Friday, March 27, 2015
Dr. Chinfungenstein Pays A House Call
Long time ‘bag hunters, hark! Pay heed.
Dr. Chinfungenstein has achieved an impressive ratio of maximum doucheface with minimal effort.
This outstanding achievement in scrote-face while lakebagging with Kelly can be appreciated as the following equation:
df*.9/e*.1=s(cr)o-te/4
Off the charts doucheosity, folks. Enough to make me break my hiatus to mock with pensive aplomb.
For rare is the punchable wankiposity so repositorially rank with so slight a visible effort. Dr. Chinfungenstein is preturnatural. Perhaps the Orson Welles of douche face.
Hey Boss
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Please define your variables so I can get a better handle of what you equation means. Since Mr. White is MIA, I’m willing to help with any modeling/improvements to such an equation.
We academics study a lot of interesting things:
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http://www.foxnews.com/story/2006/04/13/academics-develop-formula-for-perfect-butt/
Medical fact: It takes fewer facial muscles to make a doucheface, than smile.
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Also, Doc Bunsen, I don’t know about your work, but I may never have the likes of Sir Mix-a-Lot adjudicate on my research.
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Adjudicate, I says.
Chinfung’s the kind of douche you put on a hook, to try and catch bigger douches.
@ CD
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Sadly, Anthony Ray will never be a referee on any of my published work. We can dream big though, can’t we?
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On a serious note, if you do any kind of molecular biology/biochemistry I’d be interested in hearing what you do. A possible partnership may be fun.
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As for Dr. Chinfungenstein, he seems to remind me of something…
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http://img.mylot.com/350×350/2272873.jpg
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Nice to see some activity around this here parts. May I be the first to say that Chinfungenstein’s face looks like an old cunt. And shit.
Chin Fung landing strip = place for Glory Hole residue to land.
Nancy Teensie-Titties needs someone to rub sunburn lotion on to take care of that burn. I volunteer.
That floater someone left in Lake Havasu ended up on this clowns chin. Judging by the sun burn and the number of “bag cream pies she’s sustained over spring break this Bleeth has been cooked to well done!
https://youtu.be/MYrY8aFCUCQ
Sometimes when I’m low….like now. I look back on what my life could have been were it not for the Kiss Army/CSNY dichotomy. Hippie or post-hippie disco Kiss? Where do we go to those of us who have taken so many wrong roads that your fucking teeth are constantly clenched together except for that special time with the kids, the brevity of which is met in such a misdemeanourous manner that it might not have happened at all. And then we all go into the sunny place in our mind and booze it through another day again, probably stoned too. The lament of the fiflthy protestors that wrought us this evil Obama their musical rebelliance aloft and aloof. Brave warriors with chip cards, afraid of their shadows and the men behind the locked and guarded doors. It could only be the Reptillians (respect) knocking at the sweet door of Mother Earth and shit. Cost of freedom my ass!
Reverend Chad peaks truth and wisdom.
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Amërïkäns are instructed how to think by an ominous Media/Corporate/Government/Entertainment Industry cabal.
For some time now in Hollywood, a film’s level of achievement has no longer been measured by its ability to artfully convey a compelling story or to promote deep thought and introspection. A movie’s success is graded on its first weekend’s box-office earnings, spurred on by over-saturated promotion and hype. An otherwise unremarkable movie is considered a blockbuster if it was successfully promoted. No work of epic filmmaking stands a chance unless it’s accompanied by a set of molded action figures, wrapped in plastic, and wedged into a McDonald’s happy meal.
The commercial world is no different. I submit the newest “must have” electronic plaything. The “Smartwatch” is now being promoted by the Silicon Valley, corporate-elitist puppet-masters in an effort to foist it upon the gullible Gen X & Millennial masses. All the beautiful and babbling network-news talking heads (earning for their networks huge sums of money in advertisements by Apple, Sony and Samsung) tell us, with orgiastic glee, that it’s the next big thing and everyone simply must have one. How exciting!
Ask yourself this: How many times have you heard a friend or coworker lament that their Smartphone is nice, but they just wish it was really tiny and hard to use and could be strapped to their wrist like Dick Tracy? Never. NEVER!!
Nonetheless, this worthless gizmo will rake in huge profits for the mega-corporate oligarchy which is incrementally taking control our lives.
I have to give these New-Age hucksters their due, though. They may have hit upon the Smartwatch’s attraction for the “Look-at-Me” generation. Unlike a smartphone or tablet it’s an externally-worn adornment. A profound fashion statement, to be flashed and flaunted to impress other like-minded, materialistic dupes at the organic juice bar and Starbucks. The newest purveyors of corporate greed are pale-skinned, neurotic, ad agency hipsters.
It’s much easier to be a rich, greedy capitalist if you pay penitence by attending ten-thousand dollar a plate fund-raising events for powerful, San Francisco politicians. The exploited are tucked safely out of sight and mind, eight thousand miles across the Pacific Ocean. Wealthy Silicon Valley “progressives”, hiding behind their gated mansions and tax shelters grow steadily richer while haggard Chinese electronics industry workers reduce their fingers to nubs so they can go back to their crowded lean-tos and swallow a small bowl of rice and snake gizzards before falling into a few fitful hours of sleep. Only to rise once again and repeat in never-ending drudgery.
Things won’t change until it’s too late because, as Grandpa used to say, we’re” fat, dumb and happy.” In today’s parlance Amërïkäns are literally becoming more and more obese, uneducated and happily medicated.
^ This will be going in my Hermit scrap book.
Hey Hermit and others. Please make insane comments on my youtube channel. I’m gonna be a muslim hating skiing preacher.
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=faoX798n9XU
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Please fast forward.
I note the elegant symmetry between his chin fung and his chest fung.
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The goofy hat would be funny on its own, but the chin thing along with the necklace says, “I strive to be a douchebag, but today I also feel a bit silly. And this drunk bleeth doesn’t seem to care about anything, so I’m fine.”
Hey Rev:
By my count, you fell 35 times in the one vid.
Tho it’s worth it for the double-shot of your ugly mug at 8:15 mark.
The second vid shows a low speed crash and then you walking into a bar.
All I can say is that you look just like I pictured in my mind’s eye, and this is a good thing.
^Thanks for watching that crazy shit Fred N. I hit about 50 mph prior to the first crash.
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I present the multi-crash video as a commentary on how a once valiant rogue has been levelled by the ravages of time.
I got a concussion on that run. I was drunk too.
Rev
You are not a rubber person anymore. Ditch that board and get some skis before you kill yourself.
http://www.bestshockers.com/2-guys-1-stump/
Tommy Lee has decided to star in the latest remake of S.E. Hittonhotts’ young adult masterpiece, “The Douchesiders,” as grown-up greasebag ‘PonyChoad.’ Here he tries to mack on Cherry’s baby sister, Merry.
Meanwhile, way back in…er…a few days ago, The Dude won teh interwebz (lulz) with this post…and since I realized after sobering up that 1.) I’d actually forgot to get in the time machine to 2005, and 3.) dayum that really IS beloved Katy’s Perrys in the photo, I gave an extra special easter egg in his winning post. Check ’em, er, it, out….
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http://hotchickswithdouchebags.com/blog/2005/04/82074/
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Sons.
You’ve heard of man boobs? Where fat guys get so fat that they look like they have tits?
Well, Kelly is the exact opposite. Looks like she’s got big pecs instead of actual ta-tas. Like they’ve been deflated.
It’s unsettling.
Rev, as seen by your shadow, anyone with 7 foot legs that out of proportion to the rest of their body would have equally as tough of a time snowboarding. That being said, watching your technique is like watching old people fuck (respect) or at least like watching my father play Call of Duty.
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Mark Twain said, “Golf is a good walk spoiled,” or some fuckin thing. Sinatra said, “Skiing is for Finnochs. It’s too friggin cold and ya can’t tell if it’s a dame or a guy in them pants. And who wants to get caught lookin at a nice Coolie in them ski pants only to find out it’s a guy. Madon!”
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Also, when the Nuclear Winter comes thanks to the Ayatollahs and the other sub-humans, Silicon Valley Hipster Billionaires will not be spared, and their flesh will be torn asunder and from or some shit.
^ supposed to be “torn asunder or to and fro”
We wear loose pants now DW. Can’t tell that way neither. I had an embarrassing event happen when I told a young boy he had a nice ass in the bathroom.
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No sub-humans in Vermont. An there is a nice mullatto in Rutland.
I once had drinks with a young Quadroon Lassie from Rupert at the Quality Restaurant in Manchester. She had a bush that would have been right at home on Mount Horeb and would have brought a tear to the Angel of Yahweh’s eye. Angel of Yahweh, I says.
One time my buddy , Vito from Chicago, and I went to visit his bartender brother at a seedy strip club in the suburbs east of L.A.
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It was his bro’s birthday and he told us he’d have three of the girls come to his place after his shift and that we should hang in there. He also mentioned that we should pick one we liked and he’d see if she’s game.
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After being assured I wouldn’t catch anything life/cocck threatening and of course it wouldn’t cost $500 I settled on a red headed, freckle chick and chuckled as I said to Vito, “Freckle for my schmekel”
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So at the crack of 3:30 A.M. Bro comes to the place with the three gals. We have a bump and a few drinks and the giggling gaggle of gash take bro into the room to celebrate his birthday.
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We can hear moaning and giggling and you can smell the bad twat from outside the room. So this goes on for what seems like hours, the bump wearing off and the alcohol taking over. I get woozy and say “Fuck this” and stretch out on couch.
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While dreaming of Yaz blasting a game winning homer I feel this rubbing on my crotch… I mumble “yeaahh Yaaaaz…” and awoke to my schvantz in the redhead’s mouth. I had to take a giant wizz and told her so.
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She says , “Go ahead” So I stood up and pissed on her…
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She screamed and yelled” I MEANT GO TO THE BATHROOM YOU FUCKING FAGGOT”
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Needless to say the mood was killed …..
I never knew that gash grouped in gaggles. We know know that Vin is an anthropologists. Great story Son.
Where’s my fucking Good Friday Haiku. Fucking fish supper Catholic dogma guilt bullshit flying Katy Perry has sex with me last night then she told me she was a man and I fucked her anyway. Mrs. Kroeger was into it too. The Katy/Man turned her ass rocket on and shredded George Bush Sr. into a Langaliers type of contraption suspended in space and time. Georgie was chopped into bits by a self-propelled aerial B-52 engine. Then all my relatives showed up and I was naked and toothless being scolded by Mrs. Kroeger and woke up with a raging piss boner. The end.
http://www.cnn.com/2015/04/02/living/motley-crue-vince-neil-star-spangled-banner-feat/index.html
During the high holy holidays I became involved with a short, flatulent exchange student from Belarus who was mildly dyslexic. She was an unpretentious physical therapist living with her grandfather in an upscale suburban trailer park. I fell immediately and deeply in love with her when first we met at the annual Lions Club fish fry. She giggled bashfully while I sat beside her, quietly reciting filthy, poetic verses from an old Slappy White comedy routine which I had memorized as a child. She reciprocated by touching my pelvis provocatively under the draped and sticky tablecloth. My love for her grew within my blue jeans like an earth worm on a rain-soaked driveway. Captivated, we were oblivious to the gathered patrons engaged in idle conversation around us. She gazed seductively into my eyes as lukewarm Pepsi drooled lazily out of the side of her slackened lips. I was hopelessly smitten.
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Overcome with passion, we made our way to a small metal outbuilding behind the Lions Club ball park where she stripped to her waist. Her contoured breasts swung like pendulous sincerity and from them flowed the sweet milk of new birth and redemption. She reached lustily into my jockey shorts and massaged my apricots with inquisitive and knowing hands. Filled with desire and emboldened by several helpings of potato salad, I laid her down, supine, on the foul and grease-stained floor amid the empty pesticide cans and clutter of tools. As she braced herself between a pallet of fertilizer and a commercial lawnmower, I made sweet love to her while she lie there picking at a catfish bone which had become lodged between her teeth.
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The sounds of our lovemaking reverberated off the metallic walls of our impromptu love shed, while outside, playful children frolicked on the green, clipped lawn.
Well, I can see y’all are getting on pretty fine. Lots of action around the HCWDB parts. First of all, love ya, miss ya, keep doing what you’re doing.
But man (or lady), look at this thread. Not very thoughtful. Almost as brutish as the morons we mock. Seriously. Read that shit. I used to see two sentences that were better spoken than three paragraphs I just wrote. And I loved it.
I’m still a boozey bastard (although I have my girlfriend of 5 years and delightfully asshole pug who’s now 1.5 years old – got him when he was 2 months old), and I really don’t give two shits about the chin fung 1998 bag that apparently exists in today’s time. But I respect normalcy. And I respect the much of douche. They are just so, so, so wrong.
But much harder. There are funnier comments out there. I love cereal. Fucking love it. Eat it every day. And it’s been nearly a year since any milk spilled out of my noise. That’s your fault.
Also. I’m drunk. Stop luring me in.
Go to this week’s Fraiku to learn a new term!
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Leave in disgust!
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http://hotchickswithdouchebags.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=82087&action=edit&message=6
I’m getting some kind of error on the Fraiku page. Do I need to make a report to Word Press in Haiku form?
“But man (or lady), look at this thread. Not very thoughtful. Almost as brutish as the morons we mock. Seriously. Read that shit”
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Rats that jump off a sinking ship shouldn’t come back five years later and tell the ones that stayed that they’ve failed on their housekeeping
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Sure this place isn’t like the Pfah, Plinky, Crucial Head, Mr White days but some regs are soldiering on. There’s some gems to be found
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And furthermore, Dark Sock’s genius has never been in doubt
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Fuck Fish Slap
And further furthermore, I think the worst thing that happened to this place was the day we could no longer directly post photos and vids, son.
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Now it’s just links and shit.
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Here’s some Pfah! , for the uninitiated:
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“and as for you, my brown-haired tower of hott, i would like to Vulcanize my whoopee stick in your ham wallet. i’d like to cattle prod your oyster ditch
with my lap rocket. i’d like to batter dip the cranny ax in the gut locker. i’d like to retrofit your pudding hatch with my poon swatter”
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Bitches
I love when spring comes along and you guys start telling love stories.
Yes I am late, but it took me some time to contemplate my disgust of Dr. Chinfungenstein . The hat- the chinfung? the Hot touching him- Then it hit me- he is the total embodiment of a dick. Yes he is a walking talking phallic symbol. The hat the fung it is all there- but what of the douche face- the pursed lips- It hit me- HSV-2 he is a walking talking diseased phallic symbol. And that truly explains my disgust. Happy Easter or Passover or whatever you might celebrate- What is 11+3 when did math become a requirement to mock?
It is my contention that these two plopped out of the same disease-ridden truck-stop banger hanger within mere minutes of one another. Go on, look at them. Switch that hat to her head (I’ll wait). Now draw some chinfung on her (don’t ruin your monitor). Now color his hair peroxide, white-trash blonde. And voila’, yep, they’re twins. Even the noses are the same. Yikes!
What Vin said.
And further more, if I started the era of verbosity, I’m fucking sorry. No I’m not.
Seems like I’m locked out of Friaku.
Wheezer won last week’s Fraiku, plus a yoga-pants saga easter egg:
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http://hotchickswithdouchebags.com/blog/2005/04/fraiku-10/
April 15th 2005 was Freaky Fraiku; jump in your time machine and take in the spectacle:
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http://hotchickswithdouchebags.com/blog/2005/04/fraiku-10/
and mad props to Vin Douchal for adding to the e’er-dwindling hopper of Hawt and Douche; great pictures mang. And by great I mean horrific…
DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT for those of you who click the links here to get to 2005, I pasted last week’s Fraiku link.
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I’ll get home, get reasonably drunk, then find a different way to fuck it all up.
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Sons.
I finally figgered out that the April 2005 folder actually leads you towards the thing. Because after ten years of sniffing around this joint, I learn things like that!
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And my maths are improving.
Wait…there was a problem with Fraiku?
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DAMMIT DARKSOCKK GET YER SHITE TOGETHER. sON.
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Signed – Admin, whom is sober and certainly not DarkSOkk drunkk. SOn.
Many of you found the hidden path to this week’s Freaky Fraiku; Weezer won with a clever turn of phrase about this turn of stomach:
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http://hotchickswithdouchebags.com/blog/2005/04/freaky-fraiku/
Two loverly ladies and two entry-level bags undulate and repose for your consideration, gentlemen (and Reverend Chad):
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http://hotchickswithdouchebags.com/blog/2005/04/fraiku-11/
Nothing says Bag like a leech sized shit stain on your mug. Well played son…well played.
Fhung – Ku