Thursday, December 1, 2011
Bob Douchionne Is Out There
Just knowing that Bob Douchionne exists is a good enough reason to start drinking.
Sally Mae Jean, you really should know better.
But how do you go back home to the farm after meeting Carl Hungus?
Yarrrr!! Tis’ douchery afoot!
Existentialism ? I’d say more like Solipsism.
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If my daughter had brought this turd over for Thanksgiving he’d be walking around today with a knife sharpener lodged in a nostril
I think we just discovered a new subspecies of homo sapiens. This is a great day for science.
T’was a douche with Mid-Eastern charm
And a hideously boney weak arm
Hypnotized by necklaces
To distract from douche faces
She doesn’t share our disgusted alarm
Sally has a touch of the crazy eye. Question is did she have it before or after meeting Bob?
Look at Bob’s right hand, it looks like it is a foot long. Also his fingers are tickling at her side-under-boob.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
Later this evening I will be imagining her in traditional Bavarian dress churning butter.
You’d have crazy eyes too if you just at that much peyote.
hey, is there an “e” in “ate”?
One word: pastries!
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.Two words: douche cake.
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.Three words: Pink frosted lips.
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.Six words: I’d buttercream her ganache any day
Note to Medusa:
I sent you a pic last night, did you get it?
Love ya like a sister-in-law.
Florist of Arabia.
This makes me want to puch that six armed elephant dude right in the trunk.
I will not be purchasing any baked goods from this establishment solely based on this pic.
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Customers
She’s my fucking lady friend.
Pepe Le Pew and a Holocaust survivor had sex, and this was the result. To make matters worse, it looks like he got tangled in some power lines before he got to the club.
Pippi Longstockings’ older sister looks kind of cute, in a crazed sort of way. Bob Guccione’s half brother better start eating some baked goods before Pippi snaps his arm off.
Bob’s trying hard to do the reach around boob touch. What a chickenshit. He’s should get back to making cheesecake. He has too many necklaces too.
I miss Deltus.
I miss Lavender Oils, Motorcycle Parts retarded robo cousin. And yes Stephanie, Motorcycle Parts was a godhead of sorts. He got me through some tough times with some of his comments. So yeah, I guess I miss Motorcycle Parts too. I also miss Redouche Reooze Repsycho. That guy was tits and his avatar was kinda cute. He was a RUSH fan though which is kind of a deal breaker with me, but funny none the less.
I miss Zyzz.
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Psych!
Does this guy ever use the top 3 buttons on a shirt?
When one necklace is one too many why is this grease ball wearing so many? I think he’s the dish pig for the establishment where the photo was shot. He’s probably conned (talked to) Sally Mae claiming to be the owner. He suggested she come around between the lunch and dinner stampede. He’s mainly done this to make an impression on the chefs, who constantly scream at him to work (wash greasy pots’n’pans) faster. I can just see him now: walking around the kitchen snickering at some sort of private joke assuming he’s the envy of all his friends (all illegal immigrants) because he’s being paid and fed. This is a real scenario I’ve seen countless times. The peasant flees the Third World village, appropriates the most rank, odious and predictable uniform and/or attitudes of Western Culture and practically overnight becomes top drawer douche. Its has been happening since God’s dog was a pup, too. Way back in the day I rode a pushbike to a crappy job I had because it made the menial, repetitive and mind numbing work seem slightly more tolerable. Anyway, this Indian dude laughed at me every day and with his very limited grasp of English said, “bicycle!” His inference being that cycling wasn’t merely common but a pastime for the lower orders. That which he’d fled.
Factory work in Brookvale. Ugh!
Hey, I am tall guy not anonymous. What’s the skinny? I deleted cookies earlier on. Is this the result? Sheesh.
Interesting how this guy’s picture shows up on the day there was all this hubbub about eliminating AIDS. I suggest they start with this guy. She looks like Linda Hamilton before she went total Shrub Scout.
She looks like she plays Roller Derby.
Separated by fate, family, and distance the teo star-crossed lover ran towards each other like two freight trains. One travelling from Toledo with winds from the northwest at 55 m.p.h. and the other from Cleveland with a tailwind from the south at 35 m.p.h.. Where did they collide?
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Vectors
He’s growing on her like a colony of E.Coli on a cut of warm Purdue chicken.
He’s holding her a tight as a drunken Mindy McCready on an abused five year old with a court order of protection.
He thinks her eyes look like brown circles with black dots in the middle.
EWwwwwwwwwww he smells bad, she thought, as bad as Calvin Klein’s Obsession would smell if it was called Enema and derived from rancid porch beef instead of fragrant rose oil.
She’d want to grab his balls and give him a blowey if his cock wasn’t eminating odours reminiscent of a Rwandan death box or like a sardine factory in New Delhi lo those many years ago filled with unwashed pubescents in estrus.
He wants to give her the bone like Foghorn Leghorn uses a bat on Barnyard Dog.
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Son
After decade of malnourishment his wood is as soft as George Washinton dentures.
Post-op Juan wanted a chest as hairy as the crotch on that girl from that movie that a bunch of people went to see about 25 years ago in Tahoe.
“Mein-a dispatcher says there’s something wrong with dein-a kable?”
What’s up with that right arm of his? He’s one part douche, one part bucket loader.
Tonka Bob.
Ha! I know her, Crystal from Austin.