Monday, May 31, 2010
Wishing You a Contemplative and Reflective Memorial Day
As we contemplate those soldiers who paid the ultimate sacrifice in blood and tears in times of war, let us also remember this:
The Starblazer and Astra are now cohabiting with 2009 Douchebag of the Year, the legendary Smoot.
No Weekly today. Regular postings resume tomorrow.
Groooooooo!
It takes balls to pee in Smoot’s girl’s ass while she’s hugging him. Buffalo Beast Balls.
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But StarBlazer’s just pissing in her purse.
I am convinced that Smoot’s perma-head-tilt is not his automatic “duck-face” style camera pose. I think he seriously has neck vertebrae shaped like door stops; a condition he can neither control or help. NOW do you people feel ashamed for mocking him?
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Me neither.
“Lets all pose like were underwear models. I’ll lift my shirt, and you all look off to the distance in different directions, and think about something really really hard… Yeah, thats perfect. We should submit this to y’know, a manager… or somebody’s agent!”
Fuck off Smoot.
Happy Memorial Day you fuckers. I’m golfing in snow again..
I believe these are actually 3 pieces from the HCWDB wAX(E) museum. Word is the museum will never actually be open to the public, as it will mysteriously burn down during the ‘VIP’, invite only, grand opening.
Hopes are that this sacrifice to Lord Xenu may rid the world of the Grieco once and for all.
I wish for a plague today that will wipe all ye douches and potential douche into oil slicks in the Gulf. God bless half of America.
Stargazr hsa a turnip sizes tumor under that writdanna… Smoot whispers to Hott’, “I’m gonna wipe my crab infested crack with his mop, Yo!”
^gazer, has, sized…. pot o’ coffee please
Could purse-fucking be the ‘bag move of 2011?
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Let’s hope so.
I’m partial to ottoman humping, myself.
At that moment 17 slickened gumballs, their sugar coatings melted into a rainbow slick, tumbled from beneath her skirt onto the hard pine floor below. The cat watched from beneath the sofa with renewed interest.
It’s a classic douche sandwich. Lean, curvy, infested Bleeth with thick, dumb, greasy slices of choad-poo. Sprayed with Axe and fail.
…and at the precise moment the tip of StarBlazer’s stealthily prodding beef lance touched two leathery dangling sacs covered in a halo of hair, he emitted both a panicked gasp and an inaudible hi-frequency jet of flatus that startled awake the neighbor’s dog from a deep peaceful sleep.
Death to America.
And fuck off Smoot.
caught between a rock and a hard place, and the eye burning mixture of axe, brut, and charlie.
the “ed grimley” lives!!!
ask for it by name at your finer fantastic sam’s hair salons.
http://colinandiva.files.wordpress.com/2007/07/edgrimley.jpg
About Smoot’s perma-head-tilt I believe it’s only due to his efforts to get to see little smootie once in a while.
Kudos for trying that hard Smoot!
She appears to be having second thoughts about allowing red headband rear access. She’s like a kid in a candy store: so much of what she wants; so easy to make the wrong decision.
Bad luck, bimbo.
There is but one Xenu, and Smoot is his prophet. These other two just see shiny things off in the distance.
Mindy paused like a faun in the woods; this time she was SURE she’d heard it.
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Her vagina was squeaking again.
Cindi startled as StarBlazer pitched forward, the loud “SPANG” of the crescent wrench hurled by Buffalo Beast still reverberating off of the clean white sheet rock.
Seriously, who the f*ck are these people? Posing and preening like a couple of coccksmiths. I see Starblazer is pulling up his shirt once again.
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Clap. Clap. Clap.
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F*cking Dynamite. What would impress me more is if there is anything anything you could possibly say or bring to the table that would hold my attention for longer than 2 seconds. No chance. Can you even imagine the conversations these people have with each other? This picture is evidence 1A why mocking of the douches and bleeths is a mission that can never end. The fight must go on for time eternal, if need be. Or until Smoot realize…um, seriously Smoot, WTF are you wearing? To paraphrase the late, great Bill Hicks: “Where’s the clocktower? Where’s the gun? Where’s the clocktower? Where’s the gun?” GAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!! It’s Memorial Day and the Sox aren’t even playing.
now that’s crushin’ puss on the reg
whobag
Crushin’ Purse on the reg…
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handbag.
Next up on The Food Network. David “Smoot” Rocco’s. La Douchie Vita. Today Smoot cooks up a smelly threesome pizza smothered with Astra cheese and extra virgin olive oil. But it is not Olive oil. It is Astraglide on Star Blazer’s manhole. And by manhole I mean ask Smoot where he parks his pecker.
Death to America.
Reverse Manwich…when two oversized pieces of porch beef surround a slender piece of white bread.
In Douchetopia, as we all know, everything really is bass-ackwards.
Seriously, Boss, if you’re gonna dredge up SMOOT, why not give us XENU?
He (she?) ‘s a lot more emtertaining.
Seriously, how do all these douchebags end up hanging out with each other?
The last time I saw such an array of stupid, helpless looking creatures, staring at nothing with glassy, dead eyes, I was in a taxidermy shop.
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I was having some work done on the ex Mr. O. He was looking a little tired.
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I keed, I keed. It was Mama Oblongata.
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No, really. Soldiers fight and die for the rights of this sort of plankton to congregate, swap fluids and use up valuable oxygen? Time to drop a little Willie Pete in the middle of all this and call it a day.
I hope Asstra is finally getting a good whiff of the poo smell. Maybe she thought it was just Shartblazer’s unique scent, but now that Smoot has confirmed her worst nightmares, it’s possible she’s reconsidering dating “the bad boys.”
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Reconsidering…..and yeah, I just won the fuccen lottery.
With all 3 heads lined up I can use just one bullet,it saves time and energy.
What she is thinking is, these guys don’t look like the Coen Bros, but nowadays who can take that chance.
She’ll regret it forever if this really was, her big break.
shit, I want to hide in my own asshole. Is that possible?
@MC 900 who the hell else are they gonna’ hang with, they’re not invited to MY f’in’ BBQ… except Stackhouse that is, word on the streets is he roasts some mean poultry…
SMOOT!!!!! wow, i just can’t enough enuf of that a’hole, he’s such an epic fuckwrench, kk, he can come to the BBQ too, and he can bring hot, blonde, bleethy, Fake-Jessica-Simpson, and i’ll call her that when i’m jizzing in the crack of her fanny… yeah, Fake-Jessica-Simpson, you like that don’t you Fake-Jessica-Simpson… but i digress, more to the point, Smoot is the stuff that epic fail is made of, when all the other stars have faded, know that the world came to an end cause of THIS asshole, and this his six pound watch and multiple wallet chains will still shine brightly in the eastern sky…
Smoot: “Yo, wassup. Where’s my money muthafucka?”
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Fake Jessica: “Is that really the chicken of the sea over there?”
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Sharky: “Oh that damn fake Jessica Simpson. She stands between me and true happiness. Oh how I long for the sweet caress from my Smooty Wooty but alas, the bitch hasn’t moved yet.”
for a moment there i thought it was fishslap…
fuck
Smoot is living proof that eugenics wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
2saracen