Friday Haiku
“Why’s it smell rank?,” said,
Brad’s talking belly button,
But no one noticed.
Wrong ones are topless;
removal of bikinis
results in…..”paint lines”?
— Wheezer
Brad’s love life on hold,
Suffers from rare STD.
Intestinal crabs.
— Rockabilly Johnny and the Electric Foreskin Benders
Painted Goddesses
Next to Painted Fools and Trolls
No one is WINNING.
— jonezy
Those two black chest lines
Aren’t really fake suspenders
Just giant skid marks
— saulgoode42
I’ll have white Russian
Use extra boobie milk please
But no body paint
— Dude McCrudeshoes
Big Al’s Body Shop:
After we lube your rear end,
We’ll paint your bumpers!
— Hermit
Bullet Barry Fondles the Suzy Pear
The increasing trend for bagwear to feature bullets, bloody gunshots, or various other overpriced, silkscreened examples of violent conflict, is simply 2011’s answer to the previous iteration we knew as “Unearned Dog Tags.”
Suzy Pear has dressed up for a night on the town. She deserves better than to have her firm glutes grabbed by a pudwack whose closest brush with armed conflict was the time his Mexican gardener, Gomez, shouted at him to move his car so he could leaf-blow the driveway.
Mmm… Suzy Pear. I forgive you. Now come to me. Let me blow spit bubbles softly towards your lower calf area while you yawn and watch Oprah.
Lords of the Fries
For Üter, Gunter, Moritz and Ülrick, the night The Dusseldorf Fraülein Club left its alleyway door unlocked would be a day the Fries wouldn’t soon forget.
Mr. Unclean Loves The Pear
Once, when I was a kid of about twelve or thirteen, living with my parents in Boston, it was a particularly hot summer.
One day, in between summer camp and the beginning of eighth grade, a giant waterbug that looked like a Pumpy Cockroach flew into my bedroom window.
It landed on my one prized “adult” possession of the time that my mom had let me keep: my poster of Carol Alt.
The pumpy cockroach went “Bzzzz.”
And then, strangely in its falsetto Vincent Price insect voice, it said, “I love the assss pearrrrr.”
Then it buzzed back out of my window and into the night.
Danny Mandana Has a Thought
It involves Danny’s love for Bud Light Lime and vague confusion about why he feels funny when he watches “300” on dvd.
Jennifer thinks ironic douchery is amusing. Jennifer has life lessons to learn.
Sometimes Shane’s Just Gotta Choke a Bitch
There’s two ways Shane knows how to tell Maria he kinda sorta likes her. Or at least, wants to bang her when he’s not too hung over.
1. Choke her sorry ass
2. Write “Olive Garden” in script above his belly button
3. Go shirtless at all times
Don’t tell Shane that that was actually three ways, and not two. Shane was never good at no math.
Mutty
Like an abused chihuahua, Mutty may not have the power of speech. Or even the use of opposable thumbs.
But he’ll follow Maryanne around in the club while whining until she lets him hump her leg.
Dick’s Sporting Goods Is Having a Sale on Toolbags
Ah, Suburbia.
How your youthful couples find amusement and distraction in the form of stupid watch and hair gel.
Or, as the great poet J.C. Mellencamp once wrote, “Suckin’ on chili dogs. Outside the Tastee Freez.” Heed the words of early 80s singer/songwriters, Suburbia. For changes come around real soon and produce Justin Bieber.
General LickArthur
Nice job storming the beaches of Mandy, there, General LickArthur.
Your army camouflage will serve you well if the assistant manager to the assistant manager gets pissed that the fries aren’t salted and comes looking for you.
Asswipes in Affliction Shirts With White Belts
Still out there.
Still forcing women to pose in pseudo-erotic positions in public places to deal with the massive insecurity of a fractured and insecure psyche of a semi-working peen.
