M.A.B.s
M.A.B.s are Middle Aged Bags, not quite Oldbags but with the receding hairline and mid-life crisis to disqualify them from the regular trolling douchechoads of clubland. Speaking of, wasn’t “Douchechoads of Clubland” a fanastic mid 1990s techno band? Hmm. I’ll get back to you on that.
This Mab has gone arch gothic on his hotties, likely some former roadie promising to introduce them to Twiggy from Marilyn Manson if they’ll let him sniff their inner thighs for ten seconds each. Give it up, Mab. The glory days are, in the parlance of a pissed off Boston sports fan, OVAH.
Pack it in. Take your creepy eyebrow, six remaining hairs on your head and 19th century aristocratic facial hair back to your one bedroom bungalow in West Hollywood before I get Cro Bagnon to break you in half, Drago style.
