Friday Thoughts and Links
The 2012 Douchie Awards, a much smaller and intimate affair, begin on Monday.
Mongor’s ready.
Are you?
Speaking of Mongor head sheen, I haven’t seen plastique forehead like that since the Millennium ‘Bag back in the halcyon days.
But I dither.
For I forlornly eat my HoHos and stare at the milky sky.
Here’s yer links:
Your HCwDB Israeli Indie Cinema Great Hanukkah Gift DVD Pick of the Week: “I’m on the verge of giving up on you.”
Chevos the Movie, a Kickstarter project run by a fist-pumping anal wart, may be the douchiest thing I’ve seen in months. Props to this blog for summing up the ridiculous scrotosity.
How to promote a comedy starring your annoying wife? Feature Megan Fox Boobies.
No matter how bad your high school experience was, at least you never had your jock inspected. Or did you?
Yup. The mid 1980s. When the DB1 reached puberty. And when high school kids were all played by actors in their mid 30s.
Wanna know the exact moment your humb narrs realized puberty in 1985? Right here.
It’s beginning to look a lot like a douchey-ass dubstep herpster Christmassss…
Wanna see the HCwDB equivalent of “The Ring?” Don’t look in the mirror.
Okay, so’s my links got nuthin’ this week. At least there’s Pear:
For the angelic mofo win thatsswhatisetalkinbout.
Pear girl is being assfucked by a huge golden butterfly. Nice.
Spanking time. For M.C. Pear and mein dolphin.
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BRB
Cheevos and Mongor are both Fagabeefe.
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And for you dudes who live in the South (respect) and own dogs (respect) you have not fully enjoyed the wonder of nature that is frozen dog shit. Easy to pick up and no smell. Frozen pool sucks but at least I have frozen dog shit for the next three months.
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Turds
And you canucks don’t know the joy of dry-baked dog shit. Leave it out in the 100 degree Biloxi sun for 24 hours and you could break a window with it.
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72 hours…it’s ash.
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Butt Nuggets.
Frozen dogshit seems innocuous and therefore easy to neglect. Problem is on the first nice day in March when the temperature hits fifty. You then have three months worth of thawed shit to deal with all at once.
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Quite overwhelming.
As a young schoolboy I was forced to mow the backyard with an unmotorized reel mower. I’d get some momentum and finally be moving along at a good clip when i’d hit a moist pile of dog turd. The mower would send a stream of chopped dogshit, about the consistency of ground beef, straight into the air striking me in the face and upper body.
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Nowadays I get shitfaced on cheap whiskey and prescription drugs.
with the impending Douchies on the horizon, I forced myself to check in with the Legends of Yore:
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http://www.scottalexander.tv/
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And then puked in my mouth…
^Thanks for introducing us to the Hipster Gator, Jonesy.
Sweet fuck that guy likes to purse his lips. POOOOOOO!
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Paul MAcCartney wanted to give a shout out to the Douchies, sans Gator, particularly to those who have some Scottish in them and those who would like to.
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Live from Aberdeen Fields:
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Mmmm……. thick spicy Latina Meaty Cross Pear.
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@Rev
We gambling this weekend? let me know.
Megan Fox on a ladder gave me a meaty renoB that Mrs Wallnuts will need to tend to this even-ing. Even-ing, I says.
MONGOR SMASH!
I don’t recognize the ’85 puberty girl. A little help, anyone?
It’s been a while since I tol a story, so here goes. In pictures and words…
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http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/13940741/dwallnuts-on-the-george-burns-secret
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So what most folks don’t know is that George Burns kicked the bucket sometimes in the late 70s and starting in the mid-70s they started using doubles to cover for him. One a the first times one a the doubles did an appearance was on a Carson show in 1977 when Sinatra was the guest host. Madon! What a crazy night that was! On the show that night there was Angie Dickenson, Carroll O’Connor, of course Ed and Doc, the imposter George and Don Rickles. But I’m gettin ahead of myself…
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Burns started to lose his marbles – and control of his bowels and bladder – in the early 70s but was lucid enough to be propped up on stage or on the couch with Merv Griffin, Carson, Mike Douglas and the rest a the talk shows for a couple minutes a pop. But he would still wind up pissing hisself or pinching one off in his BVDs, and he’d stink to high hell. One time on the Douglas Show, Burns made a pig of hisself in the Green Room and ate all a the Mexican food they had laid out for the guests.
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Well old George goes out and does his schtick, but when he sat down with Mike he messed hisself something bad, to the point where they had to break for commercial and wheel the old fart offa the set. He left a trail a Chunky Iced Tea as they pushed him away. There was stage hands pukin their guts out because a the smell and they had to get rid a the couch and the carpet and re-do the set for the next show. There’s nothin funnier than a guy crappin hisself. Na mean?
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Sinatra’s agent also handled Burns and most a the guys in the gang, and one day they was sittin around talking about Burns and tryin to figure out what to do with him. Rickles started callin George “Pee-pee Cockey Doots,” because he was liable to let let loose and make Chocolate Pants at any time. Chocolate Pants, I says. He was gone, baby, gone.
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So then I says, “Hey, just put a bad wig and a pair a big eye glasses on any old Jew, trow a cigar in their hand and it looks like fuckin Burnsey,” I says. “As a matter of fact theres some old Jew broads I seen out at the pool that could pass for Cockey Doots if you shoved a stogie in their pie hole,” I opined. Opined, I says.
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Sure enough we used a couple a old Jew broads as fake Burns’ over the years, especially when there weren’t no dialog and nobody had to hear him talk. They was always changin the glasses and toupee and people never figured it out.
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Back then Burns was a novelty act. A nice old guy who told a few jokes and made people laugh and you wanted to give him a hug. So when they started with the doubles, it was just a short term thing. By the way, you could always tell it was an imposter Burnsey when he was sittin on the couch next to people. Everybody knew the deal with him Airbrushing his Boxers regularly and these shows couldn’t have him backing up his bowels on some big star or comedian. The few times the real Burns showed up he would be the last guest on so he could sit in the single seat, which they had covered in what they called, “Foul Weather Gear.” You know what I’m talkin about?
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The problems came when the fake Burns became a hit. He got movie deals, commercials, did Vegas, was on every friggin talk show. They all was all fakes. Not one a them was the real George Burns. The real George Burns had a stroke while he was banging Phyllis Diller while filming the Sunshine Boys in 1974 and then had the big one trying to schtup Terri Garr whilst in pre-production for that first movie where he plays God with that country-western singer as his co-star. He was almost 80, shitting himself thrice daily, chasing broads and boozin so whattaya think was gonna happen?
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After the first stroke all they could do with him was prop him up, wipe the drool offa his his chin and then change his diaper. He had about two lines a dialog and 10-minutes in him before he’d let the Chocolate Hostage out into his pants and then he’d be shot. Chocolate Hostage, I says. So they started usin the doubles almost exclusively. By the time he went total cucumber trying to grope that Garr dame, all they could do for him was water him thrice daily. Like a potted plant, I says.
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But the real trick was keepin people from knowin it wasn’t Burns. Imagine the scandal if people figured they was hoodwinked with a fake Burnsey, when the real one was lyin comatose in a puddle a his own piss! Am I right when I say that?
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On that Carson show, fuckin Rickles almost blew it when he said to George, “Hey George! How comes you don’t smell like piss tonight?” Then he got in Burns’s face and I thought he was gonna know and the jig was up, but he turned his attention to Frank, who had his hand on Angie’s twat and was looking to bone her for the third time that night.
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So one a the great secrets of Hollywood is that the George Burns who was a big star over the last 20+ years of his life, wasn’t the real George Burns, but a collection a other old Jews, including a broad!
DW – another awesome recollection of hollywood.
Mongor, Hair Volcano.
Bob as my witness, my bandmates WILL agree to change our cover band’s name to “Chocolate Hostage”, or I’m takin’ the shoe leather express.
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Walkin’, I says.
Funny shit DW!
‘Chocolate Hostage’ begs for reference to the Stockholm Syndrome.
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Browns
I like what Mongor has done with his hair. It makes him more interesting.
I get a ‘Chocolate Hostage’ after bangin’ girlie creatures in the fudge socket