Friday Thoughts and Links
Your humble narrator wanders the streets of eerily warm Boston. Avoiding the Massholes.
Oggling collegiate hotts that wander among the downtown wide colonial streets like so many displaced gazelles.
Fratbags abound on the T.
Bostondouche is a distinct subset of the larger New England Clam Choader.
It is the home of my youth, and the home that I fled for larger pastures in NYC the moment I turned 18.
And so it goes, as Vonnegut told us. And so it goes.
Here’s your links:
Your HCwDB Musical Pick of the Week: “If you wanna be profound, if you really gotta justify, take a breath and look around, a lot of folks deserve to die! “
A reader submits this pic of the ‘bag parties going on at the South by Southwest festival. A wretched hive of douche and herpstery.
For the few of you who missed it last week, The Kony2012 filmmaker guy is a masterbatory herpsterbag.
Awful Tatts. Still out there. Still an affront to the Torah.
With the inexplicable success of the 21 Jump Street remake, The Unholy Grieco is back in the news.
Michael Bay: Hollydouche.
The Ab Revealing copycat of HCwDB’s 2007 sensation, The Ab Lobster, The Jersey Shore’s “The Situation,” may or may not be in drug rehab.
Best wishes to the great Jerry Lewis, who celebrated his 86th birthday last week. My life will not be complete until I am able to see Lewis’s 1972 unreleased film, The Day the Clown Cried.
But you are not here for creepy early 1970s urban legend garish and trite filmic reductions of Holocaust trauma. You are here for Pear:
Go forth and celebrate. For Pear is here.
Artistic Muscle Pear looks like a photo sometimes featured on (former?) ‘baghuntress’ Hypersexualgirl’s Tumblr page.
.
Ummmmm, not that I’ve ever been there or anything. Crucial told me about it.
I’ll take an order of pear. Please deliver to my bedroom…
Well, I’m not defending Kony2012 filmmaker guy’s behavior, but if running around naked and hammered in public while under the influence of strong chemicals is wrong, I don’t wanna be right.
.
.
.
Sprint-Spanks.
Wheezer, I’m pretty sure that’s where Crucial’s been for the last year; speed-spanking jets of protein across his laptop screen displaying her saucy tidbits.
That could be the worst fuccen t-shirt I have ever seen.^
Hmm, so this is the Boston look, eh? Semi-priv·i·leged and all white belt’n’shiz? Funny, I remember that tee-shirt when it was a polishing rag.
.
After an interesting week (‘interesting’ – the great word) at the ole HCwDB, I wish all a fine weekend away from the computer (you too, Dreuche). I’m planning on dropping a new clutch into the natty little roadster then getting out of town to a small coastal retreat where i’ll eat fish & snorkel while avoiding those harsh and penetrating photons due to my ageing skins inability to deal with their deleterious effect. Otherwise okay. Mind how you go, fellow ‘Bagsters. We’ll collapse from the inside if we don’t watch it.
After looking at that pear, I got to thinking. Broads didn’t have asses like that back in the day. Thank good for exercise and better plastic surgery techniques.
.
As I mentioned before, it seemed that a higher percentage of celebrities – both guys and dolls – had something weird about their genitalia. I don’t know why this is. It has always been easy for me to understand the weird sex habits and turn-ons the celebrities have because they can pretty much do – and “do” – anything they want. But why is it that so many dames had unusual snappers and so many guys had huge, or odd, joints? Do the weird privates have some kind motivating power or do they give these people a confidence the rest of us don’t have?
.
Now I’m a pretty confident guy, but was always amazed to see what those guys and gals got away with. From the simple things walking up to a broad, asking for a blow job and getting it without question or resistance (Norm Crosby regularly walked up to girls and said, “Honey, you’re lanky with big tits, why don’t you blow me?), to the more complicated, like telling a girl you were taking her home to have sex in a bathtub filled with baked ziti. Baked ziti, I says.
.
Hand to God, when I was acting as the assistant to the program director and the co-coordinator of live talent at WNEW AM radio in Manhattan I watched singer Julius LaRosa put the moves on a young, beautiful broadway dancer who was one of the finest pieces of ass I have ever seen. By the way, when I say acting as the assistant to the program director and the co-coordinator of live talent at WNEW AM radio, I mean I made sure the disc jockies played the songs the Gambinos told them to in accordance with the agreed upon payola arrangement, distributed bonuses to the DJs who cooperated and knocked the dicks in the dirt of the guys who didn’t, while humping every female member of the secretarial pool. So, Julie LaRosa hit this skirt with his line, told her he was taking her back to his place to have relations in a custom made bath tub filled with fresh baked ziti, made with the finest imported Italian ricotta cheese. And she went for it. He banged her and then they ate the ziti and chased it with a bottle of the finest chianti. Madon a mia!
.
Now, let’s talk about Norman Fell’s piece. He had his ball sack on top of his joint. On top, I says. It was as if his bean bag was spun around from underneath, where it’s supposed to be, so that it was perched on top, where the top of the shaft meets the lower abdomen. We used to call it,”The Corn Cob Pipe,” because that’s what it looked like when he had an erection.
.
Now if you think this caused problems for Normy, you are wrong. Sure it was a little uncomfortable in certain situations and he had to have custom made pants, but the chicks loved it. Norm loved to get head and it was an “anywhere, anytime” proposition for him, which was why we knew it looked like a Corn Cob Pipe. Na Mean? He was in one of those horrible “Airport” movies, I think it was “Airport 1975,” when he got some skirt who was serving as an extra to blow him in between takes while they were sitting in the fake airplane with all of the other actors and crew standing around!
.
The most famous Normy story is that we were all at a party at Sinatra’s suite at the Sands one night after finishing a day of shooting for “Ocean’s Eleven,” and Normy was hot for this local pro broad who Dean usually banged. I think her name was Dusty. Dean was with Angie Dickenson that night, so Norm went for it and so did Dusty. Anyways, Norm grabs the broad and pulls her behind the bar in Frank’s suite, she drops to her knees and goes down on him and starts working it real good. Fom across the room me, Pete Lawford and Frank see Norm standing behind the bar and he’s got this look on his face, and Pete says, “Christ, Fell’s getting blowed!” Frank tells us to cheese it so we don’t look like we know what Norm is up to, and we slowly work our way over to the side of the bar so that we can see what’s going on. Sure enough there’s Dusty, working the pipe with one hand while she’s smoking, cheeks all puffed out. We have the perfect side view of this action and Frank blurts out, “Jesus Dusty, you look like fuckin’ Popeye with that corn cob pipe in your mouth!” We all break up, including Norm, but she just gives us the finger and keeps going until she finishes her job. Like I said, she was a pro. From that day on, she was known as “Popeye.”
.
I could go on all day, but I’ll save more for the next time.
We got 10″ of rain last NIGHT in Biloxi. By comparison, L.A.’s average rainfall per YEAR is 15″.
.
Which segues me into….I would like to give 10″ of anal peen-fall to Artistic Muscle Pear’s Balloon Knot Canyon.
.
Soggy Bottom Boys.
dammit… my bad luck to follow an epic DW joint.
.
joint, I says
That Kony cock-swinger is Wedgie man. Haven’t heard much from the Wedge lately cause he went Psychos.
.
I never heard about no South By Southwest shit but it looks like a pile of fag. Ass pear is welcome at my Pasach table next week where I will be preparing fine Yiddish delicacies for my tribe of multi-generational Holocaust survivors and Irish hoodlums. May many glasses of kosher wine and tales of Passover be enjoyed at all of your tables, particularly DB1 who is “out” as a Hebrew. May all of your foreskins be long gone so that ye may enjoy the fruits of Israel. May your latkes be crisp and your Matso balls floating. May the Angel of Death (respect) not attend your door and may your firstborn eat bitter herbs and hide his cracker after he/she asks why tonight you eat unleavened bread and your house free of chametz.
.
And in the spirit of the trials of Israel I’d like to offer a gift of good tidings, Prince of Tidings actually. Papa can you hear me! Neil Diamond breaks bread with a shiksa and approves of this message.
.
This is for you Greco ya fucking ass muncher.
.
Speaking of Jerry Lewis, Buddy Love was the man he could of hung with Rat Pack all night long.
.
Speaking of Bostondeuche, I agree with DB1’s assessment yet I feel bad for Southie if this travesty indeed happens. DB1 please tell me you have nothing to do with this.
* http://bostonherald.com/track/inside_track/view/20220313southies_pride_an_obstacle_for_show
.
Mmm……Artistic Muscle Pear !!
Artistic muscle pear is definitely sexually permissive and by that I mean she likes her back door noodled, yodeled and probed with the meat flute! Meat flute I says!
I happen to own a copy of Literary Foreplay, a Lexicographer’s Guide to Sex by Dr. J.E. Schmidt. (1983 reprint) The following are from the “Quick and Dirty” section of synonyms for certain body parts. The following are for the Female Buttocks:
antipodes, arse, ass, backyard, blind cheeks, bombosities, bottle and glass, bum, butt, cheeks, flankery, hind boot, inder end, seat of honor, Sunday face, tail.
The words for female breasts are:
apples, areolated retrobrassiereans, bags of mystery, upper balcony, beef bags, bit of fat, blinders, blubber, boobies, booby trap,m brassiere busters, brassiere tenants, bread bags, briskets, borwn eyes, bubbies, bushel bubby, cantalopes, catheads, charleys, charms, dairy, devils playthings, droopers, dgus, equipment, fat flabs, featherweigghts, flesh, flyspecks, fore-buittocks, front bumpers, goonas, grapefruit, half portions, hammocks, honeydews, incandescnet lamps, ineffables, jutters, little drinks, little punkins, mazonians, midgies, milk churners, milk containers, mimpins, ninnies, northern hemispheres, peanuts, picayunes, pillows, pips, pretty sweet meat, pride and joy, prize faggots, runts, smallies, smudges, stubs, sweater dandies, teacups, tit, tit-bits, tits, titties, tom thumbs, twins, uglies, vittles, warts, zeee titties.
Can’t get enough of DW’s stories of the old days.
.
Good Shabbos, Rev!
.
“Sunday Face” = fine ass. I like that.
.
Buddy Love and the Rat Pack? It’s so complicated, I don’t want to go there.
.
In short, great thread already ‘hunters, and it’s just begun.
@Troy
Good stuff, you gotta love “front bumpers” or “milk churners” or “sweater dandies” or…… I could go on but I’ve become distracted.
@ETD: thanks – the book is a howl. At random –
.
Knocking Shop – A house where males with phallc eburnation problems may engage an alleviating female pudendum for a bout of ‘knocking’.
.
or
.
Parking Lot – The fleshy domes upon which the trunk is parked in the sitting position.
.
Nice. I was digging through a box of books looking for Deleuze’s Nomadology when I found Literary Foreplay. Much more amusing….
.
Oh, and for all the estimable talents hear who get their panties in a bunch when a woman with a rectangular face appears and they scream “TRANNY” well, fuckers, Here’s a Tranny for you. She tried to compete for Miss Universe Canada. Didn’t make it, but dayum….
.
http://happolatismiscellany.wordpress.com/2012/03/23/transgendered-miss-universe-canada-contestant-is-pretty-convincing/
I’m married to Buddy Love and live in the purple pit….wasn’t the Jerry Lewis movie about a clown in Auschwitz? I can’t imagine why they shelved that film? Maybe his kids will put it out after he meets up with Dean Martin.
From the Douchebag tattoo link:
“Vancouver’s Nathan Shaw, who plays bass for Said The Whale, pays homage to his upbringing on Mayne Island, where he had to travel extensively on the ferry. So to honour that nautical aspect of his past, Shaw has a massive sailing vessel covering his left forearm.”
You can’t make this shit up.
Read more: http://www.vancouversun.com/entertainment/intense+tattoos+SXSW/6306335/story.html#ixzz1qB9Mo5cD
RE the SXSW tattoos….about 80% of them are complete, absolute, total garbage. That’s the kind of shit that passes for good work. Hey! Letters! Lots and lots of letters! Some boring-ass shit that nobody cares to read, like you’re the magical tattoo philosopher! And then when you realize what a lame-ass waste of space it was, you try to clutter it all up with images. and if you had just been 23% less of a cheap-ass twat in the first place, you would have just gotten a lovely image that expresses what that stupid string of letters was supposed to. That ship mess on that girl’s chest is exactly what I mean. A lovely tattoo ruined by a big swath of text cutting through it. And the artist didn’t even attempt to work it in. I know, man, I’ve pretty much given up, too, but you gotta at least try not to look like this is making you want to kill yourself.
Yeah, you, little miss don’t sink the boat.
.
Don’t sink the scrote that makes the poo float
Don’t suck the nuts that bounce off the butts
Don’t suck the dick that bleethtards lick
He’s 5’6″ max. Lol. And his hair was cut by a girl with Tourette’s. Fact.