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Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Prickles The Clown
The Spiker. It spreads.
Natalia has the arched eyebrows that require further academic research involving theories of discursive alterity and feral butt pooching
Wednesday, July 13, 2011Rusty Grows Up
Into every young boy’s life, there comes a moment of spiritual revelation.
A karmic epiphany as distinctive and unique to each young boy as are the snowflakes that fall uponst a brier patch of dyslexic nuns. Or, as the nuns call them, “flowsnakes.”
For Rusty, as for all boys, this visionary moment of transformation from boy to man will involve boobies, kaleidoscopic bikinis, repetitive dangermous tracks, overpriced bottle service, and a strange series of warts suddenly emerging around the outer base of the penis.
Don’t scratch them, Rusty. That’ll only make them spread.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011Where’s Waldouche?: Blenderman Edition
Somewhere in this lineup of taut, firm and fetile wombs of the boobie suckle hottie kind that encourage species reproduction by summoning viable mates via the “Woo” cry, I’ve carefully hidden a Blenderman Waldouche.
Look closely.
Can you determine where his parents failed in their societal obligation?
Tuesday, July 12, 2011Ask DB1: Southern Orangeness
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DB1,
I’m a loyal reader but infrequent contributor as I find that writing something witty about the specimens on this site is difficult given the abundance of creativity on the part of the site’s contributors who can be described as at times nothing less than poetic.
Onto my issue; I recently moved to Florida and today got my new driver’s license. My face is something like Sangria burnt sierra orange.
Now I do like to at times lie outside and smoke cigars, read and look longingly at the Ass Pear that goes by. I’m Italian also so I happen to tan pretty well. Yet I would not describe myself as an obsessive tanner and I don’t work outdoors either.
I would like to argue that my pigmentation is merely a result of environmental factors since my old license photo from up north is decidedly more white than orange. Therefore, is one a douche merely because one’s place of domicile is so exposed to the sun’s rays?
I believe that this is a pressing issue in the field of douche studies, as if the aforementioned question is answered affirmatively then most white people in Florida could qualify as douches even if no other signifiers exist per se.
Regards,
Choade Harold’s Pilgrimage
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The Italian propensity to Orange can be forgiven within a safe palette range of hue. This scale is generally marked, as Reader Mike demonstrated with 2008’s Crimson Ted-o-Meter , between “ruddy” and “amaranth.”
There is some geographical leeway when it comes to natural orange hue, C.H.P. However, be careful. For one wrong step, and you’ll end up looking like this.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011Crystal’s Meth
Poor life choice, Crystal.
Don’t you watch “Breaking Bad?”
Tuesday, July 12, 2011Sheldon “P-Funk” Epstein Rocks the “Kitchen Danze”
Nothing tells the Hotties of Harrisburg High that you’re “gangsta” quite like Puca Shells and Ubquitous Red Cup.
Well, maybe totally pwning the S.A.T.s.
Monday, July 11, 2011The Eyes of Larry Mars
Don’t look it in the eyes!!
Too late.
Your first born will now have an affinity for prunes.
Swim Team Stephanie never spoke to you in High School. And she won’t speak to you now, either.
Monday, July 11, 2011Rosary Bling Still Sucks
Yeah you, Todd.
Take your Silverlake Stubble ™, your vintage turntable collection, the fact you claim your dad once toured with “The ‘Jovi back in Jersey” with both ironic and genuine pride, and your affinity for Blue Moon beer, and stick where the Jesus and Mary chain can’t abide.
Young Mom Carol attends all the P.T.A. meetings in a miniskirt. And for that, even the short bus kids applaud with their ice creams and mittens and go “Yayyy!”.
Monday, July 11, 2011Headwound Harry Approves of the HCwDB of the Week
Oh lithe Monica Triplets, how you paddle each other with ping pong paddles in the green room of your overpriced pseudo-Gothic Orange County strip mall nightclub while you wait on call to pretend to like Head Wound Harry for 10 bucks an hour before the Armenian club owner, Mr. Hackloogian, makes untoward advances in a leering and unprofessional manner at 2am.
I see each of your suckle thighs in the basest of carnal senses, and raise you an awkward arm fondle.
Monday, July 11, 2011HCwDB of the Week: Crotch Johnson and the Sara Bikini Hotties
With two weeks to review since last week was the Monthly, this week’s winning/losing couple wasn’t easy to pick.
We had the heinous monstrosity that is Poppa Squatter. Phlippy’s White Man Overbite. The crypto-bronze gayery and confused doe hott of Crazy Eyes Killa (Jared) and Svetlana.
There were prefect suckle chaw grapefruits in Nayara and the Grapefruits.
There was the Nipple That Ruined Civilization.
There was Pear. And there was Perfect Pear.
We even had the nihilist apocalypse that was The Sons and Daughters of Porsche.
But something about Crotch Johnson’s heinous display of douchery and the quality underfed anorsexia of the Sara Bikini Hotties was too toxic to ignore.
Last week’s Monthly was a tough one, and Crotch Johnson and the Saras will be formidable in the next one. Chalk ’em up for the Monthly, and your hungover back-in-L.A. narrator for Pops.
