Billy Beefstick and Tammy Torso say "hi"
And they wish to assure you that they’re made of meat.
Meat, I says.
Limerick Wednesday
All night these lines Biff rehearses:
“Me and Todd want you both to nurse us”
Both Jan and Trish giggled,
And said with a jiggle,
“With cash you must reimburse us”
************
If your highest expression of humanity
is creating dance-club insanity
when the diseased and the weak
look at you and speak
try not to respond with profanity.
************
Baron Von Goolo said…
A promotional model named Brie
Kept her job till she was 43.
Now the blonde and her nips
Are taking her tips.
Now she goes home alone and weeps softly into a bag of Pirate Booty, touching herself as she watches Supernatural and lamenting how she never paid enough attention to Jerry, who *technically* wasn’t her type but he was super-nice and so into her and has a thriving dental practice now.
.
…I’m sorry, what was the question?
P.M. Douche and the Poolbaggery Manifesto
Ah, but yes. PunchMe Douche has enlisted the help of Squib Largeman in his bid to take over the Rehab rip-off pool at the nameless Indian Casino located off of I-10 east of Palm Springs. As evinced in this photograph, mayhaps P.M. Douche is interested in the wrong sort of cans.
Meanwhile, in continuing tasteful black & white pear land…here’s another attempt to introduce another thinly-veiled beloved pear reference into a post by DarkSock.
Three Word Tuesday
Okay, let’s have some fun, kids! A twist on the ol’ one-word Tuesday:
Three Word Tuesday!
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UPDATE: Our three winners from the comments back page, as determined by the HCwDB Quality Assurance Task Force:
UFO Destroyers said…
Al Roker leakage
Capt. James T. Douche said…
Thick skull perhaps?
hermit said…
I’m now arachnophobic
DoucheyWallnuts said…
Marvel Files Lawsuit
DoucheLoaf and the Rhetorical Question
DoucheLoaf, pictured here with Flattered Fenny, asks the unfortunate photographer the timeless question “Yo, Brah…What you lookin’ at?” before breaking his camera and the face behind it.
What was he lookin’ at? I leave it to the regulars to answer that question in the comments section.
Meanwhile, on a different curve, here’s tangential pear as an eloquent palette cleanse.
Meet the New Hot Chicks with Douchebags Quality Assurance Team!
Meet the new Quality Control Board of HCwDB: Manny “Bride of FrankenDouche” Horowitz, Vinny “The Watch” Fazuli and Corine “Anime Eyes” Falco. They are here to ensure that during my week at the helm here that ol’ DarkSock does not once again besmirch the front page with non-PG 13 terms such as “taint squelch”, “Monkey Hole” and “Pootie Tang”.
More importantly, they are here to ensure that I stay ON MESSAGE, with none of my trademark forays into gratuitous distraction such as Mass Quantity Pear, Flotation Device Pear, and OH MY GOD WOULD YOU FRIGGIN’ LOOK AT THAT Pear.
Yep. Just the straight and narrow this time.
Be strong with me, folks. Maybe we should make little rubber wristbands or something.
Biff Smirk takes nose-ring nina to the 7th ring of the disco inferno
Biff tries to sooth increasingly concerned mid-western goddess Nina that this strange new club is completely normal… “Sulfur? Nah, Doll, that smell’s just them sliders I had on the way here talkin’ to ya…yeah, dat’s da ticket…“.
APRIL'S FOOL!!!
DarkSock™ here, helming this week’s important work of posting pictures of Hot Chicks with Total and Complete Douchebags™. With Commentary™.
DB1 is out on field assignment (aka a booze-fueled week-long black-out binge in Vegas) so once again I grab his staff and hoist it high! Wait…poor choice of words…but you get the picture.
In fact, the first picture you get is this one here. It’s April Fools’ day. Hence this Fool. I dub him “PunchMe Douche”, for reasons that should be immediately obvious. Toilet-swirl hair, metro soul patch, Gramma’s sunglasses…ugh.
And then there’s poor Judy, wearing on her face both the windshield of a ’78 AMC Pacer and a look of deep regret; she can still taste the brackish tang of his spittle from his last crass loveless kiss, streaked with the acrid flavors of last night’s nine ill-advised Red Bull and Goose shooters plus the thin grease of his morning throw-up and Crest. The aforemented smooch being planted open-mouth on her in a vulgar display of territorial braggadocio as his brahs walked up fists a-pumping to the cabana to order a round of Sunday Bloody Maries.
Take that, Daddy…
Discuss the Freudian subtext of this garish spectacle, as always, in the comments sections. And by the way, for you lurkers and acolytes…click that comments link. For that is where the action is. If you only read the front page and gawk at the picture before flitting off to your favorite cat-pictures website they you are truly missing out on The Rest Of The Story. Son.
Exclusive: Game of Thrones Trailer!!
Man, they really should’ve put more money into those spirit wolves…
Wallnuts After Dark – March Madness
I bet none a youse know the phrase March Madness was coined by Dean Martin back in the 60s when we was paintin’ Vegas red every night and boffin’ every skirt we could get our hands on.
You see, back then March was a time a the year when things was a little slower out there in L.A. and we had some time off before the spring. Miami was too far to go for a couple a days, but we could make a Vegas run in no time and it was warm enough that dames was runnin’ around in various states of undress. Na mean?
After a couple a years of this routine Dean would pick up the blower and give us all a call and when we answered all he’d say was, “March Madness,” and we knew it was time for Poon Season in the Desert. We had the whole system where one a Dean’s lackeys, this guy called Philly the Bunion, would set up the dames and the parties and the booze. We didn’t need to do nothin’ other than show up with our joints cleaned up and all ready to go.
One day we was sittin’ around the pool at The Flamingo and Jilly Rizzo and Frank was gettin’ blowed by two a the local pros, and half naked broads was runnin’ around and Louis Prima and Keely Smith’s band was playin’, and Deano looked over at me and says, “Wallnuts,” he says, “there ain’t nothin’ better than this March Madness of ours.”
So when I hear the phrase March Madness I think a Dean goin’ doggie on Mitzi Gaynor in the lounge at the Sands and I gotta chuckle because it reminds me of all a the wild times we had in Vegas, and all a the college basketball games we fixed, too. But that’s another story for another time.
