Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Whack-a-Face

THWACK!

Pop Quiz!

When Manny wants to class it up before hitting on Kelly at the Phila Theta Omega midterm kegger, he should:

A) “Get a sportcoat all up in that bitch!”

B) “Breath mints. But not Altoids. That stuff’s way megawhack. I’m talkin’ premium breath mints. St. Clares and shit.”

C) “Classy? Bitch I’m classy naked! I was born classy! When my balls hit bathwater, that bathwater becomes classy bathwater!”

D) “Hey, what’s this quiz for anyway? Cuz, like, I gotta get back”

Ball Don't Lie

In sports, when a referee makes a bad call and the subsequent play goes against the team that benefited from that bad call, fans use the simple koan, “ball don’t lie.”

This beautiful three word expression speaks to a reality beyond our subjective experience.

People, like referees, may refuse to see the world accurately.

But truth will out.

The scales will balance.

Cosmic justice will eventually be served.

One of the unifying themes of the hottie/douchey couplings we study here at HCwDB involves the abject panic of growing up. Notice I don’t describe this as a panic over growing old. Although that is certainly a part of it.

So much of peacocking spectacle is about the fear of maturity. Growing up is the figuring out of some semblance of meaning and direction that lies beyond the here and now. Of needing to get a job.

Have children. Pay bills.

Pumped up Morty and Letita here are case in point. Old enough to know better. Refusing to give up the inflated dream of enhanced spectacle.

Fight it for as long as you want, guys. In the end, ball don’t lie.

"Drop that zero and Get With the Hero!"

1991 was a very silly year.

Marty McFLuffin

Somewhere in Budapest, a raccoon lost it’s turd pellet.

Look closely.

Can you find it?

The Too-Tight-Shirt Gender Bias

Look, I’m as progressive a feminist progressive feminist as the next progressive feminist. I reject the whole pink/blue thing and think it’s no problem if little boys want to play with dolls or little girls like trucks. Hells, I loved my Star Wars “action figures” as a kid, and who are we kidding. They’se dolls.

I also liked to wear dresses for a while in my early teens. And then again during a crazy period in my early 30s.

So don’t judge, I says. Let people be people.

But sometimes ya just gotta state some gender essentialism in life.

Too tight shirts on hotties = happy Jesus Buddha fondle

Too tight shirts on Brosephwanks = llama shtetl piddle

Don’t blame me. Blame the boobies.

Willie Broman Buys Vanessa a Corona Light

Willie Broman needs your help getting the lime out of his Corona.

Should he:

A) Borrow a hair clip from Vanessa, bend it, and use it to fish the lime out (turn to page 34)

B) Put down the Corona and order another drink, then resume hitting on Vanessa (turn to page 41)

OR

C) Slam the beer on the bar, scream “Viva La Differance!” in Gaelic, then two-step towards the Exit while humming the theme to Rawhide (turn to page 59)

Answer now!

Melvin and Kate Were Bored by The Superbowl

On the douchey side, Melvin’s stupidface rivals the Manning Face.

On the hott side, Kate is all sorts of sweet whimsy wasting her affections on a total tool.

In other news, the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman is relentlessly depressing and pointless, while the revival of the Woody Allen nonsense suggests a nation with too much time on our hands.

F@ck it, Dude. Lets go bowling.

You betrayed the law!! LAWWWWWW!!!

Greatest two seconds of all time.

It is the purity of life and language condensed and collapsed into one minimalist exchange of words that decypt and decry mankind’s futile attempts at both communication and consciousness.

I seriously cannot stop watching this. I think I’ve watched it every two hours for the past week. It is now my mantra.