Gynochin Points At His Future of Fraudulence and Lies
Gynochin may be a slot hustler from the dog days of Wall Street con, a pretend faux-pimp dressed in the cloth of the hustler businessman.
Cindy may be with Gynochin because her uncomprehending parents from Westchester judge a boyfriend more by the car he drives (White BMW 535) than by any other metric.
And so Cindy is confused.
And so we judge her only mildly for her trespass.
Sid Squisheous Hangs Out Poolside in Vegas
Sid Squisheous definitely shouldn’t have eaten the lobster.
And by lobster, he means crabs.
Yup. Another crabs joke. But that’s how Sid Squisheous rolls when he gets all up in the faux-punk aesthetic. He doesn’t deserve an original joke. So he gets the lobster/crabs.
Not sure what to do with your hottie on Valentine’s Day? Vegas has got some dating ideas. None of them involve Sid Squisheous, however. So we got that going for us.
Meaty the Sandcrab Makes a Wish, Becomes a Douchebag, Finds Kelly
…and they lived happily after after.
Or at least until the magic Bacardi ran out, the parking tickets turned into a summons, and the groin rash turned a disturbing shade of purple.
All this, and more! In the long-lost unabridged Aesop’s Fable, “Meaty the Sandcrab And The Magic Lip Herp.”
Breaking: The Porn Industry is Just HCwDB With More Nudity (and the Lip Herp)
Gynochin Slurps at the Teat of Nihilism
Vegas Dreamland of blurry illusion.
The fraudulence of fake-joy.
The reality of taint.
There. Is. No. Hope.
Sexy Paid-to-Do-Things Wynona offers quality boobie suckle that nonetheless cannot peak through the bleak abyss cast by the crisis of Gynochin’s essence.
All is lost.
Puppies get slapped.
Crocodile tears turn to rivers of existential rain among even the most jaded of realists facing a Gyno-future-chin.
EDIT: Whoops, prematurely published this on Saturday. It is, however, a Monday morning post to welcome y’all back.
Sunday Movie: Jac Mac & Rad Boy
Grab an ice-cold brew-ha-ha and enjoy this 80’s blast of pre-Beavis-and-Butthead protoplasm.
WAH-HOOOOO!
***EDIT*** Bloody Hell, WordPress…Looks like that’s two thwarted Sunday Movies this morning. Well…Here’s the link to Jac Mac and Rad Boy. You will be dumber for having watched.
And because you’ve been tolerant of my spastic postings…How ’bout I round out my week at the helm with some brand new Fenny from Argentina (aka AssPear LaPlante) featuring her Super Tanga:
Paula roofies Lurch
“Sorry, son, but MY roofie is kicking in on YOU. And by the way, my name’s Paul, not Paula. Shall we go for a van ride now?”
While Lurch McRoofie is carried away into the night, and a waiting cornfield, let us reflect. With Pear.
And my favorite – Perfect Pear
Gynochin Haunts Our Collective Souls…
(from a hospital bead somewhere outside Peoria, Illinois, your humble narrator awakens from his diabetic coma…)
DB1: Wha?-…. What’s that?… What rouses me from this slumber?…
DB1’s Subconscious: Waaakkkkeee up…. the internet still needs your relic of a blog…
DB1: But… but why?
DB1’s Subconscious: Gyyyyyyynnnoooooooooochiiiiiiinnnnnnnnn… is still out there…
DB1: Gynochin? 2011 Douchebag of the Year Gynochin?
DB1’s Subconscious: Srsly, do you know any other Gynochins?
DB1: I suppose not.
DB1’s Subconscious: The worrrrllllddd… neeeeedssss your help…. The ‘Chin is still making insanely douchey kisssssssssey faces near hottiesssssss… whoooooo will mock this sorry piece of lemon pie shite?
DB1: I dunno. Who?
DB1’s Subconscious: You, ya dumbass!
DB1: Oh right! (::jumping out of bed, throwing off hospital gown revealing doughy ass::) I’m back!! I cannot rest!! Let… let me out of there!!.. The mock must return!!
And… the Mock continues on Monday.
Head Shop: The Dye that Binds
Over the past few years the commonality that is douche has fractured, diversified, and multiplied. Like a true virus, the Grieco strain has mutated from simple Jersey Bag to Muscle bag, Eurobag, White trash bag, and the more recent hypsterbag. And while each sack of genetic poo strives to maintain its own distinct identity, common elements remain that tie them unapologetically back to their ancestral progenitor. I speak of ink and orange. While some may rock the v-neck tee, and others the lip of duck and hair of gel, while others will have cones of sila, or biceps of ‘roid, every one of them will have skin of carrot adorned with stars, skulls, and Asian script.
To the tune of “People Who Died” by Jim Carroll [RIP]
Teddy smearing poo, he was 12 years old
Spread the tone from his own behind
Arty was 11 when he caught the drug
His tangerine sheen didn’t have no tan lines
Bobby hit the tanning booth, 14 years old
He looked like pumpkin pie when he dyed
He was a bro’ of mine
Those are douchebags who dyed, dyed
They were all my bros, and they dyed
Mickey and Paulie let their six-packs all soften
So they inked them up with nonsense words as a distraction
Sly in Wildwood, “THUG LIFF” on his head
Bobby leaves a full-sized smear of cocoa in his bed
They were three more bros of mine
Three more bros that dyed
Those are douchebags who dyed, dyed
They were all my bros, and they dyed
Karly shows her back tatts in the Boom Boom Room
Britney inked herself from her head to her womb
Judy’s skin color was hard to explain
Eddie matched hers to a cheddar cheese stain
And Eddie, you’re orangier than all the others
And I salute you mother
Those are hot chicks who dyed, dyed
They were all my hos, and they dyed
Herbie inked Tony on the high school roof
Tony thought that a skull would show the truth
‘So Herbie serve up Tony some, some bitchin’ proof
“Hey,” Herbie said, “Tony, are you fly?”
But Tony wasn’t fly, Tony dyed
Those are douchebags who dyed, dyed
They were all my bros, and they dyed
Bennie inked his guns with a Poly wrap
He flashed the tatt while raging at some bikers
He said, “Hey, I know it’s obvious, I’m a steel cage fighter”
But the next day he got raped by those very same bikers
Those are douchebags who dyed, dyed
They were all my bros, and they dyed
Friday Socks and Links
As Lurch McRoofie waits for it to kick in, so shall we kick in our Friday Thoughts and Links.
I must admit I was not quite prepared to take the helm as DB1 succumbed to corn syrup coma; that’s why this week’s been a little shaky. One can only imagine DB1, burnt out and zombielike, stuffing Twinkie after Twinkie into his mouth, like a hellish Pez dispenser in reverse… What was he thinking? What could have possibly triggered his actions?
Looks like I picked the wrong week to stop sniffin’ glue.
Having the site land in my lap really wrecked my plans; I was going to have my lovely girlfriend over, serenade her with my six-string, and then enjoy some quality time with her. Maybe catch a musical. Or a horror flick. Or both.
No matter; I’ll handle it because I am a professional. And when he returns I’ll hand the staff of power back to him. Because there can be only one.
Well, those are my links. It seems like I’m forgetting something though…
Oh, yeah…Pictures of Pear!
And, of course, A Street Pear Named Desire.
Hmmmm…still so many surplus pears. I may have to disburse them tonight for a very special HCwDB After Dark.
