Oldbag
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Thursday, June 9, 2011
‘Ey! Whossgot da Benjamins?!
Morty got da Benjamins!!
Wednesday, June 8, 2011‘Ey! Morty Says “How You Doin?”
Morty doin’ fine!!
Monday, June 6, 2011‘Ey! Who Wins at The Game of Life? Thissguy!!
Morty Wins, everybody!!
Morty wins!!
Thursday, May 26, 2011A Scrotal Wrinkle in Time: A White Paper By Jacques Doucheteau
HCwDB Comments Thread Regular (and overall deeply disturbed person) Jacques Doucheteau delivers a scientific dissection concerning the Unbearable Slightness of Douching. Take it away, Jacques:
The laws of causality dictate, as Hume defined, that “cause and effect must be contiguous in space and time”, and that “there must be a constant union betwixt the cause and effect.” This particular scrote ridden scene as subject of our exploration of causality as a product of existential determinism can best be explained by using the Einstein-Minkowski light cone in special relativity as a model.
The frame of reference within the picture is a snapshot in time. A single event of pudwankery as viewed by the casual observer much akin to a flash of light on the three-dimensional plane of present spacetime. Just as a flash of light spreads out through space over the course of time, best imagined as a four-dimensional cone spreading out into the future from the singularity of the event in the present, past occurrences contract in radius until it converges to a point at the exact position and time of the event.
What past events led to the exact circumstances, or cause and effect, of this captured flash of douchey light; and what does the hyperbolic partial differential of its effect have on future events?
For instance, A vast array of materials and actions stemming from the organization of hydrogen atoms over billions of years into base elements and indeed the organic matter and ingenuity that labored to create the complex electronics of the twice used DJ mixer. Following the event is it’s opposing future of being traded for an X-box, years of sitting in a pawn shop, and eventually being broken down into scrap metal to be re-manufactured into countless iPhones’ circuitry.
Just our viewing of the image, and the rage we experience seeing yet another pair of shoulder nuzzle cuties forever sullied, alters the causal relationship of events within and indeed expands the sphere of this specific event’s influences.
One can’t help but contemplate the complicated history of the mini grow room venting into the neighbor’s back yard, and even the recently empty drink perched upon it, and their equally complex futurity of floating mold and narc unit raids. Mandana Dave’s strep infested Long Island Iced Tea and tongue. Mandi’s heroin arms and unnaturally contorted neck. The malnutrition forcing Kristi to frantically suck the nutrients from Mandana Dave’s infected ingrown hair.
The mind boggles.
– Jacques
Monday, May 23, 2011The Coping Cabana – A White Paper by Hermit
Zen BagHunter Supreme Hermit delivers this cold-ass take down:
If Vegas is a place where ’roided, tattooed Douchebags and lithe, nubile hotts go to see and be seen, why do they pay an additional $175 to $300 to hide in a covered canvas Boy Scout tent? Well, for this bunch it makes sense.
Phillip and Steve are far from the prototypical Vegas Douche, while Erma, Chastity (the wild one) and Stacey were sort of hot ten years ago. I contend that we can still find it in our cold, judgmental hearts to heap scorn and our collective derision on them because, quite frankly, that’s what we do.
When we sneak a peek into “The Coping Cabana” the stench of broken dreams, failing marriages and materialistic disappointment is palpable. Shackled by huge SUV payments, and upside-down mortgages, they come here as a temporary escape from the sterilized suburbia where they live month-to-month on lies and bank-owned status symbols.
They’re here hoping for a brief respite from their whining, obese children, clogged toilets and sagging bust lines. An ephemeral hiatus from disinterested sex partners, stretch marks, business failures and the mid-life crisis which is certain to come.
However, it’s only a short reprieve as they lie there among the dead skin, dust mites and bed bugs which befoul the cheap fabric of this sweaty, bacteria-infested Vegas sanctuary. The clock is ticking, the rented cabana must soon be vacated. Their furlough over, they must go home to their self-imposed prisons to finish out a life sentence of dashed hopes, harsh supervisors and the never-ending chore of cleaning out French fries and candy wrappers that those ungrateful little bastards leave under the seats of the SUV.
Also, make no mistake. With some alcohol and a little prompting, I still might rub Erma’s nipples with a plastic Wiffle Ball dipped in candle wax and canned cat food, her muffled giggles would erupt into a hoarse, smoker‘s hack, as I deftly slid the plastic bat up under her large, brown, corduroy bathing-skirt-thingy.
Maybe not.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011Nipplestopheles (Jacques Doucheteau Edition)
Dispatch from the Desk of Jaques D; a little bile with your morning coffee:
Frank the RV salesman weekends in Pensacola, still blissfully unaware of the sad fact that he’s twice divorced and 70 lbs heavier than when he flunked out of Thomas Nelson Community College.
Diana too has seen better days. Once a pseudo-Asian hott before all the bukakke videos and Benson & Hedges, now she is but an aging trail mule rode hard and put away wet. But these two are just players in the grand drama of society’s demise.
Dave’s dangling tit rings summon ancient gods of destruction from their eternal slumber, to wreak havoc on the soul of humanity. His vacant stare and gleaming forehead conceal a mind torn asunder by the primeval forces of the eternal poo of Nergal: Babylonian deity of war and pestilence.
It is this mighty impetus welling up through the ages and expelling themselves through Dave’s sphincterous navel that is an omen of the forthcoming douchepocalypse. His religious iconography worn, without realization of its irony, upon a viscera of unfettered consumerism is a symptom of the larger social impoverishment in human-nature relations. This affront to the natural universe beckons elder demons from their sleep, blackens the sky with smoke from the burning flesh of innocents, and causes orphan children to rape puppies with bootleg DVDs of “2 Fast 2 Furious”.
And so Frank subconsciously teat-punches that which he does not comprehend.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011The Veiner Sausage
Theory time, kids! The Veiner Sausage, whom you see here in tragic proximity to Tammi Taught-Tummi, is suffering from vascular bulge much the same as can be observed on turgid horse dong because:
A. Like any good American, he’s doing his doodie;
B. Grey Goose, as it turns out, curdles steroid injections;
C. His Brown Eye is on the verge of losing the fight against the Olestra potato chip assault;
D. He summons his pet pit bull with ninja flatulence chirps above 15,000 hz;
E. Oh, you guys know what to do…there’s plenty of letters left in the alphabet to finish this list…
Monday, May 9, 2011The NBA… It’s Creeepppptastic!
National Basketball Association “superfan” James Goldstein demonstrates the real point of professional sports.
Rich, creepy ass oldbags oggling cheerleaders while sweaty men run in the background.
Or, as Marx once termed it, The Douchetarian Aristocracy and the Exploitation of the Boobie Hottie.
Thursday, April 28, 2011Your Dad Wears Ripped Jeans
Now he’s just making “Parent/Teacher Party Night” downright awkward.
Thursday, April 7, 2011Your Thursday Morning Coffee Drip
Y
ou needed something to go with that donut.
Like Cyclops Mike. Who’s looking at you. And at you.
And the Cindy Sisters. Who look rather sultry, even when buying their Lee Press On Nails after Happy Hour at the Red Snapper Bar & Grill where they waitress on Tuesdays and Fridays.
