Scarf Face
The S.S.B. (Stolen Sister’s Blouse) that Scarf Face is sporting is in and of itself sufficient cause to be flogged about the head and neck with a flail made of a mop handle with a half dozen dead lampreys stapled to the jagged broken head.
But that…scarf…the so-called keffiyeh worn by that most insufferable of all bags:
The HipsterBag.
Allie, Keisha…can you not smell the sopped rancid neck-cheese encrusted within this tragically cool trend-squatter’s woolen folds? I implore you both to empty your lagers into his woven commode seat of a keffiyeh, saunter into the furthest empty bedroom, away from the pseudo-intellectual arguments between young men tragically attempting to grow wispy bears, clad in high-water pants and girl’s blouses; yes, creep away from the tinny strains of the new “Starry Saints” vinyl being played ironically on an old plastic child’s phonograph; avoid the maze of old “Spin” magazines and soy latte stains that landscape the carpet; slip beneath the sheets, unwashed since Mom’s exasperated cleaning visit last Thanksgiving, and just do what comes naturally. Which is, of course, to start a mattress fire and ease quietly out onto the fire exit.
I beg this of them. What would YOU have them do, fellow Bag Hunters?
scarf face, armed with the demoralizing knowledge that the closest he will get to Allie & Keisha’s nekkidness is by viewing their drunken sapphyc adventure on the ‘poppin freshman cherry’ website, promptly slinks off unnoticed to the loo & greedily tongues the porcelien fixtures.
Ooooh, its like Choose Your Own Adventure! I’d have all three of them make me a fuccen sammich.
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Awesome write up Sr. Sock. You’re proving to be an acceptable replacement.
“How am I gonna get a scarf like that eating pussy?”
— Tony “Scarfface” Montana
You don’t, Tony. You get it from sucking cock at a Miami Truck Stop.
I’d just kill him to get him out of the way. Window plunge would be my method of attack. Hip would be lured to said window by the siren call of the Hipsterbag, “Hey Hip, ya wanna see my new fixed speed bike with beige macrame saddlebags.” I would use his own speed to launch his limp feminine skeleton through the open window, but I would have closed it first to be ironic. As for the girls? Why Dark Sock, why did you have to put up a post with a doppleganger for sweet young Tami the whore that broke my black heart lo those many years ago. And her blonde friend Saskia to boot now I will have sweet daytime terrors of the young lust that was lost and how close I was to doing both of them when we were stoned as Saskia’s father’s cattle farm one afternoon by a freshwater stream rolling through the pastoral meadow.. I need a pound of butter, some Charlie perfume, a doobie, some Boone’s Apple Wine, and a whiff of patchoulli to recreate that afternoon with my Golden Retreiver and the neighbour’s pond turtle.
Limp Feminine Skeleton is a good band name. Son.
I would like the Hipster to experience the life of those they chose to imitate.
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My father once spoke of his hometown. The white-eyed methylated drinkers queuing for food, all palsied up with their septic wounds and fouled trousers… men of all nations abandoned by the brutal caress of drunkenness. Husks of self. The discarded chaff of men lost. Women all signed off from their mental rosters of accepting the passion of so many mens’ pleasures in the grimy Hidalgo Avenue brothels, now sitting in their steaming covens slurping down sinewy brown stew – their own nightly receptacles of covertly evil passion disinfected, washed away, and bled off into the city drains.
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Signs of foundered life flowered abundantly there. Urban life at its cruelest. Like a trickle of arterial blood meandering unseen down a flaccid thigh, or the creamy discharge of a sulky cocaine sniffle, or the burning and unutterable insanity of the lust for heroin. Wasted men and women, bearded, lining the darkened streets, too poor to eat. Just ghosting about.
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This is the life Scarf Face affects. This is the life I would send him to… if so granted that supreme privilege.
Allie, Keisha and 18 or so of the best trained hotts would gather before dawn. Flying undetected by radar, the group would invade the pud’s compound. The force would take out any fellow douche that might stand in their way. Finally cornering Scarf Face, in his bedroom adorned with Heather Locklear posters. Sadly an innocent hott had been lured to the room and is used a shield by Scarf Face. She is shot in the leg and drops to the floor leaving a clear line of sight to Germ-I-am-Moe. A quick shot to the left eye, lifts his skull up, a second shot rips through his chest and explodes his heart. Allie, Keisha report back to DB!- “Germ-I-am-Moe-DKIA. The body is dropped into a body bag and taken to a transport nearby by, most likely a Volkswagen convertible Bug bought by Allie’s daddy-There DNA sample confirm a douchebag- After dousing Scarf Face In Axe he is draped in Ed Hardy and Dropped into the fountain in the middle of the quad.
I think Dark Sock is going to burn out. As we all know DB1 spent something more than 3 hours a day on this site, but not more than 3,5.
Crack him over the head with the beer bottle, ad then use the jagged shards to give him a Colombian necktie. Son.
I have a neighbor who has a bumper sticker that says “If you’re gonna burn the flag, at least have the decency to wrap yourself in it first”. While I find the idea amusing and I’m all for free speech and shit, these hotts need to take a page from that playbook. Light both end of the rag on fire and the one whose side immolates his head first wins. Oh, and don’t forget to film it and put it up on YouTube. Kind of as a public service announcement for all other douches that think this is cool. AND to show the hotts what to do.
God damn Hipsters. Any decent bar here in the L.A. area is full of these blow hard, scarf wearing, Prius driving, gearless pastel bike riding, know it all dickheads.
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SON
And nice work again Sock. Patrick Swayze dances for you in heaven. For your work is of the Lords message. What? “Get some”
I die a little more each Friday when Lämp’s not in his rightful spot atop of the Thoughts and Lynx comments thread.
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Today, Crucial Head’s 11:04 comments have restored my faith in humanity, and have given me a new perspective on life.
(And a partial boner.)
Crucial, you’ve been long over due….welcome back, son!
@medusa oblonagata. very direct, very effective.
me, i want them to make him suffer. like give him a first class boarding pass on airfrance, so he is a flight-risk and denied bail, type suffering, before the before the brunette reveals at what he thinks is going to be his bon menage a trois voyage party that the brunette is 15 and from out of state.
I need a pound of butter, a little perfume Charlie, a Doobie, Boone a little cider and a touch of patchoulli recreate the evening with my Golden Retriever and a resident turtle.
Simply hang him by the scarf,,,dont kill him,,,just let him hang while we menage – a – trois in front of him.
Son.
He’s just happy to be breathing.