Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Kelly and Fratbros Bob and Joe Are Vaguely Familiar with Mexico

Because, once when they were visiting California to go to Disney Land, they ate at a Poquito Mas.

Kelly ordered the fish tacos.

Fratbro Bob then made a joke that linked the concept of the fish taco to Kelly’s nethers.

Kelly giggled politely.

Fratbro Joe, who on one of my more generous days might earn a nottadouche simply said, “Word.”

Word indeed, Fratbro Joe.

Word indeed.

How Bunnies Copulate

First, the male bunny pays an exhorbitant amount on his daddy’s credit card for “bottle service.”

Then the female bunny talks for a solid two hours about her future career in fashion design.

Then genitals are briefly, and safely, grinded through a protective cloth barrier to a track by Rihanna.

"Rodriguez Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Boobs"

These porn parodies aren’t even trying anymore.

Caption This Pic

Beatrix Potter never did learn what cast her to the fifth circle of hell upon passing away quietly in her sleep in 1943. But she did quickly learn eleven new uses for carrots. Nine of which involved orifices.

Props to the 'Sock!!

I’m back, bitches!! Walkabout: enlightening like a Don Draper doorway. Tasty HoHos?: Consumed. Alcoholism: like a rusty steak knife cutting through a well aged steak.

Props to the great DarkSock (not pictured) for a week well handled in driving the ole’ HCwDB bus.

This deserves an 80s Slow clap.

And, of course, an image of an unholy rockerscrote mugging a sweet poodle pooch hottie globble fondle.

Also, I think I finally fixed the damn mysterious bug that was crashing the site everyday. Who knows? I’m holding this leaky ship together with duct tape and spittle at this point. But we may be operating at 100% again.

So I got that going for me.

Sunday Movie: Adventures in a dark room with an ectomorph

Now try to sleep tonight.

Wallnuts After Dark – James Bond

Ay Jabrone!!  I can’t believe it’s been over five deuces since the first Jimmy Bond flick hit the picture shows.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw Jimmy B in action.  That “Dr No” picture that all the jabroulis were goin’ on about.

I was giggin’ backstage support at the Latin Quarter in Times Square when one a the house band, a guy by the name a Sammy Bidner, comes up to me and he says, “Wallnuts?” he says, “Ya gotta come over to the Paramount and see this friggin’ movie!  Theys got a secret agent and a blonde dame wearin’ the smallest bathin’ suit I ever seen!”

And by working backstage support, I mean I made sure the showgirls were accessible to the high-end gamblers that frequented the underground gambling rooms upstairs and collected the kickbacks the club paid to the Gambinos.

Anyways, I ducked out a the Steve and Edie warm-up for Frank’s gig and sat there mesmerized by the blonde Swedish chick with them big knockers in the skimpy suit with a knife in a thigh holster.

The movie was so good I missed Sinatra’s whole set. Madon!

When I tole ole’ Frank about it he had the projectionist run the whole flick for him at 3am after a gig one night.

That Sean Connery was our favorite. Until then we mostly thought Brits were Finnochs and never bought the tough guy image they portrayed in them war films. But Connery changed all a that. He was the real deal. Later on we got to know him and he hung out wit us.

When they was makin that “Diamonds or Forever” flick, they filmed some a the scenes in Vegas and Frank and Dean and the rest a the Pack were always on the set. Frank was pushin’ to play the part a one a the gangsters who tries to rough up Bond, but the producers said no. So instead Frank banged Jill St.John so silly she missed two days a shootin’. So did me and Dean. Silly, I says.

Connery loved the guys so much Frank got him to go on a hit with a couple of Giancana’s goons and he helped them dig the hole in the desert where the buried the skell. He wore his Tux an everything.

That was Connery’s last Bond picture and then it was that Richard Moore character who was a lot more like the Finnochy Brits that we had come to make fun of and disrespect. He had a good run though and then they hired the next guy who was a total pansy and almost ruined the character.

These new Bonds ain’t worth tree clams. Tree clams, I says. And this new Bond guy is ugly like that dog that Budweiser used to use in its commercials. Not my cup of Sambuca, if you catch my drift.

Are you not entertained?

And in spite of continued National Revulsion at the Jersey Shore clowns…the shorties still flock to Fecal Giblets like Pauly D, who has leveraged his stint on that video tool shed into and endless series of button-pushing gigs playing shite music off of his iPhone. This is why we fight.

Discuss.

Okay…we also fight for this.

And this.

And this.

Friday thoughts and links

As I author this week’s Thoughts and Links from my thinking loft at Sock Manor, it appears to me that Pointy Pointdexter here either is trying to literally make a point, or he’s waiting for that booger to dry up and flake off. Either way, Terri Tautness stands by his side, giddy with glee and oblivious to this sentient poo that aims to brown her supple loins with his ruddy baggery.

This is why we fight. Tune in for the Saturday edition for another reason why we fight.

Here’s your Friday Links, Son:

Mid-Century illustrator Art Frahm, who toiled away in obscurity in the 50’s, knew only two things: drawing dames with great gams, and the destructive effects of celery on the elastic waistbands of female panties. Even super-heroine’s squirrel covers.

I am lobbying DB1 for space in his forthcoming 2023 Guggenheim exhibit for some of my own work. I mounted a horse once.

Sure, you all knew that your daily visits to this site gives you 100% of the USDA recommended levels of revulsion and Renob…but did you know this site could help you live an additional 4 years via staring longingly at boobies? Just don’t stare at jogging boobies or you’ll wind up like this guy.

Here’s the perfect gift for that Broheim in your life who has less chest hair than a fetal pig: Now he can instantly look like real men. Or Ron Jeremy. Especially if you ever rip it…

Speaking of Furry Things, did you ever want to process your own unicorn meat? Well now you can. First, you loosen the bung. It’s not as easy as it looks. Ummm…this is kind of harsh; boy that escalated quickly.

Forget all that. You’re not here for Furries and Unicorn meat (except possibly Goolo); you’re here for Pear. Very well:

Bouyant Pear

Expensive Pear

Sofa King Leathery Pear

On The Fence Pear

You Really Have To Hand It To Her Pear

Them’s your links. Tune in this weekend for gratuitous pear; enough to extend your life 8 years.

Friday Haiku

Get your hands off her

You iPhone becrotched Tarzan;

You damn dirty ape

Father-daughter theme

dances: an invitation

into discomfort.

— Douche Wayne

Hot Hall Contender

Please tell me that’s your gay friend

Who’d like us to meet

— saulgoode42

Underboob beckons

Myan Eye of Coitus shines

My banana splits

— Mr. ScrotatoHead

If I wore loin cloth

My Indian name would be

Chief Raging renoB

— DoucheyWallnuts

Like a Bonobo

I would present my red ass

To father her chimps

— Mr. ScrotatoHead

Tarzan dumped Cheetah

Since the gyroscope was put

In her Monkey Hole.

— The Reverend Chad Kroeger