Where Llamas Go to Die
I remember it well.
I was gun running with a band of militants in Bolivia doing covert ops for the Friends of Zapata. Brothers too hirsute to even bother scratching.
Men who could quote Trotsky in Gaelic, and spit lemongrass at a nearby sloth with the accuracy of an indigenous harpooneer.
We made the trade by the abandoned French colonist plantation where Old Petey LeTourre still lived and knitted mittens.
Lots of scotch passed through those lips to wash the tears and ravages of Sister Maggie’s betrayal.
Old Mother Hubbard never told no tales like this one, I tell you.
Ancient cars rumbled on the dirt roads like dusty coughs from the belly of an architect.
But I closed my eyes. The echo of her screams like dying quails in the sunset lake hunts of her youth.
And stupid hair on a douchebag in a club, with so much hipster irony I could take a musket and sell it for coin just to hop that bus back to Albuquerque.
Back to Albuquerque. Where Sons of the Revolution sputter like impotent field mice in the hazy woodlands of her mind.
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This post brought to you by “Random Tom Waits Lyric Generator.”
Random Tom Waits Lyric Generator — New, from Mattel!!
Sergeant Pooper’s Douchey Hearts Club Land
The United Nations of Stupid Hand Gestures approves this message.
Carrie’s body may say yes, but her eyes say deep disappointment from her parents over her failed orthodontist assistant career.
Reader Mail: The Hottest Chick From Highschool Now Dates The Guys in “Lifehouse”
Blair writes in with a depressing life update on the hottest girl from high school we all remember thinking “I wonder what became of her.” Now we know:
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Subject: Radio Buttrock douchewads
I went to high school with this girl, she went to nursing school and just moved to LA to be with THE DUDE IN F@#KING LIFEHOUSE (who’s late 30s, and she’s 21).
I mean, good for her, she drives a Porsche now and has a tiny pursedog, but is it really at the expense of having to see photos of yourself with turds like this in 5 years? I mean shit, more like 2 years.
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I don’t know what “Lifehouse” is, but no Rockstar Leniency Rule for these atrocious bar flushes. They pee on the very concept of music with their douchestrocities.
Sometimes I’d rather not know what happened to the hot girl from high school. I can pretend she became that nurse. And fantasize about catheter tubes.
The Portrait of Dorian’s Abs
Ab reveals in bathroom self portraits.
Still out there.
Still puking blue on Picassos.
Petey Mocks the Pear
“And lo, for he that mocketh the Holy Pear of Antioch with Spiketh of Hair shall know the wrath of the lord your G-d, and vengance shall stricketh down uponst him in the form of crotch itch and bad credit ratingth. For he smellseth like Bodyspray and is a douchebageth.”
— The Book of Doucheteronomy, 11:38
Three Ladies and a Little Miss Pony
Chazz can’t decide which he’d prefer to play with.
Marty Fungenstein Would Like to Sell You A Shake Weight
It’s only slightly used.
Bra!! Lives!! (and Still Enjoys Tasty Cola Products)
It’s been over three years since Bra!! first ordered a tasty Pepsi to impress the tiny Asian he met poolside while rolling through life, brohemian style.
Over three years, but in many ways Bra!! enjoys his beverages eternally.
For Bra!! will enjoy tasty cola products as long as there are tasty cola products to be enjoyed.
Here’s to you, Brosephus!! May your Pepsi supply and friendly Quartasian Hottie supply never run dry.
EDIT: This is not a new pic of Bra!!. But Bra!! lives on, sipping away, in our hearts and beverages.
70s Fro Guy Wins at the Game of Post Divorce Life
You know what’s playing in 70s Fro Guy’s Toyota Prius don’t you?
That’s right.
Steely Dan’s Greatest Hits Vol. 2.
Babylon Sister.
Shake it.
Where’s Waldouche?: Generic Fratflush Edition
After that last Eurotrosity, we need some real world, wholesome all American suckle thigh.
So, for your viewing pleasure, let me introduce: Ashley, Kelly, Kelsey and Jenn. Maybe not stylized model-hotts from paid-to-pose clubland. But real world spackle pooch all, with Ashley and Jenn ladying my godivas.
The waldouche?
Rare-ass Blue Cup does not approve of his antics.
