Sunday, July 22, 2012
Sunday HCwDB Movie: The Legend of Trogdor, the Burninator
Hide your thatched roof cottages…the Trogdor comes in the NIIIIIIGHT!!!!
Also, these important updates:
Hot Chicks With Douche Bags
PICTURES OF HOT CHICKS WITH TOTAL AND COMPLETE DOUCHEBAGS. WITH COMMENTARY.
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- In memoriam: bcs
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One of my dreams is to get a complete look at DarkSock’s search engine history.
One good turn deserves another: Strongbad on Techno
flashbacks to grade 8… good times
@ Mr. Biggs:
Word
It was either go to the Cineplex and face certain doom at the hands of Christopher Nolan and those crazy movie fans, or TROGDOR. I chose well; it’s only 3 minutes long and I can drink a faggy cocktail I invented while watching it. I call it “Summer Pooch Screw”, or “Soon I must Pee in a Horse”
@ The Dude, inventing faggy cocktails is my thing. You can come up with faggy sports drinks.
.
Alright, I’m trying not to forget anyone in my long drawn out goodbyes, I can almost see that finish line so here goes nothing.
.
@Mr. Biggs, you went to UCLA. Also you’re Jewish. Goodbye.
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@Doc B, I actually thought you were pretty pussy whipped when I first starting commenting here. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. You’re a solid guy though beneath your weirdo exterior.
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@Stephanie, finally, another woman who gets it. I still will abstain from partaking in any of your baked goods though. With the war over its looks like you’ll have to go back to your job as a linebacker for the Cincinatti Bengals. It was an honor to serve with you.
Fucking HomestarRunner. Thanks for the laugh.
@Nancy: I am now accepting applications to blow me.
Where do I go to get my 3:45 back?
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Trapdoor didn’t even pump that manly arm.
Ugh, Douchble Helix. How can I put this nicely?
@Troy, you are cooler than tall guy. But the creepy ass puppet thing, I don’t get it. Keep on keeping’ on.
@Nancy
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Just go away.
And stay away so the old regs will come back.
And stick a pike up your hambeast.
Chernobyl pear, oh the memories!
Like all good seventeen year old druggies growing up in Amërïkä in the acid-soaked seventies, my bedroom was adorned with several blacklights and the accompanying velvet posters depicting wizards, enchanted forests and a giant marijuana leaf. One night I was able to sneak Angel Wyatt into my little den of iniquity and proceeded to make sweet teenage love to her under the blacklight, in a haze of marijuana and incense smoke.
It would have been a magical moment, but my parents were watching Johnny Carson downstairs and the sound of my mother’s laugh was a bit unnerving to both Angel and myself as we approached the moment of sweet release.
Good things come to those who wait, Rev.
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And finally @Hermit, thanks for making this place bearable. And by place I mean Earth.
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Fin.
Goodbye Nancy.
You were always like the kid sister who tagged along uninvited, but it was ok because sometimes she’d make you and the guys laugh. Kinda’ like when Mary Ellen Rogers played with Lumpy Rutherford’s weenie under the Sycamore Street bridge.
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Your ascerbic wit and wisecracks will be sorely missed.
.
At least until tomorrow when you return using a variety of hopelessly obvious pseudonyms.
i’m with the good rev….nan drag yer widebeamed backside into your nicotine encrusted harpie hovel, open a vein & bleed out…no one here will really notice aside from the irritating high pitched hum has stopped
Bye Nance.
BTW appropos to nothing here, the Colo. shooter is no doubt a Grade A sickie. However when something like this happens, (loner, maladjusted bastard goes over the edge) makes me wonder if just one Hott (or semi-Hott, or even not-so-Hott) had just made friends with this farker, and administered even the most mediocre of Beeeej, on some regular basis, if he might have been brought back from the edge?
Clearly I did not just drop out of my Doctoral programme in Psychiatry…just a student of life. And of the elusive Beeej. 🙂
Wearing my Homsar t-shirt with pride. “I was raised by a cup of coffee.” Wish these guys hadn’t retired. I need a new Homsar t-shirt.
Chernobyl Pear.
Dreuche, hit me up and we will hang in the East Village like sophisticated, underpaid bohemians.