The Brothers Quaylude
Bobby and Danny. The Brothers Quaylude. Matching blowouts and t-shirts.
And lets not forget the sad Sandra Sisters, heading down the dark path of Ed Hardy and semi-employment in nail salons throughout the tri-state area.
Friday Haiku
Sproing-hair, like space schlong.
Melvin’s wild years soon past.
But boobies abide.
This yeasty cod piece
Symbolic superstar scrote
Reluctant hots pose
— The Baggernaut
Murton in new sect
“hari hari krishna krishna poo”
armadillo ass
— Creature
Cormac McCarthy
Time to send Judge Holden in
To take a douche scalp
— Vin Douchal
Leopard hott needs to
declare independence from
the Red, White and Douche
— dknutty
Steve’s joke is pure corn
He ain’t no Texas Longhorn
But are his gals shorn?
— saulgoode42
Blonde Trisha consoles.
Boobies speak of brighter morn’s.
And navel concurs.
— Amerigo Vesdouchey
Mohawk Melvin mugs
Milf mammaries. Mexico
Mulls mass migration
— Mr. Scrotato Head
Red neck’s mohawk flag
Surrounded by two hots
I smell Skoals & Budweiser
— mr.reeve
In San Antone, they’ll
Remember the Alamo
by shaving his head.
— Wheezer
Breaking: Area Man Realizes The Onion Sucks Alpaca Testes
The Onion’s “The Chive” once again finds “inspiration” from other sites on the internets.
Not even a link, Onionites? Really?
EDIT: The Chive is apparently not affiliated with The Onion, so apologies to Area Man. Carry on.
Magritte N'est Pas Une Douchebag.
I title this, my latest master work of outsider art, “Magritte N’est Pas Une Douchebag,” to both honor as well as critique the great modernist painter.
While there are no hot chicks to counterbalance this pic in proper HCwDB formulation, the use of spatial isolation functions as a critique of the douche body absent the normative gender roles.
The framing via reflection and the privileging of the apparatus at the moment of capture all suggest an inability to reclaim the artifact in the age of sociological fracture and identity destabilization. While the prominent role of hand sanitizer offers a playful critique of the ultimate greasy and unclean douche plague in all of its manifestations.
This latest work will, of course, be a part of my gallery showing at the Guggenheim Museum in 2023 when my genius for reappropriating images in the age when virtual has superceded actual is finally recognized by the academy.
But, since there are no Hot Chicks in this work of art, have some Snap Pear.
Magritte N’est Pas Une Douchebag.
I title this, my latest master work of outsider art, “Magritte N’est Pas Une Douchebag,” to both honor as well as critique the great modernist painter.
While there are no hot chicks to counterbalance this pic in proper HCwDB formulation, the use of spatial isolation functions as a critique of the douche body absent the normative gender roles.
The framing via reflection and the privileging of the apparatus at the moment of capture all suggest an inability to reclaim the artifact in the age of sociological fracture and identity destabilization. While the prominent role of hand sanitizer offers a playful critique of the ultimate greasy and unclean douche plague in all of its manifestations.
This latest work will, of course, be a part of my gallery showing at the Guggenheim Museum in 2023 when my genius for reappropriating images in the age when virtual has superceded actual is finally recognized by the academy.
But, since there are no Hot Chicks in this work of art, have some Snap Pear.
Live Free or Die Hardy
Question on the floor:
Have we become so inured to the cultural saturation of Ed Hardy douchewear that it no longer rankles us as the societal blight it really is?
Witness Leopold and Loeb here, previously featured in yesterday’s We Are The Sum of the Choices We Make. Normally, they’d be up for extensive mock for their lame macking on Julie and Simona. But in the summer of 2010, we barely blink at their atrocities.
Have we become comfortably numb to the Hardy scrum?
And why am I suddenly typing out trite questions in the form of crude rhymes like warmed over Carrie Bradshaw?
Reader Mail: Meeting Four Prong's Kimmy K
—-
DB1:
I got dragged to a “club” in a Seattle suburb last week, and who should happen to catch me in her smoldering gaze but Four Prong’s Kimmy K. (of Four Prong and the K Sisters).
Fortunately, there was no sign of the Pronger, but I found a snapshot of her with a BrothaBag just to abide the rules of the site. (evidence in photo 2) At first I was unsure of ‘Bag status, until I saw the tone-on-tone arm fung and dearth of brain function stare.
Kimmy’s the real deal, albeit paid-to-pose. Not sure if she’s aware of her Internet lore, but I wasn’t letting on. Although I’m certain she’s aware of my affections — the intermittent pitching of woo mixed with subtle weeping should have her avoiding my texts…
Fighting the good fight in the PNW.
– The Yellow Dart
—-
Always enjoyable to hear from a fellow ‘bag hunter finding a real world H.C., although Brothabag Gabe here earns a clear and unequivocal nottadouche. That dude is stone cold badass. He would make me his prison bitch.
Kimmy is all sorts of P.T.P. sultry. And for that, I open my wallet and my heart to her “going through the motions” charm.
Reader Mail: Meeting Four Prong’s Kimmy K
—-
DB1:
I got dragged to a “club” in a Seattle suburb last week, and who should happen to catch me in her smoldering gaze but Four Prong’s Kimmy K. (of Four Prong and the K Sisters).
Fortunately, there was no sign of the Pronger, but I found a snapshot of her with a BrothaBag just to abide the rules of the site. (evidence in photo 2) At first I was unsure of ‘Bag status, until I saw the tone-on-tone arm fung and dearth of brain function stare.
Kimmy’s the real deal, albeit paid-to-pose. Not sure if she’s aware of her Internet lore, but I wasn’t letting on. Although I’m certain she’s aware of my affections — the intermittent pitching of woo mixed with subtle weeping should have her avoiding my texts…
Fighting the good fight in the PNW.
– The Yellow Dart
—-
Always enjoyable to hear from a fellow ‘bag hunter finding a real world H.C., although Brothabag Gabe here earns a clear and unequivocal nottadouche. That dude is stone cold badass. He would make me his prison bitch.
Kimmy is all sorts of P.T.P. sultry. And for that, I open my wallet and my heart to her “going through the motions” charm.
Your Thursday Douche Carrying a Drunk Hot Chick with Taut, Squeezable Legs
But on the plus side, Rite-Aid’s window displays get more and more impressive every year.
My Roommate the Douchebag
Sometimes a brotha can’t get no relief.
