taint
-
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
My Daily Checklist
(x) Wake up to A.M. clock radio playing “Out of Time” by Huey Lewis and the News
(x) Have my Rube Goldberg breakfast maschine make me pancakes and Mr. T cereal
( ) Realize not all cultural references need to involve pop artifacts from the mid 1980s
(x) water the azelia tree growing on the supine lupus in the back yard
(x) feed the hybrid pygmy alpacas being bred on the veranda
(x) Pay special attention to my special alpaca friend. I call her “Susan.”
(x) Ponder a Godless universe by twirling in place and holding my breath
(x) view HCwDB pic submissions
(x) Become annoyed at injustice
(x) Punch a nearby pedestrian ferret in the nadsack
( ) Order lunch from Vitellos
Tuesday, November 13, 2012Mutanto The Bug-Eye Freak Hugs Your Sister
That’s just not right.
And by “sister” I mean your hot friend with occasional benefits (office parties and national holidays) whose day job is in accounting but secretly is into the freaky-deaky role play.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012Roboschwing Locate Boobies
Intruder alert, says the bouncing boobface.
This atrocity calls for some retro arcade pear counterbalance for sanity to remain.
Thursday, October 11, 2012Mongor's Glass Face Scares Children and Dogs
Shards of douchal aura emanate off of Mongor’s dead visage like the numbed halos of calcified cherubs.
No idea what that means.
Kafkina Kardashian regrets leaving Albana for that Upper West Side au pair job back in ’98.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012Mongor Stares Into Camera
In honor of the passing of the great Alex Carras today at the age of 77, I hearby name this douchley pubewhack “Mongor.” I will not call him “Mongo,” for that name is reserved.
Southern Kelly clutches her iPhone nervously and titters.
Thursday, August 30, 2012Douchey and Gabana
Get it?! It’s like Dolce and Gabana but I switched the word “Dolce” to “Douchey!”
Yeah. Got nuthin’.
Watched the atrocity that was a political convention last night and was so disgusted by this country I went for a walk and beat up a pack of wild dressage horses roaming in the Hollywood Hills. Their pained whines and whinnies reminded me of the resiliency of America. So I got that going for me.
But yeah. I’m in a pretty foul mood this morning. The arrogant celebration of wilfull ignorance is a toxic strain of Americana that has always been present in this country’s DNA since the first dysfunctional Puritans used fictions and religious ghost stories to control and deny their anxieties about female libido. It is the Freudian death drive writ political. An intense dissonance born of sexual frustration and cartoonish cowboy dreams that follows a three hundred year path from witch trials to slavery to debates about “welfare”. The wealthy elites scaring the rubes to control them like so many flickering phantasms dancing in Plato’s cave. There will always be a fetishizing of the rich and a need for aristocracy. The need to return to childhood and rekindle an imagined safety that never actually existed, with apple pies on Mayberry Street, and no gays or Mexicans. When reality is scary, it’s 1950s America, Roland Reagan starring as Ronald Reagan as the Marlboro Man starring in the Great White Rewrite of Multicultural Reality. Fear becomes fictions. Stories of hero/villain comic book simplicity. Minorities become a threat. It is the selling of illusion as conceptual snake oil. How to manufacture hatred and fear by the yard? Paint the picture of unseen threat, lurking in the shadows. They are political douchebags proclaiming family values before heading to the strip clubs. And shame on the rubes for being duped.
EDIT: Bonus Pear for listening.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012Jack the Lipper Finds a New Victim
This sequel to the best-selling harlequin novel of the late 19th century ends not with a bang, but with a, well, a bang I suppose.
I can’t tell if 80s Tom Petty Hott is turning me on or making me consider pitching a movie, “Whatever Happened to Baby Tom Petty?”
Pouty Michaela continues, however, not to disappoint. Mayan Eye of Slutty Coitus for the societal elevation.
Monday, August 27, 2012Jack the Lipper
There are many schools of flush that circle the toilet bowl of life.
Jack the Lipper is one of them.
A steaming brown turdlike substance that smells vaguely of wheatgrass and trust fund.
A shmorgasboard of faux “Rock star” impersonative taint.
I write this not as poetry. But as mock. For Pouty Michaela’s Mayan Eye of Coitus suggests the girl you did drunken shooters with at the oyster bar near the sandy cove during junior year spring break. And for that, I wistfully honor her memory by rubbing up on a tree stump and humming the theme to Kojak.
Thursday, August 16, 2012Please Give to the Wedge-Shaped Vertabrae Victims Fund
Because it’s not easy to go through life seeing the world like it’s the super-villain’s Lair from Adam West era Batman.
Send all donations, in the form of balled-up $20 bills, to O.D.’s Liquor Store in Biloxi, MS, c/o Dark Sock, esq.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012One Singular Crotchsation
In honor of passing of the great composer and songwriter, Marvin Hamlisch, I can only pay tribute HCwDB-style.
With kaleidoscopic Broadway spectacular douche crotch.
And a confused Vegas showgirl, who took a wrong turn at Albuquerque, and now hopes she gets it, she hopes she gets it. And by it, she means not-crabs.
