Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Victoria Points Out the Weenus

Most of you don’t know this, but Doctor Seuss’s “The Weenus Loves His Penis” was a best selling children’s novel in Bratvaria in the 1880s.

With sales of 3,500 lithographs, “The Weenus Loves His Penis” ranked just ahead of The Brothers Grimm’s classic tale of country mischief and the problem with greedy Jews, “The Jew Among the Thorns.”

And yes, that’s a real link. The past is not so golden, said the scorpion to the frog.

Where's Hatdouche?

As the sweaty, smoggy city of Angels gears down for the 4th, I must challenge you the following:

In this lineup of emotionally medicated sorority hotts from Kappa Kappa Woo, I’ve carefully hidden a smarmy hatdouche wearing Waldouche with a terrible case of jock itch.

Look closely.

Can you find him?

Mmmm… Kelly leg. I would slather with butter and salt and masticate like a brain-damaged ferret.

Herpsters at the Prom

Somewhere, in the distance, a sullen D.J. in a lime-green shirt from the 1970s puts on a scratchy 45 by Laid Back.

The Garglebros Get Lucky

Never underestimate the appeal of sticking out your tongue when posing with beach hotties at least three levels of Scientology Clarity above your lowly menial ass.

Just ask the Garglebros.

Their hilarious performative tonguewankery served them both quite well in their late afternoon goal.

Which was buying overpriced sno-cone shooters at the Laughing Chicken in Malibu Canyon, and then, later, after Kammy and Babs abandoned them to go boink some surfers, wistfully sitting by their 1988 Honda Accord, staring at the sunset, and alternatively chanting their 2012 mantra: “Bitches, bro… bitches…”

HCwDB of the Week: The Craptastropher and Debutante Amy

It wasn’t even close.

Garish explosions of ambiguously something something male spectacle in presence of party girl coquettish annoying-hott annoyingness was far too overwhelming an HCwDB cohabit to ignore.

Chalk ’em up for the gulag, and your humb narrs for oatmeal with raisins and a vodka chaser.

Elves are still hacking away at the website innies and outies, so bear with if it’s a little bumpy around here over the next few days. The mock will continue…

Likes Sands in the Pearyglass…

This post was originially called “technical difficulties,” but now that I think I solved the crazy gremlins haunting this here ole’ website, we’se celebratin’.

How do we celebrate you ask?

With deep spiritual contemplation?

Nope.

With douchey cell phone bathroom self-portraits?

Nope.

With Champagne Katie in the Hamptons.

Your Humble Narrator's Phantasmagoria Dreamland

“Smaller than llamas, softer than sheep, cuter than all heck” for the sex fantasy.

The alpaca bubble will never burst. Not if I can help it.