Vegas
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Wednesday, October 2, 2013
For My Next Trick…
Was… this your pear card?
Douchey Magic!!
MC Generipud Has No Time For Pear
For MC Generipud has work to do.
He must press the “play” button on a big stereo system with a play button.
And then wave his arms. Like he just don’t care.
And make $30,000 a gig.
Because Generation Stupid thinks pushing play is like a concert, yo. Especially if there’s Pear.
Too bitter for a Wednesday morning?
Well we can always laugh at this guy.
Monday, September 23, 2013Suburbia on Vacation
I see you, Pensive Art History major Carol, there in the front. You’re insecure about your smile, so I play you lute music on Pandora and we both ignore the annoying Christian Mingle ads that keep playing while we stare at an azure sunset and compare astronomy homework notes. Wait, you like the Beatles and Breaking Bad? Me too! It’s, like, fate. So, to wrap up this morning soliloquy, I promise to remain faithful through the end of this sentence and to poke your grandmother’s doiley with an ostrich feather while gargling one of your leftover pasties from that crazy night in Vegas. When this pic was taken.
Ring Around the Neck Tatts are the new sweater-vest.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013Heinous Vegas Squeezesack
Well since no one cared about that email from Bondi beach, have some heinous Vegas squeezesack.
EDIT: And if that don’t do nuthin’ for ya, mebbe this’ll wake you up: ConfusingSleeveTattPear
Monday, September 16, 2013The Janitors of Vegas
Ruh roh. Looks like The Janitor of Vegas found himself a co-partner in coital cleanup.
And this time they brought Party Girl Yvonne into their stereophonic groinal itchal spread.
It’s like a sandwich made from rotting gouda and a slice of salam.
And by salam, I mean salam.
Yup.
Gettin’ my Monday morning diaper change on around here.
Thursday, September 12, 2013Future Janitors of America Unite!
I take it back. Janitors are good people.
DJ Colonic offers the zombie stare of the spirtually deadened. Not to mention that the tatts he got in Vegas are actually tatts of Vegas, a Rubegoldbergian paradoxical Escher conundrum that not even Sartre can exit from.
Clarissa’s coy, pensive smile suggests she is on break and in over her head. Sadly, Clarissa, there’s little help at the bottom of that bucket of Bud Light Limes.
Just an ugly hangover amidst a rumpled room at the Venetian.
And a sneaky burning covert form of crotch itch that chlorinated pools only exacerbate. As you’ll learn the hard way.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013Standard Vegas Shoescrape Says "Wut"
It don’t matter.
Cuddle Perfect Suckle Lisa and her Bestie Blonde Kelly, currently in her collegiate “experimental” phase, are there to comfort me.
Thursday, August 1, 2013Yankee His Wankee Glares Angrily, Ignores Bubbles
Ironically, one of Yankee His Wankee’s tattoos is the Chinese symbol for “Stupid Vegas Asscrust Who Fails To Notice The Quality of Hotts Standing Nearby Because He’s Busy Looking Hard for a Professional Photographer.” It was first coined in the Ming dynasty.
Incidentally, what’s a bath without Bubbles?
Thursday, June 27, 2013Your Thursday Crusty Vegas Pic
Yup.
It’s the return of Mobile Home Dave, the introduction of Trashy Sophia, and yet more evidence that the eternally Working-it Hello Kitty Hott is the hardest working shots girl on the Vegas strip.
Together, they represent the worst of that Pirates of the Caribbean horseship with a rock and roll grunge tip.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013What Happens in Vegas Defecates on Spiritual Meaning
“And lo, in the pine box trailer campers of desert abandon, there occurred events that made the Baby Tebus weep.”
— Levitiscrote 5:23
