to point with a trembling finger in the RIGHT direction is something only a fool would take upon himself.
I am not a fool, but I respect your sincerity in asking my advice. I ask you though, in listening to what I say, to remember that all advice can only be a product of the man who gives it. What is truth to one may be disaster to another. I do not see life through your eyes, nor you through mine. If I were to attempt to give you specific advice, it would be too much like the blind leading the blind.
“To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles … ” (Shakespeare)
And indeed, that IS the question: whether to float with the tide, or to swim for a goal. It is a choice we must all make consciously or unconsciously at one time in our lives. So few people understand this! Think of any decision you’ve ever made which had a bearing on your future: I may be wrong, but I don’t see how it could have been anything but a choice however indirect — between the two things I’ve mentioned: the floating or the swimming.
But why not float if you have no goal? That is another question. It is unquestionably better to enjoy the floating than to swim in uncertainty. So how does a man find a goal? Not a castle in the stars, but a real and tangible thing. How can a man be sure he’s not after the “big rock candy mountain,” the enticing sugar-candy goal that has little taste and no substance?
The answer — and, in a sense, the tragedy of life — is that we seek to understand the goal and not the man. We set up a goal which demands of us certain things: and we do these things. We adjust to the demands of a concept which CANNOT be valid. When you were young, let us say that you wanted to be a fireman. I feel reasonably safe in saying that you no longer want to be a fireman. Why? Because your perspective has changed. It’s not the fireman who has changed, but you. Every man is the sum total of his reactions to experience. As your experiences differ and multiply, you become a different man, and hence your perspective changes. This goes on and on. Every reaction is a learning process; every significant experience alters your perspective.
So it would seem foolish, would it not, to adjust our lives to the demands of a goal we see from a different angle every day? How could we ever hope to accomplish anything other than galloping neurosis?
The answer, then, must not deal with goals at all, or not with tangible goals, anyway. It would take reams of paper to develop this subject to fulfillment. God only knows how many books have been written on “the meaning of man” and that sort of thing, and god only knows how many people have pondered the subject. (I use the term “god only knows” purely as an expression.) There’s very little sense in my trying to give it up to you in the proverbial nutshell, because I’m the first to admit my absolute lack of qualifications for reducing the meaning of life to one or two paragraphs.
I’m going to steer clear of the word “existentialism,” but you might keep it in mind as a key of sorts. You might also try something called “Being and Nothingness” by Jean-Paul Sartre, and another little thing called “Existentialism: From Dostoyevsky to Sartre.” These are merely suggestions. If you’re genuinely satisfied with what you are and what you’re doing, then give those books a wide berth. (Let sleeping dogs lie.) But back to the answer. As I said, to put our faith in tangible goals would seem to be, at best, unwise. So we do not strive to be firemen, we do not strive to be bankers, nor policemen, nor doctors. WE STRIVE TO BE OURSELVES.
But don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean that we can’t BE firemen, bankers, or doctors — but that we must make the goal conform to the individual, rather than make the individual conform to the goal. In every man, heredity and environment have combined to produce a creature of certain abilities and desires — including a deeply ingrained need to function in such a way that his life will be MEANINGFUL. A man has to BE something; he has to matter.
As I see it then, the formula runs something like this: a man must choose a path which will let his ABILITIES function at maximum efficiency toward the gratification of his DESIRES. In doing this, he is fulfilling a need (giving himself identity by functioning in a set pattern toward a set goal), he avoids frustrating his potential (choosing a path which puts no limit on his self-development), and he avoids the terror of seeing his goal wilt or lose its charm as he draws closer to it (rather than bending himself to meet the demands of that which he seeks, he has bent his goal to conform to his own abilities and desires).
In short, he has not dedicated his life to reaching a pre-defined goal, but he has rather chosen a way of life he KNOWS he will enjoy. The goal is absolutely secondary: it is the functioning toward the goal which is important. And it seems almost ridiculous to say that a man MUST function in a pattern of his own choosing; for to let another man define your own goals is to give up one of the most meaningful aspects of life — the definitive act of will which makes a man an individual.
Let’s assume that you think you have a choice of eight paths to follow (all pre-defined paths, of course). And let’s assume that you can’t see any real purpose in any of the eight. THEN — and here is the essence of all I’ve said — you MUST FIND A NINTH PATH.
Naturally, it isn’t as easy as it sounds. You’ve lived a relatively narrow life, a vertical rather than a horizontal existence. So it isn’t any too difficult to understand why you seem to feel the way you do. But a man who procrastinates in his CHOOSING will inevitably have his choice made for him by circumstance.
So if you now number yourself among the disenchanted, then you have no choice but to accept things as they are, or to seriously seek something else. But beware of looking for goals: look for a way of life. Decide how you want to live and then see what you can do to make a living WITHIN that way of life. But you say, “I don’t know where to look; I don’t know what to look for.”
And there’s the crux. Is it worth giving up what I have to look for something better? I don’t know — is it? Who can make that decision but you? But even by DECIDING TO LOOK, you go a long way toward making the choice.
If I don’t call this to a halt, I’m going to find myself writing a book. I hope it’s not as confusing as it looks at first glance. Keep in mind, of course, that this is MY WAY of looking at things. I happen to think that it’s pretty generally applicable, but you may not. Each of us has to create our own credo — this merely happens to be mine.
If any part of it doesn’t seem to make sense, by all means call it to my attention. I’m not trying to send you out “on the road” in search of Valhalla, but merely pointing out that it is not necessary to accept the choices handed down to you by life as you know it. There is more to it than that — no one HAS to do something he doesn’t want to do for the rest of his life. But then again, if that’s what you wind up doing, by all means convince yourself that you HAD to do it. You’ll have lots of company.
And that’s it for now. Until I hear from you again, I remain,
your friend,
Hunter
If you look closely
You can see The Rev plying
His trade on the left
.
http://www.youporn.com/watch/9977237/strapon-fucking-euro-loves-bukkake/?from=related3&al=2&from_id=9977237&pos=1
The e-joint, a Bose Soundlink Mini, and longboards = Cool Stone.
.
http://www.bose.ca/controller?url=/shop_online/digital_music_systems/bluetooth_speakers/soundlink_mini/index.jsp
Analog Douchebags
In a Digital Era
Are nice change of pace
Tremendous Douchebags
Deflect attention from Bleeth
How can this happen?
@ DoucheyWallnuts
Skinny D’Amato Ass Punch
For all these finocchios
Break their arms and shit.
.
http://www.cbc.ca/sports/rugby-player-breaks-arm-on-live-tv-1.3110902
Lindsey Graham’s plan
for rotating first lady
has just won my vote.
@Rev – 3:17
Announcer confused
about timing when he says
“We’ll go to a break”.
Martial Arts movies
Tony Jaa busts legs and arms
Yet kills nobody
Close
@Douchey W.
.
While I may spray unnatural loads, my cock is not that white. I think of myself as transcocked.
Plump Jen’s got that look –
She knows something we don’t know.
We don’t wanna know.
Last night, whilst having a beer at a local Canadian pub, I’m enduring a local-band singing summer tunes. My homesick heart picks up with the chords opening Springsteen’s “Born in the USA”.
.
An unexpected note from home.
.
What happened next was equally unexpected.
.
At the first line of “Bawn, in the U.S.A.” the singer didn’t sing U.S.A.
.
He sang: G.T.A (Greater Toronto Area).
.
“Born down in a dead man’s town
The first kick I took was when I hit the ground
You end up like a dog that’s been beat too much
Till you spend half your life just covering up
. Born in the G.T.A.
. I was born in the G.T.A.
. I was born in the G.T.A.
. Born in the G.T.A.
Got in a little hometown jam…”
.
Now, I’m unsure that translates. And I’m unsure whether it’s flattering – or if Bruce knows about this.
.
Could some Canadian brethren kindly let me know if this is a thing? And by thing, I mean trans-cultural implications.
.
Asking for an erstwhile american.
That’s fucking bullshit Charles D! Everybody knows that the GTA sucks trans-cock balls. What a fucking dump of queers, guidos, blackish, and filthy middle-easterns! And fucking chinks everywhere! I lived there for the worst days of my life and it was way more depressing that any of Bruce’s other songs. My apologies for the hosers singing that shit, fuck!
.
I always liked the other song though.
.
The St. Lawrence River
Ever wonder why olive loaf isn’t a more popular lunch meat?
.
Perplexing.
My Mom used to take some nice Wonder-type white sliced bread and smear some room temperature Velveeta ribbons on it .Then, after buttering the other side, put double slices of olive loaf between the imitation cheesy bread sides and fry it like a grilled cheese in deep boiling salted butter. Good times fried olive pizza lunch on a sweltering Canadian summers day (she was a teacher, the whore)!
.
My body is now hypertense and failing as I teach my daughters how to slide a longboard and throw footballs whilst drunk and on several pharmaceuticals and the e-joint, living a lie while the pain of age makes their childhood more of a burden and myself spiteful at their demands and envied youth.
.
Nary a phoney cheese or white loaf around. But I do like some fine olive loaf thick sliced and fried with a quinuoa-lentil side. Metamucil to wash the fucker down.
.
A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and he carries his banners openly. But the traitor moves among those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the galleys, heard in the very hall of government itself. For the traitor appears not a traitor—he speaks in the accents familiar to his victims, and wears their face and their garment, and he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the hearts of all men. He rots the soul of a nation—he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine the pillars of a city—he infects the body politic so that it can no longer resist. A murderer is less to be feared.
..
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=utVR3EgQkHs
.
And a few days later…I sobered up and became the Hercules and toot.
I think Charles and The Rev are on to something. A reworking of Bruce songs in a Canadian vein.
.
“Born to Run to the Border”
“Everybody Has a Hungry Moose”
“The Younge Street Shuffle”
“Darkness On the Edge of the Outdoor Hockey Rink”
The Rev speaks truth, just like Big Al.
“The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don’t do anything about it.”
.
Albert Einstein
Manitoba.^^^^
Bay Street Freeze Out.
http://www.cbc.ca/news/arts/rush-makes-the-cover-of-rolling-stone-finally-1.3114055, Sons.
“Of Course We’ll Surrender”
“Tundraland”
“Wreck on the Highway” (Dedicated to Rob Ford)
“You Can Look (And of course you can touch)”
“The Price You Pay Seems More in Our Dollars”
“1st of July, Halifax (Emma)”
I was watching some FIFA ball yesterday and saw the craziest sports injury ever. One of the girls strapped her honkers too tight, because of the Jumblies, and altered her circulation. She had a tit stroke. Now she has a droopy left nipple.
@Rev,
Met some Colombians hotts yesterday, found out the bar where they were watching the Copa America 2015 not the sissy tourney on turf (Seriously?).
.
Colombia V Brasil Wednesday night should be lots of Brazilians, hopefully with fresh celebratory Brazilians, and Colombians with bronzed, firm naturals. Now I just need to figure out which team I’m going to fake root for, I’m leaning Colombia.
.
“Thunder Bay Road”
“Streets of Mississauga”
“Pink Frontenac”
“Bobby Jean” (pronounced Jawn)
CREEPY!
STOONED.
.
http://cdn.meme.am/instances2/500x/283148.jpg
Celine.
.
Hungry Fart
And Bravo on the Ass Punch call for all a these Jabronis.
What’s more depressing; the death of this site or the two Bros in the above photo?
This all started out with Crucial Head visiting about four Fridays agoo.
.
Since then we been talking bout importantlike shit and shit. It started out with Crucial bringing us down, then a mix of Haiku’s and existential treatises.
.
About two weeks ago we got onto that shit, but that was all me.
.
Then there was some porn, and reporn, and talk about cocks.
.
Some T.O. bashing and quoting Cicero.
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Soccer and Springstung musica.
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The penultimate (so far) “Everybody Has A Hungry Moose” FTW. Chaz…..please concur.
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And the death of the site..
.
I think Dark Sock said he was going spellunking in flooded Texas. Cross fingers, Son. And shit.
^”Everybody has a Hungry Moose” has made me uncontrollably laugh to myself in public, like a crazy-person. I also spew milk through my nose for:
.
“The Price You Pay Seems More in Our Dollars”
“Pink Frontenac”
I got your new show, DB1:
.
It’s a police crime drama: Local law-enforcement posts photos of crime scenes on an obscure blog. Anonymous site members scrutinize photos to reveal valuable clues through gonzo comments. Sometimes the FBI wants their help, but they always show up the FBI. Sometimes members take action in the real world, but only the audience knows their identity.
.
Or do they?
.
All the members have fukked-up backstories; but that’s what makes them great, and laughable.
This say be the coolest thing since Physical Graffitti.
.
http://pearljaam.tumblr.com/post/121408741480/so-yeah-dave-fell-off-the-stage-and-broke-his
DarkSock and his old lady were seen leaving town.
He ain’t coming back, Sons.
.
.
Remember when he introduced us to flyteethe?
Remember when he spoke openly of his childhood in Homoslavia?
Remember when he posted full-frontal, front page ass- pear?
Why is Lloyd Braun doing life insurance commercials?
The Adventures of Ford Foal-lane
Easy Herder
No Country for Old Mares
Dark Sock was not seen
In Charlotte today. Oops. Lemon
Just showed me the truth.
.
FAgteeThe
Dark Sock has nipples
Of bitumin room membrane
And shit. RIP.
.
You crazy ficking moiuse
I came after Fly
TeeHe. Or was he my FathsHer.
Was i his fLySoNNE.
.
Vaper Trails
Did I menshion I
Met RUSH’s lawyer. I Don;’t Fucking care either.
Whocthe fuck is Lord Brawn. I lookes fuckiing
Up abd down in the rOYAL
Heraldry. ?no shit.
.
Lord Pamplomousses. And fuck.
All kidding aside,
Who can blame Dark Sock
For monthly stipend.
.
Cocksuckers
Ima keep going
On my fucking vapour
Trail you mouse fuck.
!
Where the fuck is my’
fucking Haimku this month.
My fat daughter got the rag son.
.
Menses
Cicero* (adjunctia).
“The stoner who owns his own destiny sees his limitations.”
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Kroeger Industiries (de-regulated) makes all claim for this statement and its societal repurcussions. We deny all negative societal repurcussions, and take claim for only our Founder, The Late Reverend Chad Kroeger’s late night rambling.
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“What is Daddy doing after he rams the conformity forks in his eyes, …Mommy.”
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“Daddy is praying to Sweet Death to take him before Father Time does Sister Christian.”
.
“Why does Daddy want to die so badly, Mommy?’
.
“HE HAS ISSUES AND ONLY TALKS TO GRAND DAD AND THAT pUTER THING SWEETHEART!”
.
Later that year……………….Ramin Del Kabob killed the
Reverend Chad sumbitch and he was never heard from again until the return of the Depuzzled fucking HAIKY fucking shit. Its been twelve weeks you terroristS SHUT THIS FUCKER DOWN. TELL US SOME STORIES YOU VAGRATNS AND NEER DO WELLS. FUCKING FUCK FUCK.
3masturbating