Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Friday Thoughts and Links

Party tools on Black Friday make my uvula itch.

Last night I saw a line around the block outside of a Best Buy waiting to get in at midnight. If ever there was evidence of our misplaced social priorities, fetishization consumption rituals are it.

What a disgrace “Black Friday” is. The complete breakdown in meaning in which we become imprinted to seek shiny happy baubles of future-dom as the means by denying the larger truths of mortality, friendship, love, communication and intimacy.

No, Call of Duty 3, on sale for the next 24 hours, won’t solve the gnawing crises underneath the conscious mind, your deluded fools outside Best Buy, worshiping at the feet of the Glitter God of Mass Market Ritual. You can try to entertain yourself out of extended reflection, but it won’t work.

Consume, they tell us. Obey, and happiness awaits.

But boobies lead to truth. As do those out there resisting the bullshit right now and calling for an adjustment in national priorities, and getting mocked on the teevee “news” for it. So both give me hope.

Here’s your abbreviated Thanksgiving links:

Hot chicks love animals and guys who love animals, like guys who attend vet tech schools.
(Resource Link)

Your HCwDB Book Pick of the Week: “Historically, the most terrible things – war, genocide, and slavery – have resulted not from disobedience, but from obedience.”

From Zinn, we go to The Worst Image in the History of Images.

Here’s another reason why most hot chicks should not attempt comedy.

Referencing classic ’80’s Fishbone and insulting Michelle Bachman to her face without her knowing? Jimmy Fallon is my new hero. Dammit, I should’ve taken that offer to go on his show two years ago.

Speaking of jerky politicians, Senator Sam Brownback proves his douchedom, complains about a student saying mean things about him on Twitter.

Looking for new forms of eroticism? Try the Comma Sutra.

In Florida, a Transgendered woman posed as a doctor and injected cement into a woman’s butt. Be glad you don’t live there.

In 1969, a pre-Muppets Jim Henson wrote, starred in, and directed, a nine minute experimental short film that was nominated for the Academy Award. You know you want to watch it. For it is genius.

In honor of Mr. Henson, have some:

Cave Pear.

May you fraggle its rocks.

Thanksgiving Friday Haiku

Damn…DB1 must’ve been saving this treat up all year.  Hmmmm…..how about:

“Swing with us, RevChad…”
Next morning he wakes with a
Carrot in his butt.

or, this could simply be break time on the movie set of:

“Dr. Buttlove, or,”
How I Learned To Stop Clenching
and Love the Plug”

Let’s see what you got, you turkey-bloated Nepos…

Preparation H
On his abs, but after “her”?
On his bleeding bung**

— Ich verstehe sie ist heiß

** – “Bleeding Bung = great band name    -D.S.

A “Douchebag 300,
Strange sensation in my pants,
I love perky boobs.

— Bag A

Her tits never move
Since the gyroscope was put
In her monkey hole.

— The Reverend Chad Kroeger

Those are not pasties.
That’s deadly Black Nip Disease.
They’ll both be dead soon.

— Mr. White

Free range breasts ride high
whilst hope for humanity
is brought down to nigh

— Morbo

the newest villians
in the next DarkKnight saga
Dongtastic Duo

— creature

Happy Thanksgiving!

HCwDB will resume tomorrow.

In the meantime, try not to kill your family today. They mean well. They’re just neurotic, horrible people who are the reason for everything that’s gone wrong in your life.

A Little Turkey

As your humble narrator prepares to enjoy the holiday in which America pretends we shared peacefully with Native Americans, I read a little Howard Zinn. But I give thanks as well.

For boobies. For the lack of Gator updates since he bought Bulgaria in 2008 or so. And for HoHos.

Who do not get a link.

Because HoHos are beyond linkage. They are beyond intertextuality, a pure Other without parallel. And chocolatey.

Herpster Steve Struggles to Remain Ironic and Detached Around Jennie

More references to his love of the new Chick-Fil-A on Sunset might help.

Ed Sucky

The very idea that this transcendent blonde suckle thigh who has gifted us with vision of taut glutes and orgiastic bongo celebration would commingle, even for a second, with Ed Sucky’s toxic, amorphous, societal pollutant of a corpus, is enough to make a lone bonobo monkey in the rain forest smack his breast and wail in anguish for the pointlessness of natural selection.

“Bring me the Butt of Frieda Garcia!”

For it is glorious.

Who’s Frieda? She’s my secretary. Who am I? The guy chomping on Frieda’s butt globbs.

Andy Swirlwind has the aesthetics of a rotting mango, and should be mocked accordingly. If Frieda’s butt globbs hadn’t drawn my attentions, he would, and should, be mocked further for being a heaping urberdouche.

One Word Tuesday

Puberty.

“Would You Like to Buy Some Time Share in Acapulco?”

Yellow Eyes said in a thick Scandanavian accent to Marisa.

“Uhm, no.” She replied.

And the colored lenses go, “doo de doo, de doo, de do de do, doo, de doo, de doo, de doo de doo doooooo….”

Melvin In the Garden of Hot Chick Eden

I gotta say, good for you, Melvin. Messy mid 70’s Anchorman style aside, your poo eating grin is well deserved and prefectly apropos to the situation of illogic in which you find yourself.

Now bite the proverbial apple, and cast us all into sin.