The Rusty Swab
‘Beware the swirling sleeve tatts of The Rusty Swab,’ whispered the seagull to the ancient mariner who bid adieu to his granddaughter Sophie at a wizened old port in Westchester.
And the rest was what Aristotle called tragedy and Marx called farce.
No not that Marx.
Riff Raff Still Ironically Sucks
Probably one of the worst cultural arbiters of irono-douche culture, Southern Clown Riff Raff continues to push his zero minutes of fame by clinging desperately onto the post Spring Breakers James Franco package fondle.
So it turns out this festering ass pimple of pusuous leakage is playing a “gig” in LA in June. Should I go? Might be worth a field report from the heart of postmodern douchery for HCwDB.
Brothabag Ed Didn't Get The Memo
The partial “Ed Hardy” underneath your clothing reveal is not a meta-fiction statement on the likely doucheyness of the new Superman movie. It’s just a sign of cultural outlier.
Kathy Lee was born in America, so don’t ask her about Korean culture. Her parents totally suck and just keep yelling at her in Korean like some overplayed Margaret Cho bit from the mid 90s. So, like, Kathy’s not going to church anymore, mom and dad. Deal with it. Oh, and she’s dating a black guy who wears Ed Hardy. So put that in your kimchi and sautee it.
A Whole Lotta Lumps
I’ll say this for Veg Armstrong, aka Peter Pumpin’head and Mary Mammageddon, he sure can pick a shooter humper full of dumpster crabs.
Lets move on before I get crabs of the eyeball.
In a related story, Crabs of the Eyeball was the best novel in Piers Anthony’s Xanth series.
Stupid Shirts
Stupid shirts.
Still out there.
Still in increasing proximity to $2 Oyster Shooter night at the Crabby Crab Shack.
When Irony and Herpsterism Collide And Score Slutty Sophie
It’s like a riddle, wrapped in an enigma, surrounded by a mystery, on top of a retro-ironic cassette tape.
Caption This Pic
While working through night school, Jill was able to covertly practice her burgeoning veterinary skills on various wayward youths at “Miss Havisham’s Home for The Blind, Frail, and Creepily Douchey.”
Your Monday Morning Meningitis-in-the-Pool Pic
After last week’s KV-infused threat to get more submissions, the ‘bag hunters and huntresses have responded, and the hamper is full with smelly sweatsock atrociousness commingling with the tastiest of bikni martini hotts.
Like Kelli and Mia here. Two bottles of Vegas party hott water.
And DJ Shortrounduous.
Who just hasn’t done well since the Goonies/Temple-of-Doom money was spent on hookers and blow.
