Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Brothabag Ed Didn't Get The Memo

The partial “Ed Hardy” underneath your clothing reveal is not a meta-fiction statement on the likely doucheyness of the new Superman movie. It’s just a sign of cultural outlier.

Kathy Lee was born in America, so don’t ask her about Korean culture. Her parents totally suck and just keep yelling at her in Korean like some overplayed Margaret Cho bit from the mid 90s. So, like, Kathy’s not going to church anymore, mom and dad. Deal with it. Oh, and she’s dating a black guy who wears Ed Hardy. So put that in your kimchi and sautee it.

Rice-T Steps To You

Straight outta Riverside.

Adam's Apple Tatt is On His Adams Apple

In a related story, this.

A Whole Lotta Lumps

I’ll say this for Veg Armstrong, aka Peter Pumpin’head and Mary Mammageddon, he sure can pick a shooter humper full of dumpster crabs.

Lets move on before I get crabs of the eyeball.

In a related story, Crabs of the Eyeball was the best novel in Piers Anthony’s Xanth series.

Stupid Shirts

Stupid shirts.

Still out there.

Still in increasing proximity to $2 Oyster Shooter night at the Crabby Crab Shack.

When Irony and Herpsterism Collide And Score Slutty Sophie

It’s like a riddle, wrapped in an enigma, surrounded by a mystery, on top of a retro-ironic cassette tape.

Caption This Pic

While working through night school, Jill was able to covertly practice her burgeoning veterinary skills on various wayward youths at “Miss Havisham’s Home for The Blind, Frail, and Creepily Douchey.”

Your Monday Morning Meningitis-in-the-Pool Pic

After last week’s KV-infused threat to get more submissions, the ‘bag hunters and huntresses have responded, and the hamper is full with smelly sweatsock atrociousness commingling with the tastiest of bikni martini hotts.

Like Kelli and Mia here. Two bottles of Vegas party hott water.

And DJ Shortrounduous.

Who just hasn’t done well since the Goonies/Temple-of-Doom money was spent on hookers and blow.

Aussie Douchebags 2013: "The Difference Between Wogs and Aussies"

This is pure genius. “I love Sex and the City!” “I love sex.” for the win.

Aussie douchebags are easily the most entertaining of the Foreignbag subgenus. They’re like feral puppies in search of chow.

Wallnuts After Dark: What's With This Friggin' Cosplay Gig?

A couple a weeks ago my sister Josephine’s kid comes home, my niece Juliana, and she’s talkin about goin to somethin called a Cosplay Party where these kids all dress up like characters from video games and movies, or some shit like that. So Josephine asks me what I knows about it. And I says to her, “Me?!?” I says,  “Why you askin’ me?”, I says, “I don’t know nuttin’ about nuttin’ when it comes to what these kids today is doin’.”

And then when I goes to The Google I finds that this Copslay is something grown-ups do, too. Dressin’ up like chicks and guys and creatures from video games and other fictional crap. But it ain’t just dressin up, it’s actin like these fake characters, too. What the Fucc is up wit that? Kids have enough problems actin like kids, now they gotta go an act like some fake people that ain’t even people? A frustratione!

So now I hear from some half-a-Finnoch down at the Barber Shop that they’s havin a Cosplay Party for adults at the local Casa Columbo on the same night where we’s planned to have our annual Casino Night, the proceeds of which are supposed to benefit the St. Philomena Fund for dames who’s widows, and some a them orphans, too.

So Moose an Rocco ain’t too keen on this whole Cosplay development since Casino Night gives them some cover for them to go an see their Goomads instead a havin to go to their mother-in-law’s house for Lasagna and Canasta, which I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Lasagna and Canasta, I says.

So Moose an Rocco decides to head on over to the Casa to see what this whole Cosplay thing is about on their way over for Lasagna and Canasta. They park their Caddy in the lot and as they’s watchin’ this parade a Mama Lukes walkin into our place they’s call me on The Cell Phone and says, “Wallnuts,” they says, “It’s a friggin’ freak show over here with all a these schnooks dressed like Super Heros and people from The Star Trek and The Star Wars!” Schnooks, I says.

So Moose an Rocco had ta leave cuz their wives was callin’ to see where they was – they married twin sisters – and tole them they better get themselves goin’.  But I heard from some a the bartenders at the Casa that there was all kinds a weird stuff goin on, details a which weren’t forthcoming.

I can’t imagine what they get out a dressin’ like someone they ain’t and pretendin’ they can do things they can’t. Back in the day these folks woulda been tole to snap the Fucc outta it and get wit the program. Today these j’drools think it’s a good thing. Madonna Mia!