Reader Mail: The Legend of John Largeman
Et Tu Douche? writes in regarding June’s hovering spectral watcher, the legend in the making that is John Largeman:
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Dear DB1,
Is John Largeman a figment of our collective imagination or a real entity???
While I’ve become disenchanted that D-Baggery has become a runaway cultural train I fight on and find solace that the idea of a John Largeman IS out in the theater of operations, in our corner doing his best to help stem the tsunami toxic tide, mocking as best he can in between munching on cheese burgers at his local watering hole and finding the time to snatch a good flex WR off the waiver wire for his fantasy football team currently 2nd in his division and 4th overall in his league.
I implore you to find away to bestow an award for John Largeman, maybe even name an award after him for his valiant efforts that our collective psyche oh so needs.
I know the Douchies are fast approaching and this year has seen quality mammalian protuberances, yummy Anjou pear and a plethora of poo. I for one am looking forward to the awards, the voting in the yearly and the yearly recap. You’re doing a great job!!!.
– Et Tu Douche?
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The Legend of John Largeman will most certainly receive a 2010 Douchie Award in December. For being our collective protector in abstract spectral form. His gaze is our gaze. His disgust, our disgust.
I still wanna know how you put a jacket like that on without specifically engineered machinery for the task.
If I were Largeman I would walk up to this fag, punch him in the balls and throw her over my shoulder. Check out the “guns” on this guy, my 8 year old daughter just beat him in an arm wrestling match.
to Bill Brasky!
JOHN LARGEMAN IS THE COWBOY FROM MULLHOLLAND DRIVE!!!!!!
JOHN LARGEMAN IS BRANDO AS COLONEL KURTZ IN APOCALYPSE NOW!
“Members Only Jacket”.
He must be the last remaining member.
Like John Doe, Joe Six Pack, John Q. Public and Joe Schmoe before him, John Largeman will weave himself into the collective fabric of society, becoming one of us, all of us, and somehow none of us.
This image in particular tells a story.. John Largeman wants HIS own members only jacket…hmmm donkey punch little Jacques Skellington here and stretch that mylar suit over his own bulbous rump… “then the girls will be MINE!”
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im hungry
“His gaze is our gaze. His disgust, our disgust.”
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Well said Boss, well said.
I didn’t know Billy Corgan and John Mayer had a test tube gay love child.
Wasn’t John Largeman one of the title characters in Atlas Shrugged?
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Who is John Largeman?
For John Largeman, it was going to be one of those days. Finding no napkin on the counter, he wiped the ketchup from his mouth with a methodical swipe of his bear-like forearm. Downing the last of his 20 oz. Miller, he tossed a crumpled five dollar bill on the counter, and got slowly to his feet.
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Bending down with calm deliberation he grabbed the bar chair by two of its thick, hard wood legs and lifted it with startling ease. The weight of it felt good in his hands. Though gradually turning against him, John Largeman’s body still possessed the strength of a youth spent in physical activity and two years of semi-pro football.
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In one slow, fluid motion he raised the chair above his head, the back nearly striking the light fixtures dangling above, turned towards the end of the bar, and charged, his great frame picking up speed like a bull careening down the streets of Pamplona.
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Nick saw the terror in the photographer’s eyes, wheeled around, and received the full force of the chair to his face. The blow caved in his skull with ease, driving the remnants of his head down and through his small, womanly shoulder blades. He was dead before his body crumpled to the floor.
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Becky could only stare at the huge man behind the counter, flecks of blood and brains sprayed across her ash white face. Urine trailed down her quivering legs, mixing with the spreading red stain at her feet. John tossed the broken chair out past the ruined body before him and turned just his head to face the girl. Their eyes locked for several moments, until the disdain smouldering in his gaze overwhelmed her and she looked away in humiliation.
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John searched behind the bar, grabbed a dirty towel, and tossed it to her. She caught it without even realizing. John snapped his fingers to catch her attention, then motioned for her to clean her face. He rummaged in his pocket, pulled out a second five dollar bill, and dropped it on the counter. He turned on his heel and moved towards the door, his great frame shifting back and forth like that of an ancient grizzly with each step.
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Yes. For John Largeman it was going to be one of those days.
@Mr. Scrotato Head: achingly, beautifully written, sir. Seriously, salty fuccen tears here.
^Seconded.
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Unfortunately, however, Mr. Scrotato Head’s vivid depiction of a cosmic justice being wrought is surely going to give me pause, and linger in my subconscious every time I see a portly guy glancing over his shoulder at my or skeptically eyeing me from across a room. Mr. S., you may have scared me out of public places for a while.
“…glancing over his shoulder at me…”
I think Flyteeth might want to measure John Largeman’s TARMAL.
And while he’s up, he should check Scrotato’s as well. Scrotato has major TARMAL with that kind of writing.
We should certainly consider a Burning Largeman Festival in, say, Tarzana.
Samurai Scrote once alluded that there was more TARMAL in TARZANA.
Beats me.
John Largeman’s glass of suds is MY glass of suds.
John Largeman’s Macy’s sales rack striped shirt is MY Macy’s sales rack striped shirt.
John Largeman’s bizarrely huge lobster hand is MY bizarrely huge lobster hand.
John Largeman’s angry red cheeks full of douche hatred are MY angry red cheeks full of douche hatred.
one day, John Largeman will take out Samurai Scrote.
for he is THE John Largeman.
or something.
Pretty sure that’s Alexei Ponikarovsky… he plays for the LA Kings…
John Largeman is Alexei Ponikarovsky?!?!