Monday, July 2, 2012
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…”
sweet- am I logged in as DB1? Fucking alternate universe is freaking me out!?!?
DUDE ON THE RIGHT HAS BIGGER TITS THAN HOTTIE IN BLACK
Will Stiffler EVER get boned in the “American Pie” series? I’ll be Seann William Scott regrets ever making those fuccen movies.
Hedgeclipers please!
These two aren’t employees of wordpress.org by any chance?
The blue whale has the largest tongue. It is the size of an elephant and weighs 5,400 lbs.
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The tongue heals faster than any other part of the body.
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If your tongue has a white rash on it, if may mean you have a fungus.
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You fuccen pervs are welcome for the videos.
…remember summers long past when you ate Otter-Pops in the sweltering heat & then stuck out your tongues to show what flavour you had?
…these four ate Chocolate Fudge Tunnel
Stick out your tongue and say, “Bleeeccchhh!”
Every now and then I’ll see something on HCwDB, like this picture, that remind me of Joaquin Phoenix in “8MM” when he says, “You’re going to see things. Things you can’t unsee…”
The Milton twins are sucking in the pooch so hard that they have created a low pressure zone and 100% chance of douche storms and occasional torrents of premature precipitation.
It’s confirmed: Anderson Cooper is a left handed quark.
If Babs is the one in the Black bikini then I approve and by approve I mean I bet that taut tummy has been spunked on numerous times, which is cool.
They’re just panting like dogs from the heat. Who the hell turned this oven on?
I am now logged in as capt james douche, but alas it is I DW of the long-winded stories. And I forgot whatever pithy mock-comment it was I was going to make. Pithy, I says.
I’d fornicate with an angry hedgehog in the middle of genetically altered, poison-tipped rose bushes just for the off chance that a bead of heavenly sweat drips off of Babs Hott and careens into my open, waiting mouth.
The paper wristband strikes again….
That would be a grave mistake, Sir Vance. Very grave. You see, her sweat isn’t heavenly. It’s the sweat of a woman who has done … things … for her next meal. The sweat of a woman who has ingested copious amounts of man gravy as if she were basting a bone-dry Thanksgiving turkey and had her stomach pumped more times than 1970s era Rod Stewart. The sweat of a woman who has spent more than one night in the backseat of a 1992 Oldsmobile that her boyfriend used to drive … and a 2002 Toyota Corolla that her dealer drove … and a 1999 Ford Escort that some guy gave her a ride in before pulling the “ass, gas or grass” routine.
She was all out of gas money and weed, for the record.
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Sipping that sweat would devour your insides like battery acid on a hot summer day. It might smell like sweet lilac perfume but it’s tainted with the souls of a thousand guys she’s screwed over the years.
To quote the late, great Frank Drebin, “It’s like drinking Drano. Sure it’ll fill you up. But it’ll leave you hollow inside.”
Why, I once heard from a friend of a coworker who knew a guy in Panama City, who hooked up with this chick in Lake Havasu who once saw some poor schmuck brush against Babs in 100 degree heat. Poor bastard’s arm rotted off where they accidentally touched. He screamed for three days. They say the only thing that interrupted the horrifying sound coming from the intensive care unit was a soft, low crying and moaning. He might’ve been jacking it with his good arm, but no one really knows …
They finally had to amputate at the shoulder just to save the rest of him. Old One-Armed Vinny still wanders these parts from time to time. They say he preys on hotts, appealing for sympathy and saying he lost his arm in the war.
Why, if you catch the breeze just right you can practically smell the Axe spray right before he surfaces from a foul, disease-ridden hot tub.
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You don’t want that sweat, Sir Vance. No sirree. Just back away slowly and you won’t get hurt. It’s not too late. Not too late at all …
The gladden song of Siren Hott has taken its toll on my weary head. I’m not sure I can break free from the spell so expertly crafted, the one so purely designed to entrap weaker men such as I.
someone has been smokin’ too much master k….those flat chested bitches are sobering me up toot pronto!