Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Pomping Irene

Elvis? More like El-MISS!!

Ha!

Ahaha!!

Ahaha…

heh…

(ahem)

So, where you all from?

The Flobot Snags Hard Rock Heather

And the Lilliputians rejoiced!!

I have no idea what that means.

I fondled a kitten once.

Bros Bored By Pear

Bros Excited By Bros.

This post brought to you by broccoli, the brontosaurus, and the nation of Bromania.

Reader Mail: Unclear on the Concept

Angry Felicia writes in with one of the more dubious , inaccurate, and probably just the classic “spurned ex” douche tags of recent times:

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Subject: Shit talking doiche

This Travis he is a special kind of stupid meanin he doesn’t know how to open his mouth without talking shit to everyone around him. Travis might be compensating for only being 5’4″ but he has a habit of f@#king up anything good that comes into his life, but he would never admit it.

———

Sorry Angry Felicia, totally not seeing it and you’ve presented no supplementary supporting evidence. Without probable cause, we must acquit.

Nottadouche.

The Slovakian Boob Meld

I read about this in my sociology class.

It’s an ancient ritual that has something to do with honoring those who brought forth the fruit of the vine on this the day of hairtonement.

Joan Largeman is having nothing to do with this strange ritual. To the appletinimobile!

Yup. Got nuthin’.

Hey, whaddaya want. It’s Tuesday morning and my shirt smells of pee.

Reader Mail: This is Sheldon

Sarah writes in with a Sheldon tag:

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From: Sarah

This is Sheldon. He is Indian. That is his girlfriend. Sheldon’s hair is crisp, you could break it off, he loads it with gel. He also lifts, but more than that he talks about lifting. he wears chains around his neck, and flashy v-neck t-shirts. Besides wearing more jewelry than most girls I know, he also takes more selfies. He is a douche, inside and out. And his chick isn’t all that hot either.

———-

Well tagged, Sarah. I especially appreciate the koan-like writing style. Short. To the point. Like early Hemingway. Or perhaps a mix between drugged up 1970s-era Dr. Seuss and this.

Miley Cyrus Objects to 70 Year Old Jewish Men

Hollywood something-or-other and future addict Miley Cyrus critiques Hollywood’s Jewish hegemony:

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“With magazines, with movies, it’s always weird when things are targeted for young people yet they’re driven by people that are like 40 years too old. It can’t be like this 70 year old Jewish man that doesn’t leave his desk all day, telling me what the clubs want to hear. I’m going out, I know what they want to hear. I know when you’re in a club, what makes everyone go crazy and when the time is where everyone’s like ‘alright I’m going go get a drink.’ I know when people walk off the dance floor and I know what’s driving it so I’ve got to be the one doing it because they’re just not in on what 20 year olds are doing.”

——————-

Well crap me with a diaper full of poo. If a cranky, no-longer-young Jewish guy can’t critique youth culture, then what the hell am I doing all day?

In the immortal words of The Wire’s Clay Davis, sheeeeeeeiiiiiitttttt.

Whipple The Pinturd Gets Mommy's Credit Card, Buys Sophie and Vegana a Bottle of Goose

And the whole thing ended up in an Albuquerque truck stop with required testing for all.

Yup, it’s your Humb Narrs, coffee in hand, on this Monday morning in the City of Angels. I Wish I could deliver this text in the morning radio voice of either the great Johnny Fever or that sappy Harry Chapin song.

Unfortunately I can’t deliver text in any voice.

As Derrida explained, we often conflate the written and the verbal forms of communication but they are entirely distinct spheres of knowledge.

And by knowledge, I mean knowledge.

Your Sunday Shellporn

I like turtles.

Your Saturday Existentialism

Somewhere, deep in the American soul, there lies a rot.

A spiritual malaise.

A malignant vortex draining the spirit of harmony into a pit of existential despair.

This.