Friday, May 22, 2015
#TBT: The Millennium ‘Bag
That moment back when an actual human being of biological origins and organic sinew decided to turn himself into an orange/crimson/umber robotic posthuman plastics.
That moment when a Euro weenus shavde teeny Q-Bert patterns in his head for the purposes of cuddling up with Ulle in a Scandanavian tapas bar with tasty pickle chips.
It happened.
We were witness.
And a tiny chihuahua in Albuquerque got the runs.
How could a tiny chihuahua in Albuquerque get the runs simply because a sheeny human chrome-chomp preened himself into a Christmas ornament? A little known scientific hypothesis known as ‘Charos Theory” can answer that for you.
Great, you just ruined my weekend. Fuck.
Quint said it best…
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https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=VUuH4TEmgLo
Mmmmm……………. inner Side B( . )( . )B Reveal!!!
Truth Be Told, fuck this guy
The TV Show Extant was loosely based on The Millennium Bag. Except, he’s not artificial and there seems to be no intelligence
I had to put ointment on my elderly Uncle Leo’s hemorrhoids when I was a young teen. His arse pulsated/glowed in the same color as this guy
As the dark clouds glide silently over the stark and desolate debris of our electronic demise, it’s good to know DB1 is still plying his archaic trade like the demented, Pentecostal cobbler that he is.
We must have compassion and refrain from mocking the young man pictured above. His girlish lips and whimsical eyebrows are faintly reminiscent of the poorly reconstructed face and venous skull structure of Loretta Swit.
I’d like to gang-fuck Ulle all by myself after she turns eighteen. (Or fourteen in great Commonwealth of Kentucky)
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I have bo disdain for Fembots, but I hate the brobots.
Ulle’s purchase of the male Realdoll turned out to be a tremendous disappointment when its lifelike veiny latex penis tore off in her vag during their first lovemaking session resulting in an embarrassing trip to the emergency room.
Lenny and I went to a strip club in Ottawa for lunch and to go to the Apple Store (we met Geniuses). Mrs. Kroeger says this bar paid for her schooling. Weird I thought? Last time I was there was in the late 90’s. Old shift kept skinny and never left.
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You’d never believe how a bunch of sluts of varying ages and colors get incredibly attracted to a couple of stoned old dudes after you tip the waitress well.
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Dirty Sluttty Haggaoths.
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Which one is Ulle?
Ulle looks stunned by her poor life choices.
If we all got laid at 11 years old and continuously thereafter, would there be any sports, D and D, chess, and videogames?
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Asking for a friend?
@Rev Chad, 12:37am. Truth Son.
How many of all y’all is under a bazillion years old and single? Asking for me and my hott lady friends.
Hahahahaha! She who laughs last!
牧師チャド·クルーガーは、日本では巨大です。
In other news, help me complete the following sentence. Charo is to Sofía Vergara, as Dean Martin is to _____________.
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Spoiler alert: There isn’t any answer, is there?
CD:
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…is to Seth McFarlane.
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LOL
He’s got the grill marks already. Time to flip!
Stupid direct to disk Hellraiser spinoffs. This is the worst cenobite yet.
Ulle’s dyed and straightened hair in an attempt to take on an edgy air, is betrayed by her soft lips and graceful shoulders, invariably drawing the eyes down to her supple, delicate breasts. Each is a perfect handful, begging to be gently squeezed and massaged like soft biscuit dough.
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Those deep, hazel-brown eyes set behind thick eyeliner and obsessively plucked eyebrows are windows to a blissfully young, inexperienced soul. So enamored with her new found physical maturity, Ulle recklessly embraces the adult-like world of clubs and alcohol fueled dance parties. He womb may be ready to bare child, yet she is barely a child herself. She has not the experience nor insight to recognize the intent behind all the fevered, hormone-driven looks and compliments showered upon her by boys turned predators. He parents didn’t sufficiently warn her about navigating the sexually charged world of male attention.
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And what of them? To Ulle, they’re all cute, and now give her more attention than she knows what to do with. Suddenly the awkward days of Jr. High are memory. Gone are the insults and laughs from boys, the disapproving stares from older girls, and the need to hide her flat-chested chubby body with oversized T-shirts and jeans. She is overwhelmed by attention from all the cute guys that two years ago wouldn’t give her a second look other than to make an off the cuff fat joke or other insult. It wouldn’t take much prodding and manipulation to put her flat on her back, legs spread for some preening turd with a faux hawk to savagely pump away at her snatch for a few minutes, grunting and raining cheap liquor sweat on her furrowed brow before unceremoniously squirting a damp wad into her sullied box. And before she even has a chance to process the shame, he throws his pants on and leaves with a gruff “see ya babe” and “I’ll call ya!”
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Guilt and fear overcome her. Tears are quickly followed by denial and suppressing the whole incident. Ulle’s view of sex has been turned upside down. Was that what it’s supposed to be like? Is it supposed to be awkward, uncomfortable, distant, and so full of gross sounds and smells? What happened to the beautiful joining of two souls, romantically intertwined in a loving embrace that transcends all physical wants or needs? How long is his sticky, bleach-smelling semen going to continue leaking out of me?
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Yet Ulle will continue to seek validation, doing so in the quickest easiest way possible: by offering up her body as a pin cushion for raging teenage cocks. It’s not like she’ll ever really enjoy the sex itself, just the attention she gets beforehand. She’s wanted and desired, which brings far more pleasure than the rapid thrusting of musky flesh she’s delivered up her twat for 5 minutes at a time. Besides, the feelings of shame are starting to wain, and she’s getting fairly adept at mentally checking out during these regular chores. That is until another unmemorable session leads to a missed period, which in turn leads to a committal turned broken promise, torn-up birth canal, and many years of unpaid child support.
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But not me. Not a chance Ulle, Mr. Doucheteau will treat you like the beautiful blooming flower you are. The days of youthful desperation are behind me, and experience and maturity have transformed this aging buck into a measured, and intentional lover. I will shower you with gifts and compliments, and because I expect something in return, but because you deserve it. Your youthful innocence and exuberance for life humble me. This cynical old toad would truly appreciate, and desperately needs the light of your shining smile and glowing eyes to arouse a passion I thought was once lost forever.
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I would treat you like a lady deserves to be treated. With care, empathy, and respect. I would honor you forever in return for gracing me with your reinvigorating presence. We could wile the hours away talking, laughing, and enjoying each others’ company. I would take every word and breath that emanates from your sweet lips into my ears with sheer delight, and savor them all. My gratitude would be never ending, should you allow me to trace your face and body with my eyes…your soft arms, flowing hands and fingers tapping the table as we talk about everything and nothing, your pink lips and smile lines that form when you discuss your fancy, your taut belly, heaving chest, dimpled knees, your longs legs as they rise up to meet your hips, and, and…*shudder*
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And someday…someday, when you’re ready, we can seal our love with a slow, throbbing embrace. Not some frantic teen prodding at your crotch, but a careful, delicate love making. It would be beautiful and transcendent, and it would last for hours until in our spasms of enjoined ecstasy, you graciously accept my seed into your fertile Fallopian tubes, and we have a child and name him Charles, after your grandfather. Because that’s what I would do for you Ulle. That’s a mere glimmer of what I would offer you. My only regret is that I could not give you more.
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So, you seriously need to drop tic-tac-toe-head there. The guy is a douche.
Ok Player 1 I will answer your poll.
Please mark me as over a bazillion and married.
If I catch you or any of your hot lady friends on my front yard, I’ll run you off.
With my dick.
^^
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^^^$
Jacques Douceteau is the Tennessee Williams of Fontucky, no that’s Vin. He’s the Paine of Portland and shit. Dark Sock is the Donne of the Delta. Hermit is Hermit.
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12
Douchey Wallnuts is the Nietzche of Newark.
I found out what Hermit is up to.
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http://www.cnn.com/2015/05/26/health/flakka-gravel-illegal-drugs/
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I’d like to fly a plane on that shit….
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Or drive a boat.
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=21ij4BtHsxw
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Crocketts
Fuck you Nancy! 20
@ Jacques, nice prose but aimed at this gal? Francine, maybe, but this chick is “meh”
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The Millennium ‘Bag looks like an artichoke fucked a disco ball <.br?
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Lastly, to end on a high note, I caught Umphrey’s McGee in L.A. a few weeks ago. Fellers, there ain’t NO-fuccen-BODY does what these cats do:
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All In Time</a.
Nancy you fooled me again. I had no idea that has you. Must be my senility.
Vin, despite my advanced age I plan on wobbling down to see them at the Stone Pony in July. It’s only a couple of miles from my front lawn.
D. Wallnuts won the sparse throng of last week’s contenders:
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http://hotchickswithdouchebags.com/blog/2005/04/fraiku-14/
Ride, Sally Ride (not the astronaut)…
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http://hotchickswithdouchebags.com/blog/2005/04/fraiku-15/
Don’t even mention her name, Vin.
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And yes, my impregnation standards have dropped. I blame global warming. There’s a drought in California, or haven’t ya heard?
At this stage in the game, I’d almost let Nancy impregnate my mouth.
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How to become intensely nauseous and awkwardly turned on at the same time. Sort of like the first time I watched Urotsukidōji after eating an entire frozen pizza.