HCwDB
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Friday, March 6, 2009
Poolan Rouge
Sexy-Dirty Drew Barrymore Cute actually has a pretty nice tan. Speaking of course, of the real world.
She’s normal, with a healthy pink glow, and she wants to lightly powder my bottom with confectioner’s sugar and then slap me with a Flowbee.
Which is how it should be.
But then Poolan Rouge comes along. Grinning like a forgotten piece out of our collective racist minstrel past that we’ve papered over and hidden from memory.
Reapprorpriating the burnt cork Al Jolson stereotypes of yesteryear, Poolan Rouge is blackface, by way of Indianface, by way of Jerzy guidoface, by way of poo.
Even Ubiquitous Red Cup can only sit and marvel at his redness, spilling over into blotches on his shirt.
Thankfully, the hippie dude down the hall just wants to borrow Poolan’s Spin Doctors CD.
Friday, March 6, 2009Legohead
Tell me this emo rocker douche doesn’t have the creepy teflon removable Lego Head thing going on there.
Because nothing impresses tasty blonde paisley wearing boobie hottie suckle thighs quite like arm-tatts and VHS.
Friday, March 6, 2009Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Eve
Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s Eve?
Thou art so damn easy to self deprecate
Preppy popped collared pastel hued short sleeves
Off center hats from colleges of state
Fraternal allegiance bro’s define
Common decency you have grossly rimm’d
Red cup to red cup, PBR, not wines
Intelligence and interest art dimm’d
But thy bag of douche shall not outright fade
Nor pose without lip pucker I do know’st
Nor has un-tucked striped shirt been yet unmade
Human’s worst condition in dark clubs grow’st
So long as man thinks hotts he plainly sees
So long this ode remains offered to thee.
— Anonymously jerky hating
Friday, March 6, 2009Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Eve
Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s Eve?
Thou art so damn easy to self deprecate
Preppy popped collared pastel hued short sleeves
Off center hats from colleges of state
Fraternal allegiance bro’s define
Common decency you have grossly rimm’d
Red cup to red cup, PBR, not wines
Intelligence and interest art dimm’d
But thy bag of douche shall not outright fade
Nor pose without lip pucker I do know’st
Nor has un-tucked striped shirt been yet unmade
Human’s worst condition in dark clubs grow’st
So long as man thinks hotts he plainly sees
So long this ode remains offered to thee.
— Anonymously jerky hating
Friday, March 6, 2009Friday Haiku
Pouty Svetlana,
Meets crimsony Hardy Bag,
Who’s smelly like borscht.
Little white booger
Makes pilgrimage to pucker
Attains douche mecca.
— Crucial Head
he knows the owner
Yasir tries hard to impress
a rotten fruit bowl
— Dimples
Wristwatch so big
Tells time in Mumbai. It’s time
To eat cyanide.
— massengill
new jersey gothic
steadfast douchebag values. an
ed hardy blowout
— Euripidouche
Chris Audigier –
Please impregnate your t-shirts
With smallpox virus.
— boatbutter
Why should I haiku?
Should be looking for a job
Economy sucks
Moe's Faux Finds Love
Good for Moe.
Even with a shiny Mark-of-the-‘Bag on his forehead and a ridiculous frosted faux, he’s still managing to hand-lock a Tri-Kappa-Beta Cutie.
And by good for Moe, I mean bad for civilization. Even the bird on your shirt does not like the cheesy retro-60s love beads, Moe.
Now wash out that mountain-head before Richard Dreyfus shows up to meet the aliens.
Thursday, March 5, 2009Moe’s Faux Finds Love
Good for Moe.
Even with a shiny Mark-of-the-‘Bag on his forehead and a ridiculous frosted faux, he’s still managing to hand-lock a Tri-Kappa-Beta Cutie.
And by good for Moe, I mean bad for civilization. Even the bird on your shirt does not like the cheesy retro-60s love beads, Moe.
Now wash out that mountain-head before Richard Dreyfus shows up to meet the aliens.
Thursday, March 5, 2009Kal Owns Clarissa
Yes, Kal. You own her. She is your property.
I understand that by your tight, painful headlock around the Shoulder Suckle’s neck.
And your menacing stare and finger gesture that says, “Miiiine!”
Too bad her eyes say, “I’ll leave him as soon as he lets go.”
And she will, Kal. Because you smell like Old Spice and sneakers.
Thursday, March 5, 2009Caption This Pic
Pete’s plan to impress Vanessa with an intermingling of ancient Chinese dragons and NFL pro football franchises tattooed on his chest was off to a rousing start.
Faux Eyes
PIC DELETED
Not since Georges Franju’s 1960 classic surrealist horror masterpiece, Eyes Without a Face, have I been so disturbed by a creepy mug.
Well, at least, not since Poo won the Weekly.
Faux Eyes’s creepy gaze is almost enough to distract me from my desire to lightly drizzle sweet-n-sour sauce on Lauren’s shoulder, then graze like a sedated Emu.
Almost. But not quite.
