Monday, February 18, 2013
Reader Mail: The Story of Benzino
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Hi DB1-
I saw your recent two pics of BENZINO (Friday Haiku on 15 Feb 2013 and Benzio Feels the Douchewaves). I am assuming that you know he works as a nightclub host in Las Vegas. He has several Facebook pages and I assume you’ve seen them.
I know this because years ago he used to date a smoking chick in Austin, TX. I’ve attached some pics of the two of them (and some of her by herself). If you don’t like big fake boobies then she will not be hot.
Sincerely,
– The Benz Mocker
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Because ev-ery roseeeee tattoo has it’s douche…
Good work, B.M. And may all your stools be whole and fibrous. Like little Benzinos.
I like that name, The Benz Mocker. Has a nice ring to it.
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I also like that dirty little minx in the school girl outfit, big fake cans and the glasses. And by like, I mean my renoB is such a rager that a cat couldn’t scratch it.
Tis the Season,
As mother nature teases with hints of Spring The Douche takes notice. It is during this time of year that The Douche senses the stirring of Bleeth and other potential conquests who have spent the past couple of months on the couch sipping wine, snacking on Häagen-Dazs® swaddled in sweat pants, cocooned within their favorite blanket. The Douche knows that within the coming weeks the gym memberships will spike, the mani/pedi salons will be buzzing with appointments. The big box clothing establishments trot out the newest fashions selling hope and overpriced garments manufactured in dank sweat shops in countries they’ll probably never visit.
The resolutions made, the Bleeth, the Woo Hott, the suburban MILF, all with good intentions begin again to work their cores, to go the extra rep or 2 whilst doing dumbbell lunges. They will buy the newest hot yoga or tight workout pants along with the cute sneakers you just had to have. Soon the confidence levels will rise and slipping into a pair a shorts, pasty winter ravaged legs be damned, will become more common. As the weather moderates and slowly rises so do the expectations for The Douche. Like a dolphin sensing a bait ball from many miles away The Douches will soon be swarming. For they too are in preparation mode focusing on shredding as opposed to bulking.
It will begin in earnest at the afore mentioned gyms, health clubs and yoga studios in yourtown, USA. The furtive glances, the side way looks in the mirror, the smell of sweat, anticipation, pent up urges and shame fill the air. The texts will start flying among besties & bro’s with reckless abandon, “OMG, this guy at the gym is sooo hot”, “You shoulda seen this piece of ass on the StairMaster today, I’m def gonna hit that”. After a few weeks The Douche will have his quarry dead in his sights, there will be offers to help out with regards to proper form. Glances will be reciprocated, sweat shirts a forethought the sweat stained sports bras straining to be noticed, no worries for The Douche has noticed.
As the days pass the local establishments will soon open up the outdoor areas, table umbrellas staring towards the sky’s happy hours on full tilt. The jockeying for prime seen & be seen seats begins, the not so accidental brush ups more common. Digits will be exchanged, “Hit me up” will be uttered, garish tee shirts & tight jeans will be purchased.
The ingestion of a toxic diet consisting of Red Bull, 5-hour Energy® drinks, Xanax, poorly cut blow and Grey Goose will ensue, the “game” will be played there will be exorbitant tabs paid on credit or better yet on someone else’s credit and the walk of shames will be many.
Anger, dismay, embarrassment will ensue, rushed visits to the family doctor with pleas of “please don’t tell my dad” or “she said she was clean”. The realization that some photos you took with your “smart” phone you thought would never get into anyone else’s hands wind up on the interwebz. Soon the pictures will make the rounds via your many ‘friends” on FB.
The bonus being hopefully they will wind up here and the ensuing mock sure to be well earned.
I got all that “smart” shit now for work and it all syncs to a tv somehow, fucked if I know. The only thing I’m gonna send pictures of is my schwantz painted black. Nobody will know unless they notice the poor circumcision scars, Dad was a gambler, and misplaced sperm hole. It shoots at a 90 degree angle to the norm and a bit to the left.
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And I agree with Et Tu, but he’s pretty hard on Xanax.
Xanax and Red Bull cancel each other out .
“If you don’t like big fake boobies then she will not be hot.”
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Well der.
She’s giving me the the eye. The Mayan Eye.
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And entirely too tight shorts. I’m feeling a little light headed, actually. I’ll have to sit down and hope this passes.
These two douches are not of the same wipe, unless the time frame is hugely different since today’s wank photo has gauges in his ears the size of redbull cans and senor douche from last week has simple lobes.
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Just sayin’