The Sleeper
I’m thinking of proposing that paramedics carry around this pic of The Sleeper and Blondie Bazumbas with them on call. Find a patient in cardiac arrest, show them this acid-washed Sleeper and his lithe cutie, and the adrenaline would fire up the heart pumpin’ in no time. If you can keep down their Exorcist spew from pea souping across the room, it’s gotta be a great method of visual psychosomatic stimulus.
Either that, or it’ll kill them on the spot. I can’t tell which.
But I do know it’s Friday, which means The DB1 will be doing something he never usually does — get drunk off a bottle of cheap wine, microwave a burrito, and watch Cartoon Network. Yup, it’s a party in my life.
Thanks to all for the great submits this week, apologies if I don’t respond to every email. Don’t forget, I’m a douchebag.
Another reminder that the new URL is functioning if you’re tired of typing out the full name of the site: www.HCwDB.com.
I was ruminating on an eloquent summation of this week’s philosophic exploration of all things hottie/douchey. As we explore the simulacrum, Derrida, Baudrillard and Freud, I considered a number of discourses to reference. But then it came to me. The perfect word to end the week with.
Boobies.
It says it all. Boobies.
