Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Greased of Eden
Ah yes, Vegasian Clublandia.
Where Germanic greasevomits with Mark of the ‘Sack uponst their slimy-ass eighthead get ab fondle from tasty perkle potts named Kelly Von Slenderfondle.
Still not okay.
Your humbler narrs may not be updating HCwDB on the reg anymore.
But the taint/hott cohabit still rankles the cockles of the cackles of my nethers like an alpaca on a treadmill.
Keep the mock going, fellow ‘bag hunters. For ours is, as always, the noblest of cause.
Sorry Kelly. Thrusting out that chest ain’t gonna make those boobs look any bigger.
The Groin Shave Reveal makes a comeback! Kelly is quite comely. And by quite comely, I mean splooge.
It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen a girl with boobs that made her chest even MORE concave.
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Middle school I think.
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This nerdy tomboy girl Amber who wore big glasses, big baggy shirts, and studied Korean. We used to joke about her being a lesbian all the time, but then I found out she had a crush on me one day.
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Correction…my FRIENDS found out she had a crush on me and viciously ripped on me for having a nerdy tomboy lesbian having a thing for me. You see, Amber made the mortal mistake of dedicating a song to me in the school ‘zine: I Hate Myself for Loving You by Joan Jett, to be precise.
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“She may look like a boy, but she’s got a vag! Go for the GOLD!” they would tell me tauntingly. But ya know what, fuck these guys, I’ll ask her out. If nothing else just to spite my dickbag friends. So I did, and she of course shyly accepted.
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We went out on our first date to see some PG-13 romantic comedy at her suggestion. I don’t remember what it was, but it was boring and stupider than SHIT. About 15 minutes into the plot as I was preparing to fall over and die, Amber suddenly spoke up in a uncharacteristically decisive voice, “This movie is crap. Do you wanna make out?”
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“Y-yes” I squeakily replied, as I turned and began to lean in for an ad hoc romantic moment. As I gently closed my eyes and parted my lips, slowly leaning forward for a long open mouthed kiss like saw on all the cute afterschool specials, Amber suddenly threw her face against mine and rammed her tongue in my mouth with reckless abandon. I deftly responded in turn as best as I could manage, somewhat in shock and disbelief of what was taking place between my forced open mandibles. I wasn’t about to go down without a fight, but her initial onslaught caught me so off guard I had no chance of fully recovering. I was able to muster enough a parlay or two to keep her slithering tongue from hollowing out my skull with her voracious Frenching.
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Not that I wasn’t enjoying every slobbery second of our saliva drenched adventure. My barely pubescent boastful plumb, fully engorged, was testament to that little fact. And so I “went for the GOLD.” Second f’cking base, dude!
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I thrust my hands under her baggy Esprit sweatshirt, and began crawling my way up her soft abdomen towards to those sweet youthful mounds.
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Training bra.
Okay…nothing to be worried about here, don’t have to deal with any confusing hooks or underwires. Not that I haven’t practiced plenty with Mom’s bras strapped to a sack of Gold Medal flour, but training bras are one piece and stretchy. Simple. They can be slipped right off with no technical prowess necessary.
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And so I slipped my grubby little pre-teen fingers under that first elastic band into the cotton pockets above and….uh oh. No bueno. There’s….nothing here.
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Okay, okay…I know it has to be chick boobs, because the nipples are a little more bulbous than mine, but that’s about where the differentiating features end. My slightly overweight friend Jason has bigger boobs than this chick.
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With not much to grab and fondle, I bid a hasty retreat and did my best to discreetly spurn her frantic tongueing. I disengaged, leaned back, and fake yawned as wide as I could feigning fatigue. It’s late, right? Like 8pm. Gotta get up early for…school and shit.
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I survived the next two weeks not having to confront Amber by strategically ducking out of view in the halls between classes, avoiding the cafeteria all together, and having my Sister answer the phone everyday, saying I wasn’t at home; until one day she sickened of my constantly deferring to her my cowardice and said “ya, he’s here. He’s just want’s me to tell you he’s not here. But I’m giving him the phone anyway!”
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I don’t specifically remember what excuse I made to get her to go away, but it was something lame. I made some dumb analogy about window shades and wallpaper for why we didn’t match up.
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She was pissed. And rightfully so. I was a total douchebag to her because she was flat. And that was pretty dumb of me in retrospect. Based on what she did with her tongue, I passed up the best blowjob of my young life.
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So let this be a lesson to all you young’uns out there. Go for the GOLD, dude!
Gunther, in town for the annual Spätzle & Knockwurst cook off, takes time off from his duties as chief sausage stuffer, to gel & spike his hair, bust out a 1000 situps all in the hopes scoring some easy American ass.
The Mayan Eye of Coitus is strong with this one.
Also, how do I fix my avatar? That ain’t me!
That’s one greasy Kraut!
These two have been stuffed by more coccks than the hens at a Purdue factory.
Yes this dude is douche but the Hott? Not so.
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Best background singer name in the R&B realm ever, Starshemah Bobatoon . True fact
Jacques left out the part where she shit on his toothbrush, or chest, or cock, or all the other things I love to be regaled with. Regaled..I says.
The world has not changed in thirty years my friends. The almighty template for the universe of Lethal Weapon is the greatest transgenerational vortex of space-time ever.
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uz3-eNDpY6M
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My fucking nerves are a wreck. Smoking two packs a day since Rev Chad 1 almost bit it ,the fucker, thru the dog dying after eating awesome pizza and the booze-phenobarbital ice chips to todat.The fucking fat daughter looks kind a cute in her new Catholic School(repsect) but fuck, lose some weight. And Wang Chung for TRARHAF. By TRARFAF I mean the rock and roll hall of fame fuckers. Fucking liver enzyme tests and Lenny got hired by a weed factory in Smiths Falls, ON,. He’s gonna be working the night shift so he can still drive me, but it may be dangerous. That Joan Rivers hated her some the ARABS and shit.
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Fuck.
Greased Meets Chest…(less)
This dude now lives in the land of Nod as Able lays moldering in his grave. I don’t seem fair.
Why all the hatin’ on the hott?
Thin, limber, good face, and suckable titties.
Oh, and the Mayan Eye of Coitus, as pointed out by Ted Brogan above.
I’ve been here for seven years. Nothing works here. The medications don’t works.
Free Ted Brogan’s avatar dammit.
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Oh, yeah…and go here for a March 13th Haiku, which technically is not late since it was done back in 2005. Son.
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http://hotchickswithdouchebags.com/blog/2005/03/friday-haiku-354/
http://thechive.files.wordpress.com/2014/09/goofy-girls-23.jpg?w=550&h=967
March 14th 2005 Tri-Pear Tri-Fecta….Son
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Correction – Go here:
http://hotchickswithdouchebags.com/blog/2005/03/james-abbott-mcneill-whistler/
Jacques Doucheteau…
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Oddly, I have a similar middle school experience, complete with a chubby friend named Jason. I was lucky enough to finger blast the girl though, and it was during Rambo 2 I think.
Ah but yes…on this terrible anniversary we go to Threat Level Orange(utan):
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http://hotchickswithdouchebags.com/blog/2005/05/81614/
Man… I really think I’ve seen this girl before.
QUESTION:
Should I start Andrew Luck in my fantasy league or Matt Stafford?
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***EDIT*** Johnny Football, of course
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-D.S.
Speaking of Jacque’ing off…Fraiku, March 16th 2005, because Y.O.L. Twice:
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http://hotchickswithdouchebags.com/blog/2005/03/friday-haiku-355/
Before Jacques, the site grosser was a legendary bag-hunter and site rake called BSC (Much Respect, R.I.P.). Those were his initials. He was one of the funniest fuccen commenters here, bar none, between 2007 and 2010…then he just disappeared, as regs often do.
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But this was different. As we found out a couple of years later, BCS took his own life. From what I’ve pieced together it had to do with his fucked up relationship with his crazy wife, which he allowed us a glimpse of with this harrowing yet hilarious recording paired with his funny as shit crude sketches; definitely worth checking out; crude animations and in retrospect poignant and FUCK YOU BITCH.
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I was devastated when I heard; I could even post a comment on DB1’s eloquent announcement. It was during the implosion of my own marriage to the current Ex-Mrs. Sock so I could relate somewhat.
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The dude was epic; you can even see him if you rent the Kevin Smith film “An Evening with Kevin Smith“, where he had some funny-ass Q&A sessions on various college campuses. At one point in the film these two drunken assholes interrupt the proceedings by beating loudly on the auditorium doors. Kevin lets them in, and then fucks with them relentlessly onstate. One of them was, of course, BCS.
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So, anyways, years later I’m sitting here at work trying to learn the new 3D program (Revit) that architects moved onto a few years ago so I can draw again, because an Architect that can’t Draw is like a Porn Star that can’t Fuck. Son. And I want to be the Ron Jeremy (respekt) of this office.
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And since the Saints won (Respect) today I partook of the amber Kentucky Love Juice (Much Respecttt) and my attention wandered (aka ADD, no respect) and I Googled one of my many aliases, “Elastic Snap Hole of the Love Bear”, and I found this little corner of the Internet that BCS had created on YTMND.com (Stands for ‘You’re The Man Now, Dog’…I dunno) that he’d created in honor of the long-abandoned handle which was one of five that made it into the bag-hunter shout-outs DB1 did for his eponymous best-selling tome, “Hot Chicks With Douchebags”.
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As was the case with many of BCS’s posts…WTF, dawg?
Thanks, Sock – it’s great to peruse these threads. bcs is missed. Son.
I am the Ron Jeremy of my office. Only with less back hair, half the dick size, slightly less repulsive face, 75 pounds lighter and no 18 year-olds lining up to fuck me on camera for the street cred.
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So I guess I’m more like the shaky Michael J Fox of my office. Only without the ticks, unfocused glare, odd speech pattern and hot as fuck actress wife MILF
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So I guess I’m more like the Dave Attell of my office. Bald, shitty beard , making filthy jokes all day while constantly watching porn and thinking of new ways to write the same 4 chords into different country tunes (sometimes 3 chords depending on how many teeth per listener I see) except without the successful career and adoring fans
I’m the Ben Stiller-as-Walter Mitty of my office. I fantasize being the man of Kristen Wiig’s dreams, and I play keyboards like the guy in Forgetting Sarah Marshall. Without the money.
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I am also the 2014 Counterterrorism Campaign. Which Iraq War are you?
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http://www.clickhole.com/quiz/which-iraq-war-are-you-985
^Oh yeah, I don’t have an office, either.
Hark! You lugubrious baboons! Go thee hither and yon back to March 17th, 2005 and behold the twin gifts I’ve bequeefed unto you:
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http://hotchickswithdouchebags.com/blog/2005/03/friday-haiku-356/
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SOn
DarkSock’s touching tribute to BCS has moved me to reveal that I am a former regular that left and came back (infrequently). I did not commit suicide so I am not coming back from beyond the grave.
I came back and saw that the Boss announced retirement or podcast-ment or whatever. This place is weird (to me) now. The good, funny, creative stuff is still happening but it’s like this mushroom… it’s like this little tiny fungus growing on an old, dead Sequoia (or maybe just a coastal redwood).
At any rate, I will tease at my identity, just in case any dope you are wondering:
1. I am not an alternate persona of DarkSock
2. I belong to the Hall of Mock
3. I am not a Volkswagen enthusiast
4. I am not Baron von Goolo
Goddammit, my sequoia thing is dogshit
Are you an alternate personality of DarkSock?
^damn; the randomly assigned avatar fits the name for once…
Are you…Doc?
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Wait, wait…couple more guesses…
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Pfah?
Troy Tempest?
BCS? Oh…wait…
Steve L?
Wheezer?
Medusa Oblongata?
creature?
Crucial Head?
Mr. White?
Archidoucheis?
Mr. Biggs?
Sergeant Scrote Stain?
boatbutter?
Captain Bringdown?
Whoop-di-douche? <–(i know ur secret…)
massengill?
Mr. Scrotato Head???
Deltus?
The Reverend Chad Kroeger?
mr.reeve?
Wedgie?
Et Tu Douche? (?)
Eliza Douchcoo?
dbBen?
soy bomb? Yeah…it's SOY BOMB! No?
I R A Darth Aggie?
jonezy?
Douchble Helix?
the douche is alright?
Choad the Douche Sprocket?
Stephanie?
Dude McCrudeshoes?
Sir David Douchenborough?
Il Douché?
Bag A?
douche equis?
THEONETRUEDOUCHE?
Merle Baggard?
ehcuodouche?
Ol' Dirty Douchebag
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Pablo? Pablo, Honey???
no, he’s Jacques. I recognize that stuck up litttle piss ant inbred frog fucking snotty anal discharge excuse for son anywhere.
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.Trying to toot his own horn like he pathetically yanks his shrivled tiny plumb. Sad
Jean Claude Van Douche?
Plinky? That guy who had a blog with a wizard avatar who went by Baio Dome or something? Arkansas Dave Douchebaugh?
Anthony LaBaglia, Scrotebob Douchepants, Paper or Plastic, Zen Wizard, Archidouchis, Adolph Von SkrotelerVon Baggenstein, Douchetoevsky?
So many good names from the past.
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Listened to the podcast with the make up artist for monster movies who did some mainstream movies and won an Emmy or Grammy, or Oscar or whatever. Pretty. Good.
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My opinion, keep the into to non-pro-rock pretentiousness levels. Short and sweet. Otherwise, I enjoy downloading and listening when Howard Stern is not live (which is basically like every day now).
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Good luck boss. Your break is coming.
Guess I now know what I look like without make up on.
I shudder to think of Baron Von Goolo sans make-up artistery.
Btw – if you are near Portland on Holloween, hit up BvG’s House of Horrors. I will be there this year. Dressed as Darksock.
Hehe. See you there Crucial. This year I’ll be dressing up as one of my links.
^ *shudders* The horror. The horror.
I think the chick is Ryder from Jersey Shore; Snooki’s friend..
https://twitter.com/Ryder__
http://instagram.com/ryder__
Is anybody here still talking about Rush?