Friday Thoughts and Links
Today is a dark day. An awful day. With only a glimmer of hope.
There can be no mocking of douchebag and lusting of hott without appropriate sustenance.
I may start hoarding. Test the hypothesis of the Twinkie. Pretty sure I can get at least a two year supply if I fill up my basement.
For shame, America.
This is no way to treat your citizens.
Twinkies define us.
They lighten our spiritual load.
They offer an ease of caloric intake without the need to excessively chew.
I will miss them like a limb.
I will mourn them like a brother.
I will get drunk in their honor tonight.
Here’s your damn links:
Your HCwDB DVD Pick of the Week: “Sugar-enriched flour, partially hydrogenated vegetable oil, polysorbate 60, and yellow dye number five. Just everything a growing boy needs.”
That’s a big Twinkie. RIP.
Okay, I need to shame myself out of the doldrums with some British Secret Pear
So Hollywood put my movie in turnaround but greenlights this?
Speaking of Hollywood, here’s a first image from Star Wars Episode 7: A New Douchebag
The absolutely brilliant and vastly ahead-of-its-time The Ben Stiller Show had a twenty-year reunion Q&A at the New York Comedy Festival. Shut yer stinkin’ trap!
Okay, you’ve earned it:
Go forth. And build a new post-Twinkie world.
Chin up, Boss. I think some company will buy your beloved Hostess brands and resume making your sweet treats. Probably in Malaysia.
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The Pear must have picked you up, eh? They did me.
Great moments in Twinkie’s in Movies.
Reginald Vel Johnson buying 15 at a convenience store early in the first Die Hard.
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Harold Ramis explaining to Ernie Hudson and Dan Ackroyd how much supernatural energy is in New York City, saying it would be as big as a city block.
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The close-up picture of that Twinkie reminds me of the time I was molested by my Uncle Cosmo and Father Lou in the Rectory at Our Mother of Holy Sorrows.
Maybe their is a twinky patent up for grabs, dirt cheap… just saying.
I only got two things in this world…my balls and my lotion. And I only break them out for Tony Montana Pear.
This’ll put “Wow” back in your vocabulary:
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Jake Shimabukuro – “Bohemian Rhapsody”
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But it won’t replace your longing for tasty Hostess snacks
Tony Montana pear is a trap.
http://www.mademan.com/chickipedia/jessica-jourdan/
“Vices: post-op vagina”
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I’ve been thinking of having one installed. How much do you think one of those things costs?
thnx for the Jake, Vin, been a fan of his since I 1st stumbled on to his ‘While My Guitar Gently Weeps’ in central park vid, after picking up the uke…he makes my playing look like a toddler taking his initial steps, stumbling & plopping down in my loaded Huggies!
“Tony Montana pear is a [he/she] trap”
Just when it couldn’t get any worse, it gets worser.
The Hostess Fiasco: Obama would have intervened, but Michelle put the kibosh on it. She doesn’t want us to eat tasty, but ultimately unhealthy things.
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Thanks for the pear. It will ease the pain. The pain of the tranny hooker Dude McCrudeshoes linked to…I wonder if “she” is down with having a twinkie stuffed into her post-op vajayjay?
If you don’t want to read, hit the link, otherwise read on my brothers.
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http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/13925753/dwallnuts-parties-and-breaks-up-a-fight
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Somehow I wound up hanging out with Bill Shatner, Carson, Tom Jones, Barbara Eden, Joe Namath, Alex Karras, George Plimpton, Ann-Margaret, Adam West, and the guy who did the voice for the cartoon character Top Cat at some post-Emmy Award Show party someplace in the Hollywood Hills at one a those all windows houses they shoot the porn movies in. There was also a lotta Union mooks, as the Teamsters had a pretty big presence workin in the television studios. Still do. I think the house belonged to one a the Union guys.
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People think these parties was all high class, but a lotta these high falootin’ types was real cheapos and they usually served crappy food and bottom shelf booze. Sure enough, we get there and I see the bar was stocked with the usual swill so I called the bartender over and duked the guy a fin so we could get the good stuff. Duked the guy a fin, I says. They always had the good stuff at these joints, they just didn’t want everybody drinkin it. If you knew who to grease you was in like Flynn.
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So we’re gettin’ a pretty good snootful and we see this guy Louie the Milkman, who was a half a Finnoch, mob wanna-be, actress chasin hump who was somehow tied in with one a the studios. I never knew his last name. He was called the Milkman because he had this prostate problem and when he took a piss he had to yank on his joint like he was milkin a fuckin cow. If you stood next to him at a urinal you’d see his arm workin it and hear the ,”squirt, squirt, squirt” as the piss hit the porcelain. His prostate was so big it was the size of a Casaba melon. Casaba melon, I says.
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So like I says, we had a good one movin, and one of the guys in the crew that night was Fausto “the Fist” Frantino, who had had a run in with The Milkman at some Knights of Columbus gig a few years before. With the booze flowin it was only a matter of time before tings came to a head.
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Now me, I was balls deep in some Hollywood Jew broad in the cloak room as tings escalated. And since she was a bit of screamer – she sounded like a Wildebeast in heat – I didn’t hear the commotion going on outside as I was nuttin’ in her quim. Nuttin’ in her quim, I says.
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Believe it or not Ann-Margaret was playin these two Momos against each other. She had a thing for mob goons. Some of these Hollywood broads was so powerful they needed a powerful guy to be with to get off. Physical power. The Fist was up there with Skinny D’Amato when it came to punchin guys, so he was about as powerful as they came. Now, whilst The Milkman wasn’t in The Fist’s league, Ann didn’t know this, she just figured he was a made guy, which got her panties all wet.
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Sure enough these two shalabobos square off with Ann standing off to the side lickin her chops. I swear you could hear her gettin damp as the The Fist and The Milkman got ready to go. So by now I’m done with the Jew broad and wipin off my schwantz on some dame’s mink coat that was hangin in the cloak room, and I hear the loud voices.
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I sneak outta the cloak room, walk over to The Fist and tell him to cheese it. “Fist,” I says, “If you hit this jadrool you’ll knock his dick in the dirt and you’ll prolly wind up in San Quentin for a stretch. Don’t hit him. Scare him.” With that The Fist pushes me aside walks over to The Milkman and grabs him by the lapels. Now at this point I’m lookin for the exit, since I knows if The Fist trows a punch cops will soon be here, and I’m not lookin to get jammed up. But before I can scram I sees that all The Fist does is whisper something in The Milkman’s ear, and then The Milkman makes a beeline outta the joint, never to be seen again. I never did find out what The Fist whispered in that jamoke’s ear, but I do know that the fist left the joint with Ann-Fucking-Margaret on his arm and jammed it up her keister good and proper later than night.
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When somethin’ would happen that didn’t make no sense my good friend Mervyn the Finger would shrug his shoulders and say, “Cockey moomen Hanukkah dreck.” Cockey moomen Hanukkah dreck, I says.
@Douchey Wallnuts
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I always wanted to ask you your feelings about this before I have a massive heart attack or god forbid a stroke.
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Did Gina Lolabrigida actually sing this version of this song. Cause I heard she did all kinds of things but was very private about the Mung.
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Hostess bites the big one, we’re ogling tranny pear…..yep, it must be 2012.
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=438330456213991&set=a.251092048271167.56433.251089648271407&type=1&theater
Mister Walnuts – awesome. I could “hear” your voice in that one more than most. Very well done.
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Oh, and a shout out to DB1-
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Yo – dude – the gig is up, the party’s over. The Anthropocene is gettin’ ugly. There’s nothing wrong with eating crap, but now you’re gonna have to make your own crap. OR switch to Tastykake. In anycase, I found this – instructions on how to make your own twinkies.
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http://graphophobia.blogspot.ca/2012/01/make-your-own-twinkies.html
Thought of you this morning when I read the Hostess announcement. Perhaps the surge in pot stocks will pave the way for a new gen Twinkie. Then again, if you soak a cup of FruitLoops in water for 5 min, squeeze out the water, broil the mess for 2 min and spread on a layer of carrot cake frosting…it may suffice. Or you may die like the handful of folks that drank too much 5-hour energy drink. So please hold me harmless.
I guess STK is the douchiest steak house in LA. A friend on facebook who is kind of a douche (friendly guy to me, no douche signifiers, probably would notta if you saw a pic, but still kind a douche) said he liked it, which set off alarm bells. So I went to yelp and saw this choice comment on page 1.
“Okay, the food is solid. We started off with the arugula salad, I had a petite filet mignon and we shared 3 sides of broccolini, brussel sprouts and truffle fries. Honestly the food was really good. What I absolutely HATED was the SCENE. Millions of douche bombs were constantly exploding in every corner of this place and the music was WAY TOO LOUD. If you enjoy the scene and I honestly believe this has to be THE SCENEIST restaurant in all of LA, then you’re at the right place. Yea, yea I know…I’m in LA TRICK! BITE ME!”
Top Cat = total fucking home run. Who are you? Can I be your agent?
DB1,
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Tony Montana pear is a repeat from earlier in the week. You owe us a pear. 🙂
Same pear from two weeks ago:
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http://hotchickswithdouchebags.com/2012/11/02/friday-thoughts-and-links-184/
Well, this certainly is a much bigger tragedy than the brutal murder of 1.5 million people. That much is certainly true. And what an amusing perspective! Fucking awesome.
Way to expand the multi-media DW Experience! “Experience” , I says.
@ Rev Chad. As I can hear your arteries clogging from here I figure I better answer your question post haste.
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Dean once said about Ms Lolabrigida that she had too much tits for one cock.
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http://m.youtube.com/watch?feature=plpp&v=4B6hFUA_KB0
I guess when it’s your name on the show, you can Mack the hotts, like Dino.
“I fucked a twinkie once” just doesn’t have the same ring to it anymore.