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Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Herpster Jett Practices the Smushface on Elana
Herpster hat and z-neck chest reveal for societal micturation.
Elana’s soft, woven braids bepseak of hippie summer camps and pouty attitude, and yes, she only made out with the greasiest of patchouli-smelling Phishsterwanks when skipping class in the parking lot. But I forgive her. Because, at least she didn’t date a jockbag.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012Velveeta and Fur
Is this HCwDB unhero, Hall of Scrote enshrinee, and occasional Sleestak, The Velveeta ‘Bag? In 2012? With furry vest?
Furry vest is positively SonnyBonoian.
Clappy Blonde may or may not be hott, it’s hard to tell, so lets get this party started with a lil’ Squeezey Pear.
Mmmm… may have to send that one straight through to the Hall o’ Pear.
EDIT: Whoops, had a premature publication last night. I hate it when that happens.
Monday, September 17, 2012A Typical Late Afternoon in Western Long Island
Just as Toqueville warned, or maybe it was Chris Rock, when unnurtured by the pollen of inspiration, the American spirit regresses into hot dogs, apathy, and rectal itch.
Monday, September 17, 2012Old Dog Approves of the HCwDB of the Week
Old Dog, last seen embarassing his young children with his relentless public pursuit of Vegas Pear, approves of the HCwDB of the Week.
With double pear.
And sciatica.
And a tattoo of what appears to be a thong.
Monday, September 17, 2012HCwDB of the Week: Guyliner Graham and Goth Gayle
While we had plenty of quality poo/hott last week, the guacamole making wrongness of Guyliner Graham and Goth Gayle was too butt-itch not to win/lose the Week.
And it’s about time we mock some creepy ass Gothbaggery all up in this place. Ubiquitous Herpster Beer Ads during football have been making your humb narrs cry in his chips. That, and Patriot shank.
Sunday, September 16, 2012Can They Jam Their Privates in Your Privates?
Where post-irony douchebaggery goes to die in a hall of self-referential mirrors.
Saturday, September 15, 2012Comment of the Week: Sergeant Scrote Stain
S.S.S. unleashes the rage at refusing-to-grow-up oldbaggery in the Someone’s Dad is the Most Embarassing Dad on Earth thread and wins the coveted HCwDB of the Week:
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My Dad was never embarrassing. However, he is, and always has been, extremely terrifying. I will never cross this man. Never. Part of me hopes that now is just the time (Me: 27, Him: 50) where I could handle him in a fight. But the noninsane part of me knows that this is only a pipe dream. Well into his sixties my father will be able to rip my face off. God. If I sucker punched my father in the throat, he wouldn’t even make a sound; he would calmly grab my torso and start cracking ribs, one by one, until a collapsed into a pile of human putty. No. He wouldn’t kill me. he would just calmly stand there as I paid my appropriate asshole tax.
Now, “What,” you may ask, “does this have to do with the rather tanned Oldbag – who may, or may not, have a high-hipped Stripper G-String tattooed onto his torso?”
Well, everything. And probably absolutely nothing because I spend a vast majority of my time drunkly playing Whack-a-Mole a Chucky Cheese whilest yelling incoherent demands at the god-damn-animatronic-banjo-playing-bears who never have the common courtesy to play Outkast’s, “Southerplayalisticcadillacmuzic.” Just that damn Twang, over, and over, and over.
But I digress. This so called “Fatherbag,” instead of rightfully instilling fear and cowardice into his sons and daughters, has taught only texting shorthand and the propper spacing of butt cheeks on the tanning bed. This is why you see infants with fauxhawks. This Mother F’er right here. The crumbling of our society began not with the launch of this site some, shit, I don’t know, seven or eights years ago. No, it started when this complete twat decided to take a vacation to Saint Barts instead of spending the week berating his children for talking over the Ohio State game. Douchey America was born when thousands of parents in the eighties decided it was ok to support their child’s desire to express themselves (whatever the hell that means) instead of telling them to shut the hell up and mow the lawn.
You know why Douches always have that smug look of entitlement? Because they aren’t afraid. No one – i.e. Their God Damn Fathers – smacked ‘em in the mouthes when they were acting like asshats. And if you aren’t taught as a youngster that retardedness is punishable by the swift knuckles of justice, then you probably are on a fast track to Scrotehood. This photo right here is the Darwinic Origin of “Smarmlippery.”
Dear Oldbag, You destroyed America’s youth. We hate you. Sincerely, Everyone.
Also, where the hell is that damn Banjo Bear with my meatball pizza?
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Friday, September 14, 2012Friday Thoughts and Links
Of all the herpsters you want to slap in the uvula with a flyswatter, this is the most fly swatter uvula slapping deserving herpster of all.
The previous sentence brought to you by your third grade grammar teacher’s worst nightmare.
But Skinny Katherine offers quality hott-sweet real-world sexiness, unBleethed by the impurities in our water supply. And so there is hope after all.
Your humb narrs has new projects a’brewin’ again in the long slog world we call the H’wood grind machine. If you still hate me for Snooki, penance will be forthcoming. Either that, or Snooki 2.0.
Here’s your links:
Your HCwDB Book Pick of the Week: “Downtown, a dress for Meg – I do it every time I kill a man.”
If you have children, no matter what you think, they are not as awesome as this child.
Talented Asian child? Yao, Please!
And to counter the stench of Wiggaz, the genius that is New Sifl and Olly Episode #1.
Riff Raff was employed by my former employer.
Ever wonder what haunts the deepest, darkest, perverted recesses of your humble narrator’s secret bondage fantasies? Now you know.
A new developing in the Bleething of America: Feather Hair.
Quadruplets identified by ‘bag head shaving. No sign of Snooki Baby.
But you are not here for Snooki Baby. You are here for Pear. Of all the submissions this week, none were more chompworthy than:
Like your grandma’s living room. Only with pear.
Friday, September 14, 2012Friday Haiku
Their “Get Rich Quick” Scheme?
Join the G.O.P. and sell
Their baby Trump doll!
Koreshbag Poses
With newest members; she’ll be
Chuggin his wang soon.
— Capt. James T. Douche
A nominal fee
earns your child The Macho Man
as his Godfather.
— Douche Wayne
Muslim terrorists
Look at this picture and know
That we are beaten
— DoucheyWallnuts
Things have never been
the same, since the baby came
out her monkey hole
— Magnum Douche P. I.
Run out of diapers
Baby in hot dog roll bag
It’s their condom, too
— Vin Douchal
bun out of oven
despairs future prospects
wants to burrow back
— creature
It puts the baby
In the basket or it gets
The hose. Hairy hose.
— The Reverend Chad Kroeger
Thursday, September 13, 2012Someone's Dad Is The Most Embarrassing Dad On Earth
You know how, at one point or another, everyone thinks their dad is the most embarrassing dad on earth?
Turns out you were wrong.
It’s this guy.
