The Stay Puft Pantywankers
Ya know, other than my penchant for alcoholism and tasty Hostess snack cakes, I’m a pretty reasonable guy.
While I mock douchebags and lust their hotts on a daily basis, I’m willing to overlook some basic stage-1 douchetributes here and there.
You’re at a desert resort pool area? A little undies poke could happen. It’s possible.
I can even forgive bad sunglasses. As it’s bright out.
But when you chin fung it up, bust the Jesus bling, display the stupid tribal tatts, go shirtless but with plaid pants, all while hitting on a tasty trampy Arizona State bachelorette party, you are regurgitated pig feed.
You deserve all the internet mock I can offer.
Yeah, you, Burt and Matty. You are pee stain flush scooby scrub.
The Prophesy of Miguel’s Mini-Faux
“And lo! When Miguel’s Mini-Faux aligns directly with Kelly’s giggles, the douches will gather by the thousands uponst their boats and make hand gestures… and the Lord your G-d will grow angry at their cries of “Whatup?” and the lake will tremble with the stench of Axe Bodyspray…”
— Exodouche, 4:20
Caption This Pic
Vinny’s fat sucking techniques were unorthodox, but the results were undeniable.
King Creeper
This pic of potential sapphic love deserves a reminder of one of the key non-negotiable rules of douchebaggery.
If you interrupt or otherwise pose, in any way shape or form, behind two ladies about to explore the permeable boundaries of gender and sexuality, you are autodouche.
No exceptions.
None.
Not even you, Rajman.
Where’s Waldouche?: Who Cares Where Waldouche Is Edition
Somewhere in this lineup of tasty pie a la mode ice cream scoop fondle thigh humpty suckles, I’ve carefully hidden some random dude no one cares about, with a boring name, whose sum achievement in life is finishing Halo 3 on the hardest setting in under two hours.
Look closely.
Can you find him?
Come to me, Giggle Hotts. I will march a rubber frog dipped in a Midori Sour across each of your bottoms while ritualistically humming Gregorian sea chants and, occasionally, the theme from Flash Gordon.
“Hey Timmy! Your Dad Was a Creepy Licker Douche!”
Poor Unborn Timmy.
In the future, he’ll be born. He’ll grow up. Then his sleepover buddy will find this pic in a photo album, in 2019, and then the rest of the kids on the schoolyard will call him a “Son of a Douche” for months and months on end.
And little Timmy will tearfully ask, “Dad? Is it true you were once a creepy-ass roided out douchewank who licked mom’s ears like a human Q-tip?”
Think before you douche, imminent moms and dads. The subsequent damage could ripple through the generations like an ancestral riptide.
Random Thoughts on the Woo
Here’s the thing about what motivates the males of our culture to try to achieve fame, fortune and money via the imitation of rock star ethos.
Boobie Hottie Suckle Thigh.
And, at its core, this motivation is understandable and as it should be.
If a preachy Robin Williams talks about dead poets wooing women with words in times gone by, the kernel of truth remains the throughline to today’s present status of Douglas Sirkian imitation of life via the online magnification of t-shirt and stupid-hair echo. Via the social networks and twitlonger bonus rounds, the Vegas Doucheclowns imitate the star pinnacle to attract ancillary suckle thigh.
The motivation is not suspect.
The culture, however, is. For it has gone rancid, douchal and entirely about overpaying for the ethereal validation that can never, naturally, be had.
But the boobies are real. And the motivation is real.
The Boobie Hottie Suckle Thigh screams “Woo!” when she wants to be wooed. And the competition to woo, via the woo, is, of course, eventually directed by John Woo.
Fan Pooison Has a Thought
Famed hawkian douchewank, the legendary Fan Pooison, just had a thought.
However, that problem was quickly remedied when the D.J. played Bruno Mars and the girls went “Woo!!” And order was restored to the vast wasteland of Van’s beautiful mind.
Note the classic Mark of the ‘Bag cock-n-balls forehead sheen formation on Van’s head. The Mark tells all.
Billy and Willy Learn to Make “The Shocker”
Ramona’s internship with the non-profit “UNIBAG” organization took her to meet many interesting and challenged aging suburban douchewanks. But she did her best to help them learn the proper way to cling to fading youth by pretending to have fun in overpriced nightclubs.
Later, they played with crayons and painted a pretty picture of unicorns, sunrises and Valtrex.
Joey Broheim Is In Your Proverbial Face
Quartasian Sara doesn’t always drink beer. But when she does, she prefers Dos Equis.
