Wednesday, August 11, 2010
A Boy Named Poo
Otherwise known as “The Mandana in Black.” Is this pud playing “douche dressup?” Or is he real shoescrape?
Who cares. There’s Brunette Sophie.
Mmm… Sophie. Your eyes betray a grad school Lit major with a passion for vegan cuisine, Foucault, and light spankings by candle light. You know nothing about Marshall McLuhan but I’d take you to see “The Sorrow and the Pity” anyways.
she’s got a snout that would make me speak in tongues as she nuzzled it up my crack
Sophie’s cute too
I hope he washed those beads off since he last had them crammed up his arse.
Nottadouche! And if you don’t like that verdict, let me tell you that it just so happens I teach a class at Columbia called “Doorags, Media and Culture.” So I think my insights into Poo have a great deal of validity!
It’s unfortunate that we get a nipple peek from the wrong party in this case. Sophie, we’ll see you in December…
My daddy left home when I had to pee
And he didn’t leave much to ma and me
Just this old gell and an empty bottle of goose.
Now, I don’t blame him cause he waxed my chest
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me “Poo.”
Could it be an early pic of Steven Van Zandt backstage with a groupie at a Springsteen concert in South Dakota circa 84′???
@ Eliza Douchecoo:
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I suppose it might feel pleasurable pulling those beads out, but it’d probably hurt like hell to yank the crucifix through his sphincter. Yikes.
^it really doesn’t hurt that bad.
Nancy and the Nancy Boy. Later they compare Epilady models , ass dildos and jizz gargling techniques
Looks like Ol’ Poo here just graduated from the Barnes and Noble school of doucheatude. He spent last night there getting every book about pickin’ up chicks and stayed up until 4:30am reading every one of them. he woke up after 2 hours of sleep, then a quick trip to get the lip pierced, pick up a new shirt and mandana, and then back home to gell it up juuuuust right so that the mandana doesn’t crush it. Covers up his herpes sores with some of his little sister’s concealer and steals a necklace that he knows she hasn’t worn since the fourth grade. Jumps in his ’85 Ford Escort, goes to the club, orders a water from Stackhouse, and almost trips over sweet Sophie while trying out his kinesthetic touching technique on her. She giggles a melodious sound while motioning for a bouncer who summarily throws Ol’ Poo out the door where his scrapes the ass out of his $400 jeans. Now he has to wait another two weeks for his paycheck from Avis before he can get another pair and start the cycle anew.
Completely off topic: Has anybody seen “The Road” based on McCarthy’s book? Was it even remotely like the book at all? Watched the movie last night and hated it. Acting sucked and I was hoping that they died and were eaten by cannibals after 15 minutes into it. Please tell me the book was A LOT better because maybe I’ll read it then.
Well, he must o’ known that I’d like to stroke
And turn to guys when I needed a poke,
It seems I had to fist my whole life through.
Some guys would gargle when I’d wet the bed
And some guys’d laugh when I gave ‘em head,
I tell ya, life ain’t easy for a boy named “Poo.”
I’d like to tickle Sophie’s tonsils.
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With my johnson.
@Dr. BHD^
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I read the book then saw the movie. I loved the book. The simplicity of the writing produces amazing imagery. Couldn’t put it down. My older tator tot (14) read it as well as was deeply moved by the whole concept. And when I say deeply moved I mean tears in the eyes when he finished the final page.
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The movie takes liberties where it shouldn’t and leaves out and gives short shrift to some of the starker elements, which I won’t ruin for you. There are no passages with the wife and the ending of the book is much, much stronger, clearer, and fulfilling than the rush job we were handed in the theatre.
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I can’t totally pan the film. Vigo was a solid pick for the father. The role of the boy was too much for the kid they picked. And the minimal dialogue which works so well in the book requires a master’s touch to be translated to the screen.
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The book will remain with you long after reading it. The movie haunts you until you’ve fully digested the two large tubs of popcorn and the litre of Code Red Mountain Dew that you snuck in the threatre in the back of your pants.
The medium is the message, and in this case, message is, we douchebags can take anything and stain it with our Midas Touch of Choad. A nice black button up shirt? Wear one size too small and do a shaved chest reveal. Take an item that is integral to the Catholic doctrinal faith? Dangle on top said shave chest as if though trying to signal the mind numbing false conflation that a swimmer’s chest is akin to divine cleanliness and masculinity much of the same way drinking a gallon of yoo hoo is akin to proper post workout nutrition.
And truthfully, I am still waitng for the horde of bikers to take back the bandanna by storming a private party DJ’ed by Tiesto’s former roommate and beating the crap out of these tools who wear them like they are some forehead protector. Are they channeling Edo Japaon or something? Maybe the ghost of samurai scrote still lingers.
Dude’s got spooge stains on his shirt. What the hell! What sort of dumbass goes out in public with cumstains on his shirt? Who the HELL goes to a club with spoog—
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Oh wait. That’s my monitor.
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Never mind.
Some of these choads are at least learning to appreciate being pictured with cute girls. That’s a nice trend – now lose the stupid mandanna, button the shirt, and doff the benwah beads and we’ve got a notta.
He said: “Now you just caught one hell of a blight
And I know you want to fellate me, and you got the right
To sookle me now, I wouldn’t blame you if you do.
But ya ought to thank me, before I die,
For the dildo in ya ass and the shit in ya eye
Cause I’m the son-of-a-bitch that named you “Poo”
The Mandana in Black would often perform with his wife, the lovely and talented Poon-Farter Cash.
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Known throughout the Country Music industry for her harmonious queefs.
The Man in Crack.
Lip ring seals the deal – he’s not playing dress-up, he’s the real thing. Douche!
For a douchebag, he sure is a smiley face and has a neatly pressed shirt, albeit too open to the shaved chest; and otherwise clean attire neatly adorning his pleasant bod. Dressed in black means he might just be poo passing blood, since that’s tarry black stuff in the brown poo. But SHE is a heavenly gal who gives credence to his presence…and all I can further add is, get rid of the dark clothes, it’s hot summertime and bathing attire or whites are the protocol.
Dumbkopfs!
The ‘Boy’, in an effort to harden-up his comfortable middle-class background, is clearly going for the butch in black look. Based on this wild (and possibly erroneous assumption) that makes him a cockneck phony of the highest order.
Sophie on the other hand, and in this case that be my right hand, is several shades of exquisite, and i’d probably vote for the party I’ve never once previously voted for in Australia’s forthcoming federal election just for a chance at licking her upper thigh region.
Also, niceMarshall McLuhan inside reference, Sir David Douchenborough.
What could I poo? What could I poo?
I got all choked up as he threw down his pants
And I called him my plug, and he called me his gash,
And I came away with a different point of view.*wink, wink*
And I think about him, now and then,
Every time I try the shocker again,
And if I ever have a buttplug, I think I’m gonna name him
Edna or Cromwell! Anything but Poo! I still hate myself!
No notta for this guy. He doesn’t strike me as a dyed-in-the-wool choadmunch, but the picture don’t look like Halloween to me, so if it smells like taint, it’s taint.
She is all that is good and delightful and spankworthy about non-Bleeth hotts. And I stroke it to her visage, in the millieu of Clarence Carter.
@ Doc
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Senior Scrotato is correcto
Rest assured “The Road” is an accomplishment in American literature. McCarthy’s style is both annoying with his lack of punctuation and quotation marks and brilliant at the same time. He makes you pay attention with a maximum effort because you have to concentrate and fill it in with your mind’s eye.
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From start to finish that book fucks with your head , heart and stomach all at the same time but when your done you are deeply moved. If you let yourself go.
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May I suggest when an epic novel is made into a movie, always read it first.
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May I also suggest “Blood Meridian” a McCarthy western featuring the imaginative character, Judge Holden, and if you like that try Trevanian’s genius “Incident at 20-Mile” with the most vicious villian to ever grace a western novel, the blood thirsty Hamilton Leider .
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And I’m not even a fan of westerns
I’ll also chime in here, I just finished reading “The Road” a few days ago. Granted, three pages in, i wanted to take the book and throw it out the window for McCarthy’s seeming inability to use complete sentences. The bad news is, those incomplete sentences of his are laden with the most descriptive, reality-conjuring prose I have ever laid eyes on, and I grudgingly kept going. A chapter or two in, I wasn’t going to let go. I could smell the ash, feel the cold stabbing at my bones. The odd thing I thought after reading it, is that the man and the boy are really secondary, the main character is this endless, frigid wasteland of a dead world, much the way Morricone’s music becomes a character in Sergeo Leone’s westerns. I had no illusions that this treatment of a landscape would translate to film.
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On top of that, the pacing of the book is very slow, as it should be. An endless trudge through wet ash and snowfall to what may or may not be certain death; there is no need for banal chitchat between characters. Really, there are no characters to develop. What can be said about a person when they have only one thing left, which is survival to the next day? No hope, no dreams, no favorite jokes, just making it another ten miles down the road.
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I’m debating seeing the movie as I’m sure I’ll hate it. But do read the book. There are so few cases where the movie is better, or even does justice to the book.
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Now that the literary portion of today’s Gorgon Hour is through, I think this guy is begging for a pierced scrotum. With a staple gun. To his forehead.
@ Medusa
Disagree with one point. Man and boy. Huge plot driving force. I felt the love that bound them together as a harsh tonic and sweet honey at the same time.
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The book had me going up to look at my sleeping 4 year old more than once. Could I do what the dad did? Was the wife the smart one?
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I went to a McCarthy discussion website and saw theoretic range of ideas from God and Christ to a simple love a man has for his children in it’s most primal form.
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This is the gift of the book, you can take it at face value, science fiction, or see your own individual life in it’s telling.
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Could also be a man’s perspective vs. woman’s. Or I’m an idiot. Probably the idiot thing
To chime back in on “The Road”, what I found compelling throughout the story was the concept of total loss. What do you have left when absolutely nothing else matters? Not money, or property, or status. The relationship of the boy, and the concept of hope as the only remaining “possession” if you will, still sticks with me today when I recall the book, which I read last year. Like Vin, I think of my young family and wonder what, if anything, I could do under the same circumstances.
My what a well coiffured douche. Some of the other choads on this site really need to lift their game. Who irons their mandana??
Mandanas are really easy to slide down their face,and strangle ’em. Maybe he’ll think about that next time he goes out.
That guy is gorgeous.
Sophie looks too stupid to be a lit major. not that i wouldn’t defile her if given the opportunity.
then again, though, the sophisticated lit major type that i’ve known would date guys 15 years older than her while her 48 year old mother wept day and night over losing her 73 year old boyfriend to natural causes. i’ll tell ya, nothing brings a loving daughter together with her 48 year old mother when said mother loses a boyfriend 25 years older than her.
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yep. that was the last time i tried talking to a lit major hott at a bar.