Comment of the Week
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Saturday, June 4, 2011
Comment of the Week: Anonymous
In describing the genitalia of our HCwDB of the Month winner, Peter Pumpin’head, the everpresent Anonymous wins the Comment of the Week for must succinct metaphor:
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If that’s how much the ‘roids have shrunk this clown’s head, his nut-sack must look like a couple of edamames in the tip of tied-off rubber.
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Saturday, May 14, 2011Comment of the Week: Jacques Doucheteau
From Wednesday’s discussion about non-douchey male body products, Jacques Doucheteau weighs in with the Comment of the Week:
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I just use Fast Orange with pumice. Why? Because I have a real job and fix my own car/appliances/house unlike all the sissy boys that want to smell like daisy’s and little girls’ bedrooms.
Once a year or so the wife will complain that she’d like to go out to dinner without me smelling up the place with the stench of transmission fluid and bear scat. In these instances I use the old standby passed down from my father, and his father. And they fought in WARS goddamn it. English Leather. Big wooden knob cap, smells like über-musky baby powder. Basically, it’s man powder. If it adequately concealed the acrid aroma of mud soaked canvas and Jap blood, it’s good enough for me.
Rub a sprinkle of that in your ass cheeks to prevent the chaffing from all the hairy, sweaty, grunting sex with WOMEN you’ll be having.
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EDIT: Pic swapped out due to possible Vegas Trannydom. New pic is of America’s future. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Saturday, May 7, 2011Comment of the Week: Doucheywallnuts on Greek Philosopher Heraclitus
Doucheywallnuts takes this week’s award with his thoughts on the ancient philosophical conundrum, The Chicken or the ‘Bag:
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As the obscure Greek philosopher Heraclitus the Weeping cryptically wrote, “All things are an interchange for fire, and fire for all things, just like goods for gold and gold for goods. Just like Douche for Bleeth and Bleeth for Douche.” Which lead to this equally obscure quote, “To God all things are fair and good and just, but people hold some things wrong and some right. And Douchebags are always wrong and never right.” I find it interesting how people used an uppercase “D” for douchebag in these ancient polemics, which signifies how over time douches have become even more maligned.
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Comment of the Week: Dude McCrudeshoes’s Ode to Kelly
Continuing my new plan to highlight some of the genius in the comments threads, this week’s award comes from Wednesday’s Martin Expresses His Inner Child to Kelly thread, and goes to ‘bag hunter Dude McCrudeshoes:
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What went wrong, young Kelly? You were on the debate team, the pep squad, and your B average guaranteed you a shot at community college, though you knew tuition would be a stretch and you’d get no help from your unemployed deadbeat father.
So you took a night job, I’m guessing? The best paying night job in town, I’m guessing? And your dreams of healthcare management went whirling down the porcelain bowl just like the gallons of Coors Lite your patrons piss away every night. Spin on the pole, grind a little, tell ‘em how strong and handsome they look and how you need money for your mother’s heart surgery, lather, rinse, and repeat.
I’d tell you that I would take you away, and want nothing but to snuggle with you on the couch and watch late night vampire movies… but we both know that is a lie. You’d lie right back to me in the champagne room, and you’d tell me you are only doing this for one semester, and how you never thought you’d want to go home with a customer ‘cause you are not like that.
Then the bouncer would tell me I owe $250 for chatting with you all through “Pour Some Sugar on Me” and “Dream Weaver” while you sipped on a $25 soda disguised as a tropical drink. No, Kelly. I’m not falling for it.
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Comment of the Week: Hermit on Hipsterbags
As there is so much genius in the comments threads, I’m gonna start highlighting a Comment of the Week.
This week, the award goes to Hermit for the following in yesterdays Burningbags thread:
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Phish may suck, and hipster bags come and go, but give them their small ounce of credit for leaving the safety of their suburban prisons where, like their mothers and fathers before them, they circle their neighborhood cages in a pointless dance of redundancy. The electrical impulses course through the deadened synapses of their broken nervous systems. It drives them onward to inevitability. They flood the highways and interstate loops like lemmings in a high speed funeral procession.
High fences and corrugated metal attempt to hide the ugliness of the machine with grease and blood oozing from corroded mechanized biceps. Motor homes with moldy mattresses, plastic wood and dried semen on the frayed and faded curtains. They turn their heads away pretending not to see. They dazzle their eyes, staring blankly into lighted monitors and screens of plasma while their own corpuscles, blood and plasma become corrupted, eating them as the virus spreads.
A single blackbird tugs at a shredded fabric softener sheet, oblivious to the conformity of the sculpted golf course. A place where emasculated semi-men hide from their domineering wives in a failed attempt to preserve what’s left of their testosterone, which is slowly being extracted from their pores by their women, talking heads on TV sets, and the machine, as it grinds and churns.
Wrap-around uni-shades is already balding and running out of time. Large-breasted, braless and sunburned Earth Mother‘s boobs are maturing into the matronly flesh hammocks Grandma warned her about.
Time is running out.
So drop your acid, endure the dust and hordes of copy-cat, drunken non-conformists, and have Daddy’s Winnebago back by Monday.
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Wanna nominate a future comment for Comment of the Week? Drop me an email with the comment and thread name.
EDIT: Due to 300+ spam posts overnight, comments have been temporarily disabled for this thread until the Spam Hose is turned onto some other lucky WordPress blog.
