tattbaggery
-
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Lee Tattwater's Southern Strategy
Lee Tattwater is a visionary.
He has perfected the art of general douchetatt without the ability to focus on any specific douchetatt.
It’s like conceptual scrotal misdirection.
Hypnotic enough to make Runaway Kelly forget to eat for three days despite staying in a motel near the $8.99 all you can eat ribs buffet at the Golden Nugget.
Thursday, October 10, 2013When Tattbags Grow Old
Suddenly the old man in the canoe looks very tired.
Wait, what?
I was referring to a tattoo of an old man in a canoe.
What were you thinking?
Wednesday, July 31, 2013Anal Pucker of the Apocalypse Meets Granola Sideboob of Pokey Fondle
A little bit more backstory and Marvel’s gonna turn this into their next superhero film.
Summer 2017. Right after Fondlerman vs. The Pud hits the big screen.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013When Tribal Tatts Turn Nipples into Screaming Anal Puckers of the Apocalypse
So a Wannabe Maori douchebag*, a Giggle Hott, and Hippie Frank all walk into a bar.
The bartender says, “What is this, some kind of picture on hot chicks with douchebags?”
And… scene.
* If Pablo is a real Maori tribesman, than 90% is forgiven for the tatt. But no shirt in club still = douche.
Monday, June 24, 2013The Scribblographer Haunts A Quartet of Bobbles
I see you, Giggle Arielle on the right. Your mellifluous party giggles and unusually small toesies deserve only the finest of ostrich feather tickle. I would salt lick a tub of frozen peas for a fortnight just for the chance to gummi bear gnaw on your Freshman year college Hello Kitty scrunchy. And then repose with a tasty pack of mallomars, a glass of almond milk, and DVDs of Black Adder.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013Team Scribble accepts your obvious adoration
“Because life is but a guilded cage for our souls trapped in this temporal journey called Earth. And our flesh? It is but the paper of the soul upon which we inscribe our journey, no? We are the paper lining the birdcage of the soul…admire us if you DARE.”
Tuesday, May 14, 2013Adam's Apple Tatt is On His Adams Apple
In a related story, this.
Thursday, January 31, 2013The DB1 on a Thursday Morning
No, that’s not me in the picture.
If I were to get a giant tattoo on my Jewish ass it would feature only a giant bagel with lox on it taking a dump on the corpse of rotting Zombie Hitler.
Because that’s how Jewtatts roll.
That, or I’d get a tatt of Kelly’s bazongagongs as an ironic commentary on sexuality and patriarchy, causing gender confusion among our children for generations to come.
But I digress.
So. This morning. I woke up. Fell out of bed. Dragged a comb across my yadda yadda.
And for those of you who have ever dragged a comb across your yadda yadda, I don’t recommend it. You get the bristles stuck in the prickles!
Baddaboom!
Gold, Jerry. Gold.
I had some quality hot and squirty Donut Shop K-Cup action
Then I had nothing to do.
So I neutered my ferret.
No, not literally.
My actual ferret, “Mr. Pancho,” remains a virile and passionate lover.
No, by “neutered my ferret,” that’s actually an expression from the Victorian era that refers to the act of torturing street urchins who fail to chimney sweep in the proper counter-clockwise direction.
And on that non-sequitor, I head for more coffee.
Whaddaya want, brilliant prose? The site’s free, bub.
Friday, January 25, 2013Head Shop: The Dye that Binds
Over the past few years the commonality that is douche has fractured, diversified, and multiplied. Like a true virus, the Grieco strain has mutated from simple Jersey Bag to Muscle bag, Eurobag, White trash bag, and the more recent hypsterbag. And while each sack of genetic poo strives to maintain its own distinct identity, common elements remain that tie them unapologetically back to their ancestral progenitor. I speak of ink and orange. While some may rock the v-neck tee, and others the lip of duck and hair of gel, while others will have cones of sila, or biceps of ‘roid, every one of them will have skin of carrot adorned with stars, skulls, and Asian script.
To the tune of “People Who Died” by Jim Carroll [RIP]
Teddy smearing poo, he was 12 years old
Spread the tone from his own behind
Arty was 11 when he caught the drug
His tangerine sheen didn’t have no tan lines
Bobby hit the tanning booth, 14 years old
He looked like pumpkin pie when he dyed
He was a bro’ of mine
Those are douchebags who dyed, dyed
They were all my bros, and they dyed
Mickey and Paulie let their six-packs all soften
So they inked them up with nonsense words as a distraction
Sly in Wildwood, “THUG LIFF” on his head
Bobby leaves a full-sized smear of cocoa in his bed
They were three more bros of mine
Three more bros that dyed
Those are douchebags who dyed, dyed
They were all my bros, and they dyed
Karly shows her back tatts in the Boom Boom Room
Britney inked herself from her head to her womb
Judy’s skin color was hard to explain
Eddie matched hers to a cheddar cheese stain
And Eddie, you’re orangier than all the others
And I salute you mother
Those are hot chicks who dyed, dyed
They were all my hos, and they dyed
Herbie inked Tony on the high school roof
Tony thought that a skull would show the truth
‘So Herbie serve up Tony some, some bitchin’ proof
“Hey,” Herbie said, “Tony, are you fly?”
But Tony wasn’t fly, Tony dyed
Those are douchebags who dyed, dyed
They were all my bros, and they dyed
Bennie inked his guns with a Poly wrap
He flashed the tatt while raging at some bikers
He said, “Hey, I know it’s obvious, I’m a steel cage fighter”
But the next day he got raped by those very same bikers
Those are douchebags who dyed, dyed
They were all my bros, and they dyed
Thursday, November 29, 2012Asshole McAssholewitz Wastes Oxygen, Hits on Karyn
Mark today the real day the music died.
Douche lobes for the social loss.
