The Genie Outside of Bottle
Here’s the central concept underlying Orangemen group groping a hottie that we all need to understand.
In the age of Toffler’s Future Shock, language and image have inverted, flipped on their lid, and danced a jig of meaning fragmentation. Put simply, the egg-being is post-born and forever broken. Humpty Dumpty can never cohesively be reconstructed again.
The conceptual structures that maintain institutional power are not visible, as Foucault taught us, but instead teach us self imprisonment through linguistic inscription and repetition.
It is only when the image is fully untethered from structure, when the signifier is fully destabilized in the simulacrum, that true revolutionary dialectics can occur.
This is the revolution of HCwDB, no matter how it becomes codified in subsequent form.
The ‘bags and hotts featured images on this site do not exist.
They are conceptually reinscripted (re)creations of spectral phantasm conjured by each of us, individually, upon the act of witness.
For that ancient question no longer exists. The tree that falls in the woods not only doesn’t make a sound, we no longer need a tree. Nor woods. The sound occurs either way. Fully corporeal fragmentation within unconstituted denature in the realm of the uncanny.
That is the revolutionary shift in conceptual recodification brought about by the untethered nature of collective simulacra in the mass media age.
The body is no longer a body. The corporeal has gone electromagnetic spectral and the genie can only shake her phantasmic bootie to a hiphop techno beat of imagination in the endless, open bottle of (un)containment.
where is the hott?
I see dopes in wife beaters.
@ Db1
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Not so sure the dudes pictured enjoy women, especially the three on the right
Has anyone seen my mind, because I think it just got blown. But since nothing exists and I’m just an electromagnetic spectral it probably just got a virtual reach around.
This does look like a prime example of gaybaggery. At the very least they’ve probably engaged in some drunken, post-clubbing, ain’t-no-broads-around-so-why-not experimentation.
At any rate, call in a napalm strike.
Cute little fag hag.
I can smell the BO from here. Thanks a lot.
I feel bad for the totem pole in the background who has to be witness to such idiocy, also note little creeper-bag behind Laguna Beach
Totally gonna vom.
In New Jersey gay party finds you
Alvin Toffler, no?
I don’t care who you are. Any guy that shaves his eyebrows is a little funny.
Ashlee Simpson really does love the queens, doesn’t she?
Wow. That’s so crazy I almost get it.
For the love of wifebeaters!
@Douchble Helix, yes Toffler. I fixed it. Stupid Night Train stupor…
– management
Boss,
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That write-up alone is why I caint never quit you. Bravo! Huzza! Schmega Dildos!! And wotnot, etc, et al, ad nauseum.
Well put good sir. Speaking of uncanny (and the valleys thereof), model T-1Hardy on the right needs to be sent back to Cyberdyne…we don’t need dogs to find this one, just a healthy does of post pizza+strawberry shasta wretch.
The guy on the left looks like the regret of dressing in matching wife beaters, jeans and sun glasses (at night) like the rest of his underemployed choad-posse is really setting in. Sorry bro, no notta pass for you. Guilt by douchassociation.
DB1: And people probably told you that philosphy major was not going to pay off right? fools !
Why does Avril Lavigne look even remotely scared of the Spangle Jockey Butt Fluffer Brigade?
@DB1 – put down the laughing gas and back slowly away from the Baudrillard. It’s a dangerous combo. Believe me.
Earl Ray Kumquat’s NASCAR pit crew takes time out to abduct a homeless teen prostitute. Bobby Jim has a question: “I thought we were gay?”
I’ve seen straighter things at a crazy straw factory.
These guys make Lombard Street look straight.
Hey Croosh! Long time no see! Well, not like I’ve been around either. Speaking of which….so if these guys really don’t exist, then where or what or who am I? Fuuuuuuuuuuuu……….
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Even the parasitic twin growing out of the cranium of the guy on the far right looks disgusted.
So what you’re saying is that the crusade is hopeless fantasy, that whether the mock occurs or doesn’t occur, there will always be the douche regardless of time or place. The douche has evolved into concept rather than Affliction tees and groin shave reveals.
Damn, that’s depressing.
IS STHIS west side story? o shit I HEAT OLIVIA NEWTON’S JOHN
rub mah leg, make it calm; back it down now, stepchile
So wait, let me just try to wrap the ol’ noggin around this one again. If I were to pee in a horse’s butt it wouldn’t make a sound but if a horse were to pee in my butt it would unlock the Genie from the bottle which in turn would reverse space and time thusly allowing Chrisitina Aguileria a second chance at re-fucking up the National Anthem, because she would still be the same drunk hot mess and in turn, history would repeat itself literally. So really what’s the point of anything?
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Thems some balls deep thoughts DB1. I’m spent.
Spell Attic: no. You are both the horse’s butt, *and* the pee. And neither.
Can’t these guys afford regular shirts?
I can’t top what the Boss said, naturally, so I’m just going to say, “Boobies.”
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Now let’s find some.
Dear Boss:
Huh?
Affectionately,
Whoop-D