Hairy Pouter and the Finger of Pointdoucheistan
Sometimes we need Invisible Hand of the Collective Unconscious ™ to help our Kelly Smile Hottie Butt Suckle Prods of the world realize the errors of their adult fiction reading ways.
So thank you Invisible Hand of the Collective Unconscious ™. For it needed to be pointed.
Colin Pops a Pimple
SO Justin Bieber and 2-Pac meet in hell in the afterlife.
Justin Bieber says, “Hey 2-Pac! What are you doing here? I thought you lived a virtuous life!”
2-Pac says, “You know, Biebs, so did I, but my sins caught up with me. Turns out all that bangin’ and smokin’ just doesn’t fly with the lord.”
Bieber responds, “Man, that sucks! I thought for sure you’d make it to heaven.”
2-Pac: “Anyways, what about you, Bieber? I thought you were all about being innocent?”
Justin Bieber replies, “Yeah, so it seemed. But the truth is, once I cornholed an aardvark with a slab of butter and an artichoke heart. It was while I was on tour. But a little demon showed up and told me then that I was going to hell. And here I am.”
And 2-Pac replies, “Shit, Biebs, that really doesn’t make sense! This is like one of those long, meandering jokes that DB1 makes up when he’s filling text in on a post on Hot Chicks with Douchebags and doesn’t know what to write, and then can’t come up with a punchline.”
Bieber responds, “Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s almost like this comedy is half-assed ill thought out crap, proof of DB1’s laziness.”
2-Pac: “Yup. That about sums it up. Wanna rap “California” with me at Satan’s Red River Karaoke?”
Bieber: “Hells yeah I do!!”
And…. scene.
Bonus Woo Hottie Pear for those whose hard work will always be rewarded.
Creepy Herb May or May Not Have a Criminal Record
Evil Yellow Sunball is investigating.
Justin Bieberbag is Harmonic Mellonic Douchebloat
File this one under obvious-to-the-point-of-redundant-irrelevance, but since I like to pretend to have topicality around here every once in awhile, let us take a moment and collectively mock this imbecelic boy-child and his continuation of he worst of late 2000s douche culture under the guise of irreverent youth.
For the full story of this harmonic mellonic douchebloat, here’s the summary over at the Superficial.
Where's Waldink?
Debating phenomenology with Wittgenstein and Popper?
Not bloody likely says the cat.
The Real World Ladies of Sheboygan know that they do not live up to your standards. But they give backrubs and pay for dinner. So Wittgenstein is a-okay in the long run.
Venus DeNecktattio
Hang Loose, Venus Denecktattio!!! Broski!!
Life is but a giant wave of pleasure and an endless summer of keggers and sunets, and no need to ever worry about dental insurance, I promise brah!!!
Cindy slums it, but her endless summer ends on Monday morning at 9am when she’ll be back at work at the temp agency and hunting for the waspy businesman with the white BMW, ideally named Chad or Kal, but Cindy’s not picky on names, and while he’ll have a mild case of alcoholism and a major case of emotional repression because he was bottle fed, Cindy will make do. Boobies.
Derp Guy Wastes Everyone's Time
Brothabag Juan in the back introduces himself as a “Body Environmentalist.” When the ladies ask what that is, he explains that he doesn’t like to see boobies wasted.
This pickup line has been known to work.
Never.
Evil Yellow Sunball Is Too Old For This S@#t
Murtaugh agrees. Bloated meatwackers are just as bad as anti-Semitic Hollywood movie stars.
And no, Mel, I’m not over it.
Sugar Tits.
Awrrright, this was a lame first post to start the week. But as your humb narrs is in Palm Springs on a writing weekend, what are ya gonna do?
Of course, my luck, Priceline sticks me at an uberscrotey Frathole party hotel.
Which, while having a certain symmetry with the fact I write Hot Chicks with Douchebags, does not a writer’s retreat make. Except for some Boobie Hottie Suckle Thighs to offer at least visual respite.
