Friday Thoughts and Links
I realized yesterday, as The Jersey Shore enters its final season, that days go by where my mind blocks out that I am ultimately responsble for the world knowing the name “Snooki.”
I am in denial.
The mocking of ‘bags has brought me much important positive Karma for my Buddhist afterlife and rebirth. So Vishnu told me, by way of Elijah, at the last interfaith Seder.
But I must still make penance for the great cardinal sin of my ‘bag mocking leadership. The poo stain on my flag. The shaming of my ancestors.
The Snooki Baby will be stopped. By my future child. In an epic battle. With way too much CGI. And a wacky robot sidekick.
Here’s your links:
Flight of the Conchords reunites for charity. Brett? Check. Jermaine? Check.
My kingdom and a bottle of Charles Shaw wine to anyone who can explain this pic of Kisseus Vomitorious and Margaret. Regardless, they’s making a serious play for HCwDB of the Year.
It’s good to see Seinfeld keeping busy these days.
The difference between how men and women deal with breakups is pretty clear.
Bros.
HCwDB regular Mr. Biggs observes a Go Topless protest. In a related story, the DB1’s “Shaved Alpaca Pride” convention was not granted a city permit on animal cruelty grounds.
San Francisco coffee shop launches a war on herpsters. Take that, Instagram! Who uses Insta-… oh wait. D’oh.
OKCupid Enemies. I’m thinking of starting “JDateShiksas.com”.
This card is a fraud. There is only one King.
Happy Birthday to Paul Reubens, who turned 60 on Monday. He’s Sorry He Took the Money.
But you are not here to celebrate the birthday of the great Paul Reubens. You are here for pear:
Not enough? How about
Mmm… like succulent globules of pink booble fondle suckle thigh.
Jersey Short looks like a young Stephen Hawking hanging out with his bros. Probably negating the No Boundary hypothesis.
Today’s Pear is beyond extraordinary! I must ogle and fap repeatedly.
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Jersey Short meets McLovin?
Good on 4 barrel for poomping on herpsters. But that doesn’t change the fact their espresso is so godawful that I wouldn’t use it to clean grease off my engine block.
Great links, made for good lunch hour reading, except the OkCupid weirdos. Wow
Botox vs Buttocks; I’ll have the latter, please.
I LOVE these two:
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Not so long ago, I asked someone, “Why do I even KNOW the name of some random stupid fat chick in Jersey that I’ve never met, and who do I blame for inserting that in my mental rolladex?”
Dee-Bee OOOOOOOne?
Much more pear is needed to offset the Jersey Short picture.
The very definition of badassed:
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The Racontuers- Level
Both pears: BITE ME!
DB1
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You are shaming your people by supporting the Israel-hating do-nothing president (no racist, no respect). Son.
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Democrites
There’s Jerky, er Jersey Short, and there’s Jersey Beef, and then there’s Jersey Cows (Snooki breastfeeding her “little man”).
What more do ya want?
Rev Chad, if you think an entitled investment capialist pseudo cultist has some real love for the tribe you better ease up on the pancake batter.
Great links this week, DB1.
All this political talk depresses me, so I got to thinking about the good old days when nobody looked to the government to solve problems, because we all knew they was crooked.
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There were these stories that Mr. Sinatra would change his drawers 4-5 times a day and would never wear the same pair twice. That he would kick them off every time he went to the bathroom and his valet, that colored guy George who wrote the book, would pick them up, give Sinatra a new pair and trow away the old pair. Now, I’m not sayin Mr. S didn’t do some weird shit, but I think that story is exaggerated.
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What I can tell you is that Sinatra loved to eat full meals whilst sitting on the crapper. Sitting on the crapper, I says. “I don’t know what it is about taking a dump that makes me hungry. Madon!” Frank would says. The problem was that sometimes at the drop of a hat the kitchen staff and George would have to spring into action and prepare a 5-course meal so Frank could eat while he crapped.
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During the recording session for, “Songs for Swingin Lovers,” they was in the middle of cutting the track “Old Devil Moon,” Frank bolts out of the studio and over his shoulder yells to George as he’s trottin down the hallway, “Steak Pizzaiola, medium rare. Side of scharole. Clams Oreganata, fries. And a bottle of good fuckin’ Barbera. I’ll be droppin an axe in my bathroom. Make it snappy.” You never saw panic like the panic I saw on the faces that day, my friends.
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Now George was what they used to call, “A good colored fella,” and he was always prepared for these kinds of emergencies and had arranged ahead of time for this restaurant called Miceli’s in West Hollywood to mobilize in this kind of sitiation. The place is still there. Anyways, the “Sinatra Shit Squad,” made the call and the food was delivered right as Frank was pinching off the first bit of loaf. Which was perfect. As long as he was eating and shitting together at some point he was happy. If the timing was off and we missed the launch, oofa!
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Meanwhiles, the band was waitin and getting impatient. Frank would take 45-minutes to an hour and a half dumps depending on the meal and the stool. Which, by the way, is why Sinatra had hemmorhoids the size of a Winnebago. Gi-fuckin-gantic ‘roids, I says. Nelson Riddle, the arranger and boss of the band, finally goes off to see what Sinatra is doing. He yells into the can, “Frank, what the fuck’s goin on in there? Are you gettin blowed by Ava?” Gettin blowed, he says.
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You coulda heard a pin drop, as everybody knew not to talk about Ava like that. We was waitin for the explosion from Frank, a crash of dishes or Frank chargin out of the can with fists flying. But all we heard was a huge fart, the toilet flush, pants getting zipped and the door opening and closing. As Frank walked past Riddle he just says, “Nah, it was your mother. She loves suckin cock in bathrooms.”
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Then they went back in and finished up recording the record.
Kisseus has it in the Bag.
Don’t know who Kisseus is supposed to be, but Margaret looks like Mileena from Mortal Kombat.
http://grb76.deviantart.com/art/Mileena-Smile-286227286
Fellers, we are in on the greatest inside joke of all time . Once we get a secret handshake all we’ll have to do is use our wacky handshake and ask, “Sinatra Shit Squad”?
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Put them fuccen free masons right out of bidness
‘Bout time the chief ‘fessed up.
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I say we pants ‘im.
That’s some funny shit DW.
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Romneys
Sinatra Shit Squad FTW/L
The Sinatra Shit Squad needs a logo:
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http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2011/053/1/b/3s_logo_by_3467bell-d3a5rh2.jpg
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Maybe?
Brilliant, DW is Brilliant I says that or senile with a vast imagination either way he’s got my respect.
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Mmmmm…….. Piranha & Purple Lace Meaty Meat Pear.
That there is a good logo.
My newest Semetic (respect) crush has gots to be Ari Graynor she’s got a nice set of B( . )( . )B’s that chick. She looks naughty too.
http://movies.rightcelebrity.com/ari-graynor-fringe-actress/1770
I have a feeling ‘Sock hates bovine photobombs…..especially now.
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Just puttin’ it out there.
Semetic? I dunno…
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“She is a former student of Trinity College in Hartford, Connecticut.”
Motto in English: For Church and Country
That story is funnier the fourth time you read it.
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Shit Squadders
Her mons, I mean mom is Jewish and was raised as such.
Facts, shmacts.
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It’s like I was just telling this empty chair…
Late to the party, but I had to give credit to the gotopless.org link, which was within the link to the Mr. Biggs post (a nesting link? Like those Russian dolls? Frickin’ commies keeping us from proud American boobs … but I digress).
There are a number of pictures in a gallery there of a rather fetching natural redhead who seems to have gone on summer vacation and had the airline lose the checked bag with her shirts in it.
Good. God.
Not only is she attractive, her boobs aren’t those annoyingly small ones a lot of gingers seem to have, nor are they the overly plump ones the chubby gingers have, where the nipples become these weird pink dinner plates that look dirty because the freckles look like leftover food. Her boobs, much like Goldilocks’ bed (which I would totally tromp around in with her), are just right.
I would smell her farts.
That’s it. Nothing cute or fancy, no esoteric rambling leading up to some chance meeting, as is HCwDB custom. I would smell her farts. For having the good manners to post those photos of herself, I feel like I owe her that much.
The damn shame of it is that if she’s at a topless protest rally, it means she’s one of those free spirit hippie chicks. And that means her cooch tastes like granola.
I just can’t go with that, man.
He’s wants it up the ass bad and he’s checking for a penis.