Douchepose

    Thursday, March 16, 2017

    Charles Von Cankersore Gives Ninotchka the Doucheface

    You might presume that a faux tanned Ed Hardy disciple inappropriately cuddle-macking Svetlana is uberdouche precisely because of douche face.

    Not so fast, you cracker!

    Even devoid of doucheface, Charles Von Cankersore retains a high degree of smelly poo.

    Thus proving my theorem that even in the age of Trumpocalypse, douche aura permeates beyond the performative signifiers.

    Now that that’s settled, who wants an Orange Whip?

    # posted by douchebag1
    Monday, February 16, 2015

    Aquatool Advocates For Peace

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    Despite the cacophony of vacuity in which Aquatool exhausts his credit card salad days, therein lurks a deepward hope for a lasting global peace.

    Sure those thoughts only reverberate for a few seconds.

    Here and there.

    When the drugs wear off.

    And the boobosity is not too distracting.

    But they do recur. Within those few moments of repose before the DJ drops another sampled pre-recorded boom-siss-boom-siss.

    Aquatool credits himself for proving, at least for a moment, that he is more than just an overpriced douchey Yankees cap wearing numbers runner for the Long Island Gambinos. He does have a soul. For does a person without a soul not occasionally think about world peace? If you prick his Dolce and Gabana, does it not fray?

    And then, like Keyser Sose, they are gone.

    Vacuity returns.

    And joyless compulsion carries onward until dawn.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Wednesday, January 22, 2014

    Mongor In Love

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    Rumor has it everyone’s favorite blank-staring chromosome missing creepy-ass zombified party pud has found true love.

    To quote the immortal ode to 1960s casual sex, Hair, let the sun shine in.

    And by sun, I mean douche hawk.

    And by shine, I mean the most awkward kiss since MJ/Lisa Marie.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Tuesday, December 17, 2013

    The Grinch That Fondled Christmas

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    Ironic holiday herpsters molesting Christine’s Santas make the baby Tebus want to frankincense his mur.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Monday, September 9, 2013

    The Hemoglobin Says "Wut"

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    A marked improvement from last week when The Hemoglobin could only grunt and scratch his nethers like an angry rhesus monkey.

    Fierce Katie will spend your credit card on martinis and steaks and then demand that you thank her for her time. Which you do. Because you hate yourself.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Monday, March 4, 2013

    Vinny Farfalla and Slutty Suzette Experiment with Chains

    UndeadBag2

    The way Vin and Suzette see it, chains are a metaphor for the thematic constrictions of societal imposition.

    As our consciousness forms, we intuit the structural norms as understood by the cultures and institutions we abide in. Slowly, our true selves become more and more alienated by this breakdown in the symbolic and structural orders of consciousness.

    The only solution to resolve this alienation?

    Lots of chain-link butt paddle.

    Ubiquitous Red Cup sternly, and with great consternation, shakes its red plastic outer rim with anger at this cohabit.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Monday, January 21, 2013

    Monday Crisis. And AbaCrab.

    !abacrab

    DarkSock here at the helm again, with ominous news.

    Our hairless leader, DB1, aka Jay Louis, lies in a coma.

    He was found late last night surrounded by a halo of empty Night Train bottles and what appeared to be an empty footlocker once filled with hoarded Hostess™ treats such as Ho-Hos and Twinkies. His shiftless mass was buried under a translucent shroud of shucked snack food wrappers.

    He now lies in state in a Los Angeles hospital in a diabetic coma. It is not clear if this was a drunken binge or an attempt to end the crushing despair following the collapse of the corn syrup giant that until recently spewed forth such tasty treats. Given that he posted the news of the downfall of Hostess as “The End Of Joy”, he is now on suicide watch.

    Until we know more, we must carry on, wayward sons. With Mock.

    Take for example the dongle in the adjacent photograph, whom I’ve named “AbaCrab”.

    Six pound watch, gratuitous display of his torso, which has been shorn more hairless than a fetal pig’s belly, and of course the dangerously over-siliconed girlfriend exacting endless revenge on Daddy, who cared more for SportsCenter™ than her.

    What say you, faithful readers?  Dissect this crass display, as always, in the comments section.  In the meantime I shall endeavor to tirelessly comb DB1’s filthy apartment in the hopes for some sort of sign, some tiny clue, as to where he has stashed his Vicodin™.

    Oh…almost forgot…Gratuitous Pear.

    # posted by Bagnonymous
    Monday, October 22, 2012

    THE ULTIMATE ICEBREAKER

    Rosa is no easy pick up. She of the flawless caramel skin, the taut yet supple belly and the cleavite so glorious it must be restrained by no less than two articles of clothing – lest mortal men be struck dumb and blind by their brilliance – is not one to fall easily for a paunchy gringo in a $20 tee and a technicolor dream hat.

    Luckily for Buddy, he learned to smoke through his dick and blow smoke rings out his ass while doing seven months in Yardville for tagging a Wawa. Good for you, Buddy. It pays to have skills.

    # posted by Steve L.
    Thursday, October 18, 2012

    Shmucky Goldstein Flips You Off, Vyvyan Style

    Vyvyan style is no way to talk to a village elder, Shmucky.

    Sarah Goldstein’s Bleething is slight but her Persian Semitic-hott pudge buggle sings siren songs of pooch spackle cupcake slobber, and for that I paw her Mikvah with Talmudic aplomb.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Thursday, October 11, 2012

    Marty Crotchenrott ruins Amanda's Vegas Trip

    Amanda’s Nana back in Urbana will not be pleased. Neither by the Facebook pics. Nor the pap smear results.

    # posted by douchebag1
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