Princess Pearielle and King Pooterface
Trust me, you really don’t want to stick around once the talking crabs start singing, “Under the Sea.”
The Yeeshasaurus
Compounding the tragedy of this atrocity: The Yeeshasaurus’s coat is made from sexy alpaca trim.
Ask DB1: Coachella
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DB1 –
Two weekends ago I was visiting L.A. and we took a side trip to Palm Springs. Unfortunately, it was also the first weekend of the Coachella festival.
Needless to say, any mention of Palm Springs led to the inescapable question, “Are you going to Coachella?” with the requisite valley-girl head-cock, a la the RCA Dog.
It quickly became a running joke in our group, and we created the character “Coachella Bitch” who drove too fast (“because I’m sooooo late for Coachella”), was blonde (“the desert sun at Coachella bleached my hair”) was very concerned about staying hydrated (“Do they sell bottled water at Coachella?”) and couldn’t believe anyone who was within 1,000 miles wasn’t attending (“You mean, you’re NOT going to Coachella?”).
After speaking to people who actually attended, it didn’t sound like a good time, mixing the worst aspects of camping with the best aspects of TSA security checks. And Tupac.
My questions:
1) Is attendance Coachella auto-douche?
2) To what evil uses will the Tupac “hologram” eventually be put? Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.
I remain,
Douche Wayne (not at Coachella)
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Coachella = Autodouche. Any narcissistic exercise in which saying you went is more important than the music you’re going to see is spectacle over authenticity, the heart of douche culture. When the preening D-List celebs start going, you have the assing on the puke.
Autodouche. So let it be written. So let it be done.
Give Lucas a few years, and Hologram Tupac will be the new Emperor.
Remember kids: Lucas neck. Make sure you eat enough iodine.
Breaking: Wayne Gretzky's Daughter Dates a Hockey Puck
Daughter of hockey legend Wayne Gretzky, Paulina Gretzky’s continuing poor life choices require as many sarcastic quips as possible in one minute. Okay?… here we go…
Talk about illegally crossing the blue line!
Yeah, not quite. Lets try again…
If there’s one penalty Paulina understood, it was “too many men on the ice.”
Yeah… not so good. Keep going…
Penalty! Five for douching!
Later that night, Pedro made a Mark Messier on her belly!
As Pedro reminded her with a sultry whisper, some people call it “pulling the goalie.”
And by “lifting the cup,” Pedro meant his jockstrap.
Unfortunately, Pedro’s slap shot was blocked by a pad.
And… time.
Tommy "Moobs" McShane Continues to be Confused About Gender Difference
Lemme break it down, McShane. Boobs > Moobs.
Alyssa and her friend Rachel understand this simple concept. Stop trying to distract. You’re upsetting the gender hierarchies.
The Velveteen Babbit
… and little Johnny cried and cried… for his lip herp meant the villagers had to stone and set fire to the Velveteen Babbit, so she would not spread her rampant disease across the town… but the next morning, a *real* Velveteen Babbit appeared on little Johnny’s doorstep! And the moral of the story is love for stuffed animals prepares you for medical plagues…
Homegrown Hannah Approves of the HCwDB of the Week
And by approves, Homegrown Hannah means moving on to Tool Johnson: Legend of Asswipus Britannica.
HCwDB of the Week: The Bishop and Homegrown Hannah
Just barely edging Oldbag Ralph and Dreamgirl Donna, The Bishop’s stupidhead and Homegrown Hannah’s homegrowns nanas were too tough a dialectic to ignore.
For what are we here if wherefore not to mock the choadal head and lust the perkage bobble?
Other ‘bags of note, the BvG named Marmoset and Sluthott Kelly from the Friday Haiku, Keyser Shmoeze’s Ladies of Perfect Leg, Moaz’s Stupid Hair and Stacey, Clown Hardy Gets Lucky, and Jesus Bling Boy.
Not a bad week, or should I say a ‘bag week. Get it? Because ‘bag sounds like ba-… okay nevermind.
I hereby decry that this week is ESOTERIC REFERENCE WEEK.
Every post will have an esoteric reference to something random. Wait, that was redundant.
