Queens

    Thursday, January 2, 2014

    Rayon Steve Says “I Got This!”

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    Revealing a healthy amount of artificially enhanced cleavite and Mayan Eye of Coitus, yet still somehow innocently PG-13, Coquette Claire is confounding. The perfect blend of innocence, frankencense, mur, and paid-to-do-something-you’re-not-sure-of-so-be-careful intoxication.

    But, as Rayon Steve told the bros with the Bud Light Limes back at his booth, he got this.

    No problem.

    An overpriced Long Island Iced Tea is all the courage Rayon Steve needs.

    Well, that and the fact his Ikea catalog just came in the mail this morning. And there were, like, awesome coupons on a new kitchen table. Rayon Steve don’t need a lot in life to make him happy.

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    # posted by douchebag1
    Wednesday, November 13, 2013

    Boris and Vladimir Find a New Method to Water Their Plant

    1stPlacePitz

    It’s called boobwater. Boris’s cousin, Mikael, knows a guy who knows a guy who can totally market this on late night TV. They’re gonna be rich, I tells you! Rich!

    Meanwhile, Trixi wandered in from a 1-900 cable access commercial and just needs to use the bathroom.

    At least that’s hows I sees it.

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    # posted by douchebag1
    Monday, May 6, 2013

    Colin Goes Scissorin’

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    Colin’s Red Bull fuels the stupid like so many tinder branches upon a kettle fire.

    Marissa’s furry boots barely conceal the firm, child bearing hips of the Semites of Russian yore. And for that, I like her toe spackle and whimper softly like a cretinous lech.

    But not just any lech.

    Lech Walesa.

    Polish political references for the winn dixie.

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    # posted by douchebag1
    Wednesday, February 13, 2013

    Love in the Time of Collar-Up

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    Here’s a story that can only be understood if the entirety of symbolic meaning is taken into account.

    First we have Groovin’ Brothabag Woody in the pink leisure suit. Groovin’ Brothabag Woody is our spirit guide, our shaman, our subjective interloper in the spirit world.

    Then we have our protagonist, Silk Shirt Steve. A stage-1 or stage-2 ‘bag for the lip pubes and sleeve fold maneuver.

    Our heroine, delightful belly spankle pooch fondle Samantha offers all that angels sing in cherubic medieval butt revealing harpsichordian song. Hers are the earlobes that I would wistfully tickle and clasp with knock-kneed knock knees. Her black dress sheen promises a reveal of nakedness that far surpasses anticipation, one of the rarest of joys in this cold and chaotic world. I would fondle. Indeed. Oh yes. And oh yes.

    And then, our Collar-Up antagonist, Earl. Who is ironic. And drinks PBR. And has just taken headshots in the hopes of getting cast in a Heineken commercial.

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    # posted by douchebag1
    Wednesday, November 28, 2012

    Stupid T-Shirts Fail to Amuse

    There is one, and only one, slogan t-shirt to rule them all and it is thus.

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    # posted by douchebag1
    Wednesday, November 21, 2012

    Rollin’ in a Nightclub in Queens on a Saturday

    It was all fun and games for Vinnie and Sharilynn. Until one of them reached under the seat and got their hands stuck in… the “gum.”

    I’mma pitch a 1980s horror film called “The Gum.” About killer gum. You know, like this masterpiece. Young Paul Sorvino for the win.

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    # posted by douchebag1