Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Merry Christmas! Now Look At This Pic And Realize Life Is Worthless and Devoid of Meaning

There is no Santa.

Only Zuul.

And by Zuul, I mean melonic tatinicas.

Boobs.

Yankees suck.

Merry Christmas From HCwDB!!

A little nostalgia clip as this was also the band that played my Bar Mitzvah back in the late 1980s.

Needless to say, Grandma Ida was not amused.

The Chandlerbag Bloats Out For Christmas

Sophie’s chestnuts are roasting over an open fire.

While Kelly’s instagram fuels the fantasies of many a little drummer boy.

Skullbro Eats Kelly's Skull

Oh those wacky millennials.

Enjoying beverages and driving small motor boats paid by their parents since 2003.

Hey Guy Says, "Hey, Guy!"

Ironically, he is also a eunuch.

So Christmas Kim has little to worry about besides bite marks on the outer neck area and an inappropriate elbow-to-boob incident by the bathrooms.

Germanic Techno Christmas Uber

Ya?

Ya.

Friday Thoughts and Links

When I witness the joyous celebration of hottie/douchey cohabit when the club kids dress up as Santabags and Santahotts, it almost make me want to be Christian.

Almost.

Then I remember this. And it’s a little more difficult.

But a happy happy and a merry merry to all those who celebrate Christmas as we get closer to the glorious day that celebrates the birth of Black Jesus.

Man.

I can’t really think of anything else to contribute after my Al Goldstein post. Except maybe this.

Here’s yer links:

Your HCwDB Buy Some Shit After Clicking This Link on Amazon Link of the Week: “Blessed are those with the groove, for they shall inherit the funk!”

NOTE: For those who want to support HCwDB in 2014, you do not need to buy the item I link to. Just click through my link, then do some shopping. Anything you buy will send a bit o’ cash my way to help keep the lights on around here.

The 20 Worst Herpster Bands of All Time. Hey! Ho! (mandolin solo)

1990 was a very silly year.

I’m not sure who Johnny Manziel is, but a few people have sent him in as an example of a fratbag/jockbag. Not sure I see it, but his girlfriend is quite buttery.

Justin Bieber something.

News anchor hates reporter. Reporter hates news anchor. Heh.

I can’t believe I missed this. The great Spike Jonze’s 2010 30 minute short film “I’m Here” is pure genius.

Malcolm McDowell pens a glorious tribute to Peter O’Toole.

I’m not much of a fan of the grunge era, but this letter from producer Steve Albini to Nirvana before the recording of In Utero could serve as life advice for all of us.

Continuing controversy over Brazil’s Ms. Bum Bum winner.

Here’s some creepy portraits of strangers that happen to look identical. But why no pairing of Fish Slap and Mac?

Okay. Nuff o that.

Cartoonpoolpear

R. Crumb just gave up cartooning forever.

RIP Al Goldstein

A sincere rest-in-peace to the one of a kind publisher of the infamous 1960s/1970s-era Screw magazine and all around cantankerous New York Jew bastard, Al Goldstein. Goldstein passed away at the age of 77 on Thursday.

Goldstein was a true New York original. The raging iconoclastic, bombastic child of a postwar post-1950s repressed sexuality turned into a pathological id of horny teen rebellion. The kind of self destruction we don’t see any more. The kind of honesty that’s impossible in our hyper-aware media culture of Redditized memes and comic book movie assembly-line Seacrestization.

No country for Al Goldstein in a land of Chris Hardwicks and Katy Perrys.

Today society celebrates the safe kind of rebellion. The know nothings and babble-ons who churn the TMZ machine. Miley’s twerk routines and the occasional redneck wisecrack on Duck Dynasty.

Ambulatory marionettes on talk shows spouting the latest plug for Papa Johns pizza or pop songs with titles straight out of a Deepak Chopra self-help book.

No risks. No real voices speaking actual truth to real power.

The real originals are being driven out of the collective. Dismissed from the conversation for upending the multimedia vertically integrated apple cart.

But Al Goldstein was that asshole that wouldn’t play along with the system. He destroyed his life. His wives. His liver. Everyone he knew and came into contact with.

But it was a glorious self destruction.

Pure.

Noble, even.

I watched his late night New York cable show Midnight Blue for many a moon back in the 1990s. He ranted about his ex-wives. He would spend twenty minutes trashing a restaurant for giving him an undersized pastrami sandwich. Or celebrate a spare rib.

He was a dick.

But he was our dick.

There’s no denying that Goldstein was a son of a bitch, a raging misogynist and a self-destructive clown. But Screw Magazine also published artists like Robert Crumb and Art Spiegelman and was pushing the bounds of bad taste and first amendment freedom years before Larry Flynt.

Take a moment to honor a unique, outrageous rabble rouser who lived his life pure in the truth of his own convictions.

In our digitally interconnected hyperlinked world that smoothes out all the wrinkles of dissent, that mines any hint of authentic subculture, we won’t see too many Al Goldsteins come our way again.

Friday Haiku

PIC DELETED

Hey, Look – it’s Douche Punk.

He’s up all night to Get Some;

All night, Spanks Monkey.

She hired a Ninja

In her Monkey Hole.

– The Reverend Chad Kroeger

Tila Tequila

Has hit rock bottom

– DoucheyWallnuts

Helmet hides the shame

Shame and lip herpes.

– Jacques Doucheteau

Herspter Logan Is Way In Over His Head

Oh Giggle Blonde Ashley.

How sweet and innocent your anklet jangles.

On pretty little feet that would make a 19th Century Japanese concubine weep for the many hours of bindings that could have been avoided if only if.

I lightly powder your lower to mid thigh section with Stevia mixed with bacon juice, and then line up a hundred hungly wolves bribed only with Snuasages to howl in four part harmony as I help you with routine garden work until you grow uncomfortable and tell me your boyfriend will be home soon and reject my repeated offers to run to CostCo and buy you a crate full of Pepsi.