Doodie Abs

    Sunday, April 14, 2019

    The Yeaster Bunny

    Nothing a quick trip to the free clinic won’t cure.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Wednesday, January 30, 2019

    The Gator Snorts

    Somewhere, just a skosh on the outskirts of a small Bulgarian shtetl, within a semi-crumbled wasteland of a half-constructed tanning salon, a deep guttural cry pierces the pre-dawn greyness. It is a pure, atonal inchoate note of dissatisfaction. A foghorn clarion call that rises like a smokestack into the turgid, Eastern European air.

    “Grrrmmmmmphhhhhh!!”

    A large, lumpy swatch of leathery orange is visible amidst the ruins.

    It is The Gator.

    The former king of scrote-choadal greasewankery tilts his leathery visage. Surveys the ruins of his once exalted kingdom.

    His face-lumps pulse in contemplation. Rough hewn veins bulge from decades of chemical abuse locked in perpetual battle with Botoxian preservation.

    The Woo Hotts, long gone.

    The Axe Bodyspray long ago exhausted its pyrrhic scent like a lingering, somnambulant roadkill exhaling one last misty gasp before ending its mortal coil.

    The once pulsing techno soundtrack to a life of perpetual motion has been replaced only by the faint howls of wind and failed purchasing power. The echoing, phantasmic boom-siss-boom-siss lurks within the Gater’s mind like the tinny drums of a Ramada Inn 80s cover band doing injustice to early Thomas Dolby. The outdated iPod headphones that once struggled to contain the Gator’s greasy veiny head-visage now hang only limply. Sadly. Discarded. For sale on Ebay.

    A moment of silence.

    A grackle lands on a wooden stump. Regards the sagging, semi-hulken slugworth slumped in front of it like a discarded baggage of unrecycled cookie dough.

    The Gator looks up. His ruddy eyes fixate on the small bird through wrinkled, heavy, tangelo-colored eyelids.

    The Gator sniffs. Snuffs. Huffs. Then scratches his leathery orange pec-hide with a coarse, ripping sound. The ragged skin undulates like a vomiting coelacanth.

    The grackle knows.

    Oh yes, the grackle knows.

    Orange is the head that once wore the crown.

    Like a rumbling subway station that smells vaguely of yesteryear’s bottle service, the noise begins to rise from within his energy-drink stained sternum. And then, as if a rusty windpipe in a post-Lynch landscape, the Gator’s weary lungs exhale, emitting yet another inhuman, atonal note of dispair.

    “Grrrrrrmmmmppphhhhh….”

    The grackle flies off.

    Too much time has passed for the Gator to still be here.

    All that’s left is his thought.

    Which means nothing. Nothing is left.

    The Gator is exhausted. Physically. Mentally. Roidally. Scrotally.

    Long live The Gator.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Friday, January 10, 2014

    Friday Haiku

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    Kate and Jon were pleased;
    The Constipati-Push diet!
    Their abs? Bowel-Ripped!

    Jon’s goal was simple:
    Find a girl who has the guts
    To tolerate him

    – saulgoode42

    On a winter’s morn
    They embrace the cold and write
    their names in the snow

    – Charles Nelson Douchely

     

    Kate and Jon are shocked
    To learn their bad case of crabs
    Has gone systemic

    – Franklyn DealorNo Doucheifelt

    She grates cheese on abs
    Since the gyroscope was put
    In her Monkey Hole.

    – The Reverend Chad Kroeger

    This pic explains the
    world’s Velveeta cheese shortage:
    these two practicing.

    – Douche Wayne

    In missionary
    position, these two sound like
    a steam train braking.

    – Douche Wayne

    They mate like crickets.
    Abs rub occasionally
    Start forest fires.

    – The Reverend Chad Kroeger

    In missionary
    position, their sex smells like
    driving with e-brake.

    – Douche Wayne

    In missionary
    Position they look like
    A fiddler crab.

    – The Reverend Chad Kroeger

    In missionary,
    they generate power to
    run a Chevy Volt.

    – Douche Wayne

    In missionary
    Positiion they fuse with
    UV machine.

    – The Reverend Chad Kroeger

    Later that day Kate
    delivered her baby, shot
    about thirty feet

    – Dickie Fingers

    When she bends over
    she makes same snapping sound as
    lighting up glowstick.

    – Douche Wayne

    Kate and Jon prove that
    navel gazing gets results!
    Let’s check abs again!

    – Charles Douchewin

    It must eat grain. It
    Must eat grain. It must eat grain.
    It must eat grain. Sons.

    – The Reverend Chad Kroeger

    # posted by Bagnonymous