Skippy and Timmy and Playboy Gangstas
Continuing our theme this morning of wily pudwacks who worm their way into situations well above their puberteric ranking, we find Skippy and Timmy.
Somehow talking Inga and Minka, the hottest exchange students from the local junior college, into posing for “Playboy Night.”
Now granted, Skippy and Timmy blew the last of Aunt Jennie’s 16th Birthday gift money on the ladies for the evening’s dress-up festivities.
But it was worth it.
Wait’ll the bros on Second Life hear about this party!! They’ll be jelly for years to come. Bro.
Truth in Spiritual Advertising
Because when the tongue licking and alcoholism stop, there’s only the haunting wind of existential crisis and ultimate meaningless echoes of cries that will not be returned in this cold and harsh wilderness we call life.
In other words, do it, Tommy. Go for it.
How bad could it be?
Man, I’m grumpy this morning. Must be my Keurig coffee robot thing
Sailor Sam Nurses His Wounded Pride
Don’t turn around, Kelly!
Sam’s wacky sidekick, Smitty, just discovered he has a peen!
Yeah. I said peen.
Scrappy Sneaks In Through the Out Door
The title of this post has a number of meanings.
One of them involves sneaking in through the back door of the club because even if the girls of Minsk aren’t Hollywood Hott quality, Club Vedanya still has standards.
The other meaning involves gophers, a jar of Crisco, Julie Delpy’s sister and a small migrant dock worker from Bolivia with colitis.
Abstract Excretionism
That reminds me.
Did I remember to calcify the beachwood this morning?
And no, calcify the beachwood is not a euphemism for playing with the shminkydink. It is a metaphor for a hermeneutic muffin cross-spliced with a Vulcan turd.
Where’s The Spiker?
Somewhere in this area of overpriced bottle service validation and pouty Russian mail order hotties, I’ve carefully hidden aging rocker choad, The Spiker.
Look closely.
Can you ask him to play some Skynyrd?
Ask DB1: Why Do We Pay Taxes?
——
DB1,
I look at this photo and wonder: Why did I go to school?
Why did I get a job and become a contributing member of society?
Why do I pay taxes and try each day to be a better person? What was the point…?
Was it for naught?
Please, DB1 and viewers, tell me where this couple will be in ten years. I really need the reassurance today. Thank you and keep mocking the good mock.
— Old Man Grumpus
—–
10 years from today? Fry cooks at Venus.
Emobags Clog the Toilet
Meet The Emobags: Dopey, Frumpy, Herpy and Jeff.
Watch as they bother Shen-Chu in the bathroom of the Korova Milk Bar somewhere in the near future in this excerpt from “A Clockwork Altoid.”
Angry Lip Guy Shushes You
For his ear bling, featuring only the finest hard plastic diamelles, was purchased at a premium when deBeers was having a “Douche Sale.”
Pouty Patrice, she of purity of suckle cheek, and teeth of lickworthy Crest white strip whiteness, offers the Eye of Coitus, and for that, I triple vault through a field of hallucinogenic gnats just for the chance to fondle her custom made “BieberPod” iPod ear phones.
The Kennedy Head Wound ‘Bag
Back… and to the left… back… and to the left…
Too soon?
