Vegas Is Filled with Douchefluff
Stop the presses. Wait, what? Who dat say what?
I’m in Vegas.
And everyone looks like these two.
Amish faux punk doucheclowns and stripper hotts who smell like glitter, cheap hand sanitizer, and wet tobacco.
‘Tis true. Your humb narrs has chosen to return to the land of douche mecca that I first came to, so long ago, with notebook (and camera) in hand in the dark days of 2006. Back when I first began to document the emerging hottie/douchey plague.
And now I return, seven years later, to see from whenst the scrotal/hott cohabit has mutated, grown, shrunk, or otherwise stank up the strip.
HC1 and I dropped off the poop machine with the grandma and hit the road.
Vegas, baby.
I’m talking Swingers Vegas.
Not Hard Rock Douche Mecca Vegas.
The battle continues. HC1 and I will be mocking.
From a safe distance, of course.
Jenna Jameson and Lars Ulrich want you to know they are still alive and semi-relevant.
If you see Jon Favreau, pay some big dude to nad stomp him from the Rev and forward the bill to RCK Investment Trust (Isle of Man).
Don’t be a pussy, DB1.
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Unless you and HC1 are going for replacement, you’ve already increased your inclusive fitness (nicely done!).
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Plus, BC1 has extra-paternal care.
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So long as you’re recording good data – take some risks.
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You don’t have to stay at a safe distance anymore, just a potentially escapable one.
Corey Feldman get’s his gay on, blames pills, others, and enlists dead pal’s memory to add a few chapters to his book.
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http://www.cnn.com/2013/10/22/showbiz/celebrity-news-gossip/corey-feldman-sexual-abuse-book-ew
What does it mean if a potential Tranny gives you the renoBs?
I got $50 bucks that says Corey Feldman gets found dead David Carridine-style by 2015.
After yesterday’s public admission that I was molested my The Rev’s mother, memories have been flooding back.
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One day during Purim The Rev’s mother molested me with a bushel of pickled cumquats, a mature deer antler, a 5-pound Indian Club, and a down marker from the old Three-Rivers Stadium.
The noon edition of TMZ says Lou Reed died of shame after he was molested by my mother Jane Kroeger during a trippy gig at Utica in the summer of 62.
@ DW 9:03
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It just means the Tranny’s doing it right.
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Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
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If one isn’t satisfied stopping there, I professionally recommend the Dundee Test.
He oils up his head, dons a snorkel and goes shoulders deep up her goo shaft. Seen it at YouJizz
I’ve also seen these two at:
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Hot Chicks with Turkey Vultures.com
Lou Reed died? Is this the first time?
Feldman says this is Hollywood’s biggest danger… apparently he didn’t see Transformers 2, or is still repressing that memory.
Wallnuts, I think you need to test your IQ. Your Tranny IQ.
http://joeschwartz.net/shemale/index.html#
I was getting pissed about this guy’s molestation you were talking about. Then I realized it’s not really about Marty Feldman.
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My bad.
Just try not to make a BC2 while you’re there. Actually, do TRY to make one, just put the blocker on that. Your body will be out of whack from a full night’s sleep, leading your mind to believe there are no repercussions to the boobie fondle suck.
Marty Feldman got more pussy than Dark Sock.
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One day at Rite Aid, Rev’s mother started chatting me up in the checkout line. She was buying Cheetah pants, a toilet plunger and a disposable camera. Pretty easy to tell what happened next.
I admit it can be difficult at times to tell when one is dealing with a convincing female facade until you find yourself in an embarrassing predicament.
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Just try to be gracious and tactfully remove yourself from the situation before things get out of hand.
The Rev’s mother sexually abused me with a early ’90s cellular phone, a cheese grater, a quart of Greek yoghurt, and a copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.
The Rev’s mother once tied my left testicle to the banana seat of the 1972 Schwinn banana seat and rode it from Mexicali to Tijuana while I ran behind wearing nothing but a pink sombrero and yellow wellingtons.
You all had it easy. Rev Chad’s mother kidnapped me from my high school graduation in a windowless van and made me gargle a fresh-picked bushel of elederberries while a coconut-laden swallow flew right-handed circles with my scrotum in its beak and her forcing a large wooden badger into my bum.
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I proposed right then and there but unfortunately she declined.
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True story
Apparently the Rev’s mother lies a lot too. She told I was the only she would use that badger on.
I once oiled up my head, donned a snorkel and went shoulders deep up the Rev’s mother’s goo shaft.
Rabbi’s badger?
Also…why do I continue to click on Jacque’s links?
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Why.
AFFLICTED with poor sales!
The priests sure look funny in Vegas!
Amish Faux Punk Doucheclown relives his junior high football glory days as the backup punter while drawing on those Marlboro 100’s and playing the 1¢ Plants vs Zombies slot machine
Amish Faux Punk Doucheclown has a Hello Kitty cupcake nipple piercing
Amish Faux Punk Doucheclown smokes Swisher Sweets dipped in chocolate milk
Amish Faux Punk Doucheclown once stared down a horny Boston Terrier
Amish Faux Punk Doucheclown takes a job as a first base umpire in Little League Softball each March
@McCrude I failed the test. I thought they were all she-maies.
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I was once sexually abused by a she-male wearing a The Rev’s Mother’s Mask with a bottle of Brut by Faberge, the Mug shot of Robert Mitchum, an under-cooked Calzone, three gallons of Paul Mitchell hair gel and Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon Album.
My mother assaulted Karen Carpenter with an old-fashioned crank mixer while cooking chocolate cake with an Amish Faux Punk Doucheclown and anorexia ensued. Ensued I says. Son.
I once dreamt that I was groped by a Sebastian Cabot look alike wearing a Nehru jacket, whilst waxing the ninns of my Aunt Connie, and humming the theme song to Bewitched.
I thought the edit link read 100% off, which, frankly, seemed even more legit
1chastise