Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Average Vaguely Orange Guy

We haven’t seen a lot of orangebaggery since the skin-burning over-tanning douche vortex of the late 2000s.

Theo here isn’t even really that orange. Hell, he doesn’t remotely approach the Peak Orangeness that we have witnessed and now enshrine in our Closet of Poo.

In fact, I’m not sure why I’m even bringing Orangebaggery up.

Tell me Sweet Jenny Sucklethigh, do I mock for naught?

Can I fondle a booble proddle?

Or would that be inappropriate given our professional relationship as co-chairs of the Sheboygan Chess-for-Charity team?

Yup. No idea what I’m saying. Time for coffee.

Just ignore the text.

Happy and Pensive Memorial Day…

Today is Memorial Day. And so we honor the fallen. As Charles Blow reminds us, Memorial Day was created by freed slaves in honor of those who died fighting for the Union.

Let us take a moment and remember those who fell in all wars. But especially those idiotic and unnecessary wars. Which are most of them. Honor their memory today as I will. By mocking the shit out of anyone who argues to start even more wars so they can feel better about their small peepee or lack of sex life in high school.

Enough. No more sending young kids to die so old people can avoid the existential crisis of their own mortality. No more fake old men waving a flag.

War is tragedy as performance art. Entertainment for the lizard brain. Gothic horror performed solely to create emotive catharsis in the masses that gather to witness the spectacle to purge their own demons, rage, and hatred. From Roman gladiators to the MMA, the need to witness the blood purge is primal, impossibly strong, and hardwired into our animal DNA. But it is also that most primitive and vile tie to the tribal affiliations of our primate history. Enlightenment comes not by indulging these basest of instincts, but by acknowledging them and rejecting them. Douchebags preen as muscled up and oiled simian primitives to attract a mate for the same reason old people cheer on the young as they march into slaughter under cover of a flag. For both, the need for the spectacle of the impossibility of youth on display is the same. But war is the distillation of how this paradox ends only in tragedy, destruction, and waste. It is only in purging this desire through recognition, awareness, and maturation that true catharsis awaits. Recent American history is shameful. We can, and must, do better.

The Sock Fits

Massive props to HCwDB Pinch Hitting Hendu, the one and only Dark Sock.

For manning the store while your humb narrs was off meditating in quiet repose, and by meditating in quiet repose, I mean fondling honey badgers while watching old reruns of dark-haired-Bob Barker-era The Price is Right.

I’m back, bitches.

Lets fire up this place with some age-appropriate rants.

Cuz that’s what ah doo.

Sunday Science Class

Constipated DoucheBag reminds us that his ilk only comprise half the subject matter of this site. They’s hotts on this site as well. Son.

As I wind down ‘Sock Week in anticipation of DB1’s return tomorrow I shall endeavor to share with you some of the rare sub-classes of Hotts und Pear:

I Have Your Pink Monkey Hostage Hott;

Secretly Stern Pear;

It-wakes-up-or-it-gets-the-hose-the-snooze-hose-Pear;

Peeled Pear;

Pinky & My Brain Pear;

Shoes Match The Carpet Pear;

Walking around the beach in her underdraws Pear;

A Bit Nippy Hott;

A Man’s Garter Do What A Man’s Garter Do Pear;

The Bedroom Librarian;

Chest Pair Pear;

Down For Whatever Pear;

And, of course, We’re Here For The Orgy Trifecta.

And that barely scratches the surface of Planet Hott.

Thusly begins my Sabbatical.

Wallnuts After Dark: Oofa, What's Wit All A the Friggin' Exercise?!?

So I went to see my doctor, Dr. Dominic Domenico, and he says to me, “DW,” he says, “you been livin’ large for too long and ya gotta start takin’ better care a yourself. Start exercisin’ an cut out some a the Salumi you been packin’ away like it’s goin’ outta style.” He actually talks like that. Hand to God.

So I says, “Doc,” I says, “I ain’t never seen the insides a no gym unless I was tellin’ some mug he hadda take a dive on account a the dough we was layin’ off on the other guy.” And he tells me he don’t care about none a that shit and that I gotta join a gym or else I ain’t gonna live to see too many more a the Our Lady a Mount Carmel summer festivals, if you know what I mean.

Anyways, I gotta admit I’d been eatin’ way too much Pasta Fagioli and Sbriciolona and Lardo, and Annette an I have been hittin’ the Martinis and Averna kinda hard. And I gotta says my Oleg Cassini European Cut slacks don’t fit me like they’s meant to in all the vital areas, if you catch my drift.

So I head on over to the local gym and a course I get this big muscleheaded Mama Luke half-a-Finnoch, tough guy wanna be j’drool who has a hand shake grip like one a them Nancy boys you’d find prancin’ around the Village wearin’ a mesh sleeveless shirt and blue jeans that are so tight they show the balls, and he comes on strong with the heavy sales pitch. Befores he can get rollin’ I says, “Hey Mack, save the schpeil for someone who gives a Fucc, I’mst here to join up.” So that was that.

Now none a the guys was ever the type to go for any a that exercisin’ shenanigans. Oh sure, Sinatra and I would go for a schvitz ‘specially when we had a dame or two along to top us off whilst we was sweatin’, but believe you me you’d never catch us doin’ no push-ups or sit-ups. You’d have a better chance a catchin’ us listenin’ to Jerry Vale 8-track tapes than you would seein’ us doin’ that shit. Jerry Vale, I says.

So I walk inta this big friggin’ room wit nothin’ but threadmills, those staircase machines, and some other contraptions that reminded me a some a those industrial type machines we used to stuff uncooperative types, deadbeats and other elements who was undesirable to the Family into. Usin’ all a these machines there’s a ton of fat dames and a bunch a paunchy gray-skinned pischocs sweatin’ and puffin’ an lookin’ miserable cuz for all a their work they ain’t goin’ nowheres. Pischocs, I says.

And I’m thinkin’ to myself, if this exercise racket is so jake why is all a these out a shape people in here? There weren’t a one of ’em who looked like they coulda punched their way outta a Cannoli shell. Madon!

Then there’s the friggin’ music they’s playin’ that was poundin’ so loud I felt like I was at one a them titty bars I used to run back in the day when the 5 Families ran all a the titty bar businesses in the Tri-State region. And on top a all a that noise, they got all a these TVs with everything on them from The Sports Center to Kelly and Michael. I tells ya I had a headache worser than I did than when I went to my Step Grand Niece Carlotta’s Chorus Concert and Dance Recital.

So I made me a bee-line right to the office a that cheese eatin’, pumped up pussy hump with the over gelled hair and Finnochy hand shake and tole him I wanted my fuckin money back, pronto. And he gave me all a that, ‘we don’t give refunds and I gotta talk to my manager,” and whatnot. I said “Look pal, I only been here 6 minutes and if I don’t get my money back now, I’m gonna call my friend Skinny D’Amato and he’ll get it back for me, from you. Speakin’ a Skinny, why don’t you look him up on your computer.”

Before you can say, “The Google,” I had my refund. As far as exercise goes, I’ll walk around the friggin’ block whilst laying off a the Soppresate, and the like.

Late Night with HCwDB: The Road To Peardition – Volume 3

Why are we here?

Because.

Sexy Pear. Son.

Window Dressing Pear.

Yoga Pear Pair.

Bass Pear.

Beached Pear.

Science Pear.

Hot damn! Its time for…DarkSock's Friday thoughts and links

I cannot imagine what is on this guy’s phone to distract him from the spectacle around him…unless it’s Friday Thoughts And Links!

DarkSock here, getting ready for mammarial day, lounging on the Biloxi beach, chillin’, partying with old friends and generally horsing around.

Speaking of horses…this is what happens when you misspell “bridal” with “bridle”…

In the heat of the summer sometimes the ladies like it when you get a little kinky and whisper sweet things into their ear. Sometimes it’s the little things. Sometimes they just want to catch a good buzz. Or so they say.

Breaking news – This just in…Convicted choke-worthy ass clown behind “Girls Gone Wild” still an insufferable douche nozzle. Dude, we can see you’re full of crap, like a glass toilet.

But enough silly links. You are here for the Glory.

For the Noteworthy Pear:

Super Mario Pear.

Bicycle Training Pear.

Pretty Maidens All In A Row Pear(s).

I can haz sandwich? Pear.

And stay tuned for late night pear.

Son.

Friday Haiku

Todd found out he was

Silicone Intolerant

When the seizure struck.

Don’t you worry, Todd

I have just the paddle to

Get through those mountains.

— The Dude

Someone pissed in the

Goose, Bobby Bottleservice

Took a big ol’ swig

— Capt. James T. Douche

Trish moved to LA

with starlet dreams. Now: Vegas

Selling Goose. Damn Shame.

— HCwDBnyc

Party scene, nightlife

Detritus of the human

Condition. With booze

— DoucheyWallnuts

She likes the hipsters

Since the gyroscope was put

In her Monkey Hole.

— The Reverend Chad Kroeger

The coat he’s wearing

matches the one on his tongue:

both “Members Only.”

— Wheezer

IT ROCKS THE SHAG CHITON

…Or it gets The Hose.

The Southern Comfort Hose.

Discuss.

Cody's having an awesome time

…from which he’ll awake in a bath tub of pinkish ice with a 12 inch scar and a hand-written note.