Manbunnery
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Saturday, May 28, 2016
Little Manbun FuFu
Little Manbun FuFu, hoppin’ through the party, scooping up the field hotts and roofyin’ them in the head…
This is our world.
Furry mustachio twipples wander our post-‘bag landscape like so many brain eating culture zombies. As if millions of Coachella Snapchats cried out at once and were suddenly silenced. This skeezy hairstrosity must not stand. And by stand, I mean allowed to carry an iPhone and almond milk in the same hand.
“Hark!“, you cry. “Who arst thou to criticize? Why hast thou forsaken the mock?”
‘Tis true. I have forsaken the mock to pursue other pursuits. After years of Hottie/Douchey deconstruction I have headed out on other vision quests. Like obsessively complaining that brilliant b-movie thespian Debra Blee, star of “Malibu Bikini Shop” and “The Beach Girls” does not automatically appear in polls of hottest 1980s actresses. This is a travesty of a mockery of a sham of a mockery of a Travis Barker. It cannot abide. Debra Blee’s luscious lasciviousness must be worshiped by a new generation. Or John McCain died in vain.
But that does not mean that someone still does not need to put their foot down about hottie/douchey conflation in our post-hipster manbunned landscape. Nor that that foot is not me. Because two negatives make a positive. And too many positives means you’re Chris Hardwick.
Wait, what was I saying?
Oh, right. Johnny?
