Your Saturday Higgs Boson Lobehead
Someday, physicists will finally detect the long sought and near mythical Higgs Boson particle.
Where will they find it? In this guy’s lobe.
Yup. Physics humor.
I blame last night’s experiment with orange juice, gummi bears and Mad Dog 20/20.
Friday Thoughts and Links
Here’s HCwDB’s very own orange almost-Legend and former Weekly winner, The Night Oranger. As a gay cop. But still pulling quality party hottness in the form of Sexy Cop Brenda.
So for that, he earns our Friday Mock.
A quiet week for your Humble Narrator. The Night Train is flowing after a brief “health” hiatus where I ate only wheat germ and a plate of mashed yeast crashed and burned with six consecutive trips to In-n-Out Burger. Those are some tasty burgers, Dude.
As to HCwDB’s Mission Quest, the ‘bags continue to doth protest too much, by email and comments threads, which means our mock continues to have potency, even in this unfortunate era of Jersey Shore meta-celebrity.
And for that, our cause remains not only Holy. But Righteous. And Just.
Here’s your links:
Your HCwDB DVD Pick of the Week, Childhood Nostalgia Edition: “When single shines the triple sun/What was sundered and undone/Shall be whole, the two made one/By gelfling hand or else by none.”
In Vegas, even the “Bellagio Bandit” wears douche wear.
I’m working on a spinoff of Jersey Shore right now with Peter Jackson, here’s an exclusive sneak peek.
The Empire Farts Back. Quality cerebral satire for your Friday entertainment.
The Tralfamadorians still love HCwDB.
Since we’re on an 80s nostalgia kick today, there were many arcade games that ruled back in the day. None more so than Journey. Bouncer Bonus Level for the win.
Next thing you know, you’ll tell me Jim Carrey played a heroin addicted Axl Rose acting in a music video based on the Exorcist with a director played by Liam Neeson. In a movie starring Clint Eastwood.
The 80s were trippy times, man. Trippy times.
Here’s your Pear:
It is rustic southern comfort. And the house, too.
Winged Shirts and Melon Salutations
Timmy’s a pudwack, nothing more. A stage-1 violation for the shirt, which is only an infraction in the state of California (and not a misdemeanor) lets him off easy.
Melanie counters any nihilist dread by offering us hope, sunrises and ice cream sandwich lunch tray gnaw through the proud display of two firm yet supple inspirational counter-arguments to any feelings of dread regarding the inevitable corporeal decay and eventual death we all face.
In the form of gazangagongs.
The Scrub Boat
Calling your girlfriend a “He” is one thing, Barney. Accusing him/her of being gay, now that’s just juvenile.
What’s next? Spending your early 30s blowing all your money on hair gel, bad tatts, and hanging with your mandana-wearing bros on party boats so you don’t have to face down your lack of spiritual growth since you read “The Tao of Pooh” in Junior High?
Yes.
Yes it is.
Friday Haiku
New Rule: “Hawk Bites Pear”
Now in “Rock Paper Scissors,”
To sell to the kids.
“Mmagic World” ass pear
does not deserve rabies-filled
bite from gay bat hawk.
— Dr. Bunsen HoneyDouche
Jen kept yelling “SCAT!!!”
But that’s the wrong thing to say
To horny Germans.
— DarkSock
Cali on his neck?
Please let San Andreas slip,
dump him in ocean.
— Wheezer
A word to the wise
never bite the ass that feeds
this guy craves the poop
— Medusa Oblongata
Recent parolee
Assuming the position
His bunkmate preferred
— Vin Douchal
I could use Shark’s head
As a front-door shoe scraper
For this damn winter!
— Franklyn DealorNo Doucheifelt
Sharkbag sees shadow,
Six weeks of unemployment,
What then, Taco Bell?
— Rockabilly Johnny and the Electric Foreskin Benders
Snidely Whiprash Douches Up the Jacuzzi
Condoucious Says: Judge not the douchey tatt by its size. For it is meaning that matters, not just inksplat stupidhead. And Mindy’s body is freakin’ tight.
Well said, oh wise Condouchious. Well said. Although those may be marker lines, and not an actual tatt.
Coundoucious Says: Like I give a crap. Mindy’s body is ubergnaw.
True, Condouchious. Very true.
Bob Is Not Actually a Maori Tribal Elder
But he fooled Judith into a half hour of giggling before she excused herself to get another cosmo and Bob hit on the waitress by showing her his headtatt.
The whole thing ended in disaster when the cheese fries they ordered at the bar were way too salty and Bob’s bro, Kevin, was, like, totally pissed at his girlfriend for forgetting his birthday.
And then, like they started playing Usher. Like, c’mon.
And then Kevin was all, “Yo, I gotta splits!” So Bob was like, “Bro! Hang a little longer!” And Kevin was all, “Where’d that chick go?” And Bob was all, “Forget her, she didn’t get on the Bob Train, she’s outtie!” So then Bob and Kevin all left and were kinda pissed off about the night on the drive home.
So while Bob is not actually a Maori Tribal Elder, he does experience tests of ritual passage in his own way.
Charles Dickens Has Tea and Biscuits With the Queen
Emma Thompson does not approve of his not so Big Ben.
For his Sex Pistols are London Bridging her Fish and Chips.
Winston Churchill.
That Dude You Knew In That Band in High School Who’s Name You Can’t Remember
Remember that dude you knew? The one in that band in high school? The one who’s name you can’t remember?
You remember. The band was called, like, “Wolverine Claw” or something. You used to see him in the quad between third and fourth period.
He was always bumming cigarettes. And failing math. And had a detailed explanation about how Yngwie Malmsteen’s fretwork totally, like, blew Steve Vai out of the water.
You remember. He had some plan to drive to California and “make it on the Strip.”
Whatever happened to that guy?
Now you know.
The last decade has not been kind.
Sandy Meets a Vegas Hawk, Loses a Piece of Her Innocence
But, on the bright side, Sandy did get comped a free line pass for the “All You Can Eat Blackjack Buffet” at the Gold Slinger.
