HCwDB
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Thursday, January 15, 2009
Ask DB1: The “Gift” of Ed Hardy
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DB1,
I am faced with a tough decision. This Christmas, my well intentioned sister purchased an Ed Hardy T-shirt for me.
As a fan of the site, I immediately recoiled in horror not so much from the offensiveness of the shirt (it’s just a blue shirt, and actually not that bad – not even in the same vicinity as the daily dose of adouchrements I see on the site) but rather from the realization that my sister thought perhaps I might look “good” in such an ensemble.
This has vexed me. I am terribly vexed.
Does the mere act of receiving such a douchetastic gift (after all, the giver of said gift obviously thought it suited me) automatically punch my ticket to douchedom? Or does my sin (or emancipation) of free will allow me to choose the douche outcome?
After all, the T-shirt is not bad and wearing it would make my sister happy and show my respectful appreciation. Conversely, if I wear this sucker will I suddenly feel the need to shower and start popping in the mirror?
I know the philosopher Descartes had much to say about Free Will and the tangible boundaries of judging the truth , but I’m no philosopher. So what say you? Does one (nearly non-offensive) douchey Ed Hardy T-shirt define the douche?
Signed, Vexed.
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We must place this framework of agency in understanding the shirt as a contested site of meaning within larger structural fields of play. The choice to wear an Ed Hardy shirt must be reconfigured not as isolated act, but within a relational framework in constant flux. Oppositional recoding, relational semiotics and sexual rebranding each act as signified value within the culture industry.
What meaning is generated by your choice to wear a shirt made by a brand so distinctly douche-smelly-poo?
I cannot answer this question for you, Vexed. You must venture forth, the sum of your choices, aware that the lattice of coincidence may lead you to a plate, or shrimp, or a plate of shrimp, but how you choose to make those connections determines the frequency by which they recur.
And boobies. Always boobies. Boobies lead to truth. Ed Hardy leads to poo.
Thursday, January 15, 2009Welcome to "Flora-Bama"
Where the worst of both states come together to form Mullet.
Welcome to “Flora-Bama”
Where the worst of both states come together to form Mullet.
The Crowhawk
Crowhawk raises his goblet to salute the Ladies of Hott.
The Crowhawk has no need to pay attention to the Variety Pack of Hott (blonde, brunette and Asian) that came with his kitchen. For The Crowhawk only needs you to know. That he is a bad-ass.
Because only badasses roll up the sleeves on their low-cut Armani-Exchange dress-shirt with built-in collar pop. And give you the “Grrrr”-face.
Thursday, January 15, 2009The Oily Bohunk
Oh, Jocelyn.
I know Trent promised you he’d be moving out of his parents’ basement next year when the DeVry degree finally comes in the mail. And the fact your Christmas gift was a six pack of Natty Light was just his crude way of saying, “I love you, toots.”
But really now.
Shouldn’t the douche-face during a self portrait give you some hint that he’s an oily bohunk?
In the parlance of the great Donger, he not worth your time.
Thursday, January 15, 2009Günther Says "Hola Hola"
For all of you freezing your ass off tonight, here’s some Günther to keep you warm.
This guy cracks me the hell up. Here’s where irono-baggery crosses over into genius.
Thursday, January 15, 2009Günther Says “Hola Hola”
For all of you freezing your ass off tonight, here’s some Günther to keep you warm.
This guy cracks me the hell up. Here’s where irono-baggery crosses over into genius.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009Orange You Glad I Didn't Say Mandana
Not since the evil Morlock pursued the innocent Eloi through late 1950s Eisenhower era futurism have the hotts been so savaged by orange scrote-monsters.
And twin scrote-monsters no less.
With matching jumpsuits.
And drawstrings.
And poo-face.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009Orange You Glad I Didn’t Say Mandana
Not since the evil Morlock pursued the innocent Eloi through late 1950s Eisenhower era futurism have the hotts been so savaged by orange scrote-monsters.
And twin scrote-monsters no less.
With matching jumpsuits.
And drawstrings.
And poo-face.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009Wednesday Limerick
“Hey yo, you girls wanna feel my pecs?”
Asked Tony to two Au Pair Czechs,
“Uhm, no.” Said the Brunette.
“For you smell like Crepes Suzette.
But we’ll flirt with you if you buy us a Becks.”
