The 2011 Douchie Awards Start on Monday
Prepare.
Scratch Yourself.
Enjoy a tasty HoHo.
Friday Thoughts and Links
Mandana juicers make me ponderous and pondifacatorial on this Friday before the 2011 Douchies.
But Becoming Ubiquitous Clear Cup reassures.
Your humble narrator continues to fight the good fight in Hollywood, trying to sell new shows and dealing with the poo and the pee that form cultural dialectic in this wayward city of desert angels and arid, fecund peacockery.
So I munch on a saltine. And call it even.
Here’s your links:
Save your time with free content for websites from Article Writing Services. (Resource Link)
Your HCwDB DVD Pick of the Week” I know you want to work for Mo Fuzz. And Mo Fuzz wants you to. But first, I’m going to need to you do something for me… on spec.”
From England: Smells like Poo.
Speaking of tatts… Cracked presents: If tattoos told the truth.
Natalie Portman, Semitic pixie librarian hott and future ex-Mrs.DB1, is turning her baby boy into a ‘bagling.
Who’s getting hired at Rite-Aid these days? Read the fine print.
The internets. Where 19 year old girls go for attention. Boobs.
Speaking of hot chick philosophers: Believing in celestial orbs to reveal a divine truth is nonsense.
And speaking of hot chick spawn of famous hockey players, Wayne Gretzky’s daughter is gettin’ slapshotty. And yes, I had to link to the thieves over at The Chive for that one. I feel dirty.
Reader DanEBoy decides to read a Scooby Doo book to his kids, is shocked to discover Velma is displaying G.S.R.
Need holiday gifts for friends, family and loved ones on this holiday season? Buy it already, Bitch. It’s on sale.
For boxing fans, HCwDB gets a nice shout-out in a column about what a douche boxer Antonio Margarito is.
Toxic manwhore Ann Coulter got “bleeped” when she called John McCain a “Douchebag” on MSNBC. Well isn’t this a case of the pot calling the kettle a fascist manwhore.
But you are not here for toxic facist manwhorery. No matter your political persuasion, I offer you:
Inappropriate Outerwear for Fall Weather Pear
Only because I worry that Kelly might catch cough.
Friday Haiku
Neck Tatts and Slut Hair:
“WE ARE the 1%, Yo!”
…Unemployable…
Bottle blonde Q-Tip
Shiny building of a man
E-Harmony win.
— Douche Wayne
Shiny vest, matching
head kerchief…you know: to keep
it real AND classy
— idfma
She has crosses on
vest but there is no God. Proof
standing next to her.
— Dr. Bunsen HoneyDouche
These two have it all
Together. Clothes and hair match.
No platinum card.
— The Reverend Chad Kroeger
No Shirt No Service?
I will mock authority
My vest in your face!
— THEONETRUEDOUCHE
Whoever said that
youth is wasted on the young
must have known these two.
— FoghornLeghorn
Three Day Suit Broker
Irregulars to dumpster
He finds vest with lunch.
— Vin Douchal
Nero diddled, while
Roma’s crotch burned. Club Zeus smells
Like Greek Tragedy.
— Bootney Lee Farnsworth
Bob Douchionne Is Out There
Just knowing that Bob Douchionne exists is a good enough reason to start drinking.
Sally Mae Jean, you really should know better.
But how do you go back home to the farm after meeting Carl Hungus?
Creepy Bukowski Fan Asks You If You’ve Ever Read Bukowski
The correct response to Creepy Bukowski Fan is: “Excuse me, I’m waiting for a friend. Now please do not soil upon my napkin.”
Average White Douchebag Is Way In Over His Head
Joey Kia is a stage-1. Just a pudly puddling.
A mish-mash of confused signifiers.
Rachel Hott is all that is pure of Norwegian Wood on a paid-to-pose professional level.
Together, they kill time on a Tuesday. While secretly hating their lives and cursing the God that never was.
Too depressing for a Thursday?
I’mma get a coffee.
Superfluous Mike Gets in the Way
But on the bright side, the fungus growing on his arm can cure lupus.
Crazy Eyes Stephanie wears matching hair scrunchy and lingere to the pool party in North Hollywood, while her bestie, Party Hardy Kat, reconsiders going back on the road with Three Doors Down now that they’re back to playing smaller venues.
Wez Retires to Boca
After thirty years on the road chasing Mad Max, sometimes it’s time to hang up your gothic postapocalyptic football jersey and enjoy a Mai Tai by the pool with a Party Chick.
Somewhere in Southern New Jersey…
….a Pontiac Crossfire Smells Like Coconut Oil.
