Ball Don't Lie
In sports, when a referee makes a bad call and the subsequent play goes against the team that benefited from that bad call, fans use the simple koan, “ball don’t lie.”
This beautiful three word expression speaks to a reality beyond our subjective experience.
People, like referees, may refuse to see the world accurately.
But truth will out.
The scales will balance.
Cosmic justice will eventually be served.
One of the unifying themes of the hottie/douchey couplings we study here at HCwDB involves the abject panic of growing up. Notice I don’t describe this as a panic over growing old. Although that is certainly a part of it.
So much of peacocking spectacle is about the fear of maturity. Growing up is the figuring out of some semblance of meaning and direction that lies beyond the here and now. Of needing to get a job.
Have children. Pay bills.
Pumped up Morty and Letita here are case in point. Old enough to know better. Refusing to give up the inflated dream of enhanced spectacle.
Fight it for as long as you want, guys. In the end, ball don’t lie.
"Drop that zero and Get With the Hero!"
1991 was a very silly year.
Marty McFLuffin
Somewhere in Budapest, a raccoon lost it’s turd pellet.
Look closely.
Can you find it?
The Too-Tight-Shirt Gender Bias
Look, I’m as progressive a feminist progressive feminist as the next progressive feminist. I reject the whole pink/blue thing and think it’s no problem if little boys want to play with dolls or little girls like trucks. Hells, I loved my Star Wars “action figures” as a kid, and who are we kidding. They’se dolls.
I also liked to wear dresses for a while in my early teens. And then again during a crazy period in my early 30s.
So don’t judge, I says. Let people be people.
But sometimes ya just gotta state some gender essentialism in life.
Too tight shirts on hotties = happy Jesus Buddha fondle
Too tight shirts on Brosephwanks = llama shtetl piddle
Don’t blame me. Blame the boobies.
Willie Broman Buys Vanessa a Corona Light
Willie Broman needs your help getting the lime out of his Corona.
Should he:
A) Borrow a hair clip from Vanessa, bend it, and use it to fish the lime out (turn to page 34)
B) Put down the Corona and order another drink, then resume hitting on Vanessa (turn to page 41)
OR
C) Slam the beer on the bar, scream “Viva La Differance!” in Gaelic, then two-step towards the Exit while humming the theme to Rawhide (turn to page 59)
Answer now!
Melvin and Kate Were Bored by The Superbowl
On the douchey side, Melvin’s stupidface rivals the Manning Face.
On the hott side, Kate is all sorts of sweet whimsy wasting her affections on a total tool.
In other news, the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman is relentlessly depressing and pointless, while the revival of the Woody Allen nonsense suggests a nation with too much time on our hands.
F@ck it, Dude. Lets go bowling.
You betrayed the law!! LAWWWWWW!!!
Greatest two seconds of all time.
It is the purity of life and language condensed and collapsed into one minimalist exchange of words that decypt and decry mankind’s futile attempts at both communication and consciousness.
I seriously cannot stop watching this. I think I’ve watched it every two hours for the past week. It is now my mantra.
Friday Thoughts and Links
Two boobs.
And two boobs.
Thank you. I will be here all of the week. Be sure to tip your hostess. Try the veal. In Soviet Union, ears aren’t only on corn, they also on walls! Whatta country!
Not a lot o’ links on this quiet end-of-January Friday.
Your humb narr’s little one, BC1, is turning six months old. Sheeeeiiiittttt. Changing diapers and passing out by 8pm is the new going out to Hollywood parties and hitting on hot starlets hoping to break into the biz. So they tell me.
Meh.
Feh.
Feta.
Mmm… Farmiga.
Here’s yer links:
Your HCwDB Click on this Link and Buy some Shit on Amazon to Support the Site Link of the Week: “Well it’s Ninth and Hennepin
All the doughnuts have names that sound like prostitutes, And the moon’s teeth marks are on the sky, Like a tarp thrown all over this, And the broken umbrellas like dead birds, And the steam comes out of the grill, Like the whole goddamn town’s ready to blow…”
Bored this weekend? An interesting article from Salon on the middle-aging of the unfortunately labeled “Generation X.” Lots of cliches but some interesting points made. Oh Winona, where art thy hottness to save us now?
Why all those years of drinking cheap bum wine was good for your humble narrator.
Bruce Springsteen’s recollections of the late folk singer Pete Seeger resonate with the historical importance of music across time. Don’t ever forget that. No matter how many Biebers make meaningless noise, music can change the world.
For my Canadian readers: Pictures of Rob Ford getting tickled.
Nooooooo!!!!! Just when I think we’re winning.
Some website calls Made Man attempts some HCwDBian mock with middling success.
Librarian Hotts go digital.
Fashion dos and don’ts. No word on doe.
Okay, ’nuff of that.
Stretch that one, Opus.
Friday Haiku
Hirsute Love Buddha
Lurks the dorm halls, threatens to
drop the hose towel.
Squirt the Pert, Joey!
Squirt that Pert, dude, Squirt that Pert
C’mon, squirt the Pert
— saulgoode42
Worse than the “Friend Zone”
Goofy Greg has zero game
Placed in “Palcatraz”
— Bag Em Tag Em
Call me Ishmael
Is the start of Moby Dick
Just call this guy dick
— DoucheyWallnuts
Jan Goodall’s latest
experiment on silver
douchebacks going strong.
— Dr. Bunsen HoneyDouche
Poor dorm girl Jenny
Posting flyers for lost cat
Obese Yeti purrs
— purpledrank
Lester Bothers His Sister's Best Friend Kimberly
Lester was not invited to his sister’s pre-med study pizza party.
But Lester done rolled up his sleeves.
And Lester gon’ leave his mark.
And by mark, I mean awkward falsetto queries of “what’s your major?” followed by a steadfast refusal to fix the blinds no matter how many times Kimberly points at them.
