Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Friday Bonus Haiku (ultra-rare missing one-half of site's mission statement edition)

Check out this dame’s stems…

Her legs go up to her neck;

Wrap around you twice…

Friday Haiku

Morticia Adams:

Teen years…Bruno Mars-San crush;

Ice water douches

Denim The Menace Brings the GILF

Denim The Menace may be an Olde Bag, but dammit he’s got good tastes in experienced ladies.

Some women age like fine wines. Sure, there are some that say certain ladies age like milk. Or bananas. But not these sultry cougars.

During Year One of my Post-Divorce era, the ‘Sock has hooked up with several wonderful females. In particular, one was 15 years his junior and a total candidate for Victoria Secret’s catalogs. Okay, maybe Frederick’s of Hollywood. But still, young, taut, blonde and down for whatever. And while that fling was fun/stressful…the follow-up palate cleanser with a sultry cougar two decades older than my young playmate blew girly-girl out of the water. And by “water” I mean my lumpy king-size. And by “my lumpy king-size”…well, in this case I am actually talking ’bout my shite mattress that needs replacing.

Should I be mocking silly-ass Denim, his sad soul-patch, and his male osteoporosis? Sure. But I am drawn instead to praise older lovers such as his fine two companions. They know who they are, and they know what they want. Go forth, Denim; pop your Viagra and do your best. And call a doctor if it lasts for more than four hours. Then call your buddies.

And stay tuned after Friday Socks & Links for Pear.  All Weekend.

Man your ‘bation stations!

Ask The Reverend

Hey brothers. Reverend Chad here, the resident stoned, drunk pastor to answer a few remarkable questions with insight and spirituality. And by spirituality I mean, stoned. Son.

Q. Dear Reverend Chad, I was fighting with my wife about the time I spend on the internet. Are you really a Reverend and where is your church? Thanks in advance. Tara MacGotchys

A. Thanks for the question Tara and what kind of name is that for a dude, man. And you didn’t expand on your wife problems so I can’t help you there. If she comes at ya with a knife pop her one right in the beak. Am I really a Reverend. Yes. I am a Reverend of the Divine Universal Light Church. The church is based in Walla-Walla Washington to counter the ill effects of a strong Seventh Day Adventist Church and University there. My congregation is based in Ontario, near the Quebec border. I am just outside the city limits of a city called Cornwall, where I grew up on the means streets man. Smoking doobies, drinking and banging broads since I was in grade 6. Hell of a life before I found the great divine one. Then again I party all day now so I’m still a pig. So I moved my church from outside Toronto so as to get away from the metrosexuals and show my pampered kids a little bit of hards knocks, ya know? And I sent them to the worst public elementary school in the city with the lowest average family income in the area. We get this corn farm of which I lease a bunch of the land to a farmer. I still have a few landscaped acres and we attend services in the Grove. The Grove is also where the magic medicine of my followers comes from. The farm is home to our branch of the church and it is called The Plantation. There is a druid-like circle of Mighty Canadian Pine and Maples and it’s a great place to get you’re groove on. Cornwall used to have this huge paper mills that stunk to no end. Yas rode a bicycle by it and the acid rain would pock your lenses man. So everybody is unemployed now and ya can get a 15 year old hooker for a blowie for a slice of the world’s best assortment of pizza and a gram of Grove weed. Good times man. So to finish off with your question. The church is in my backyard. Thanks for the query. Son. Good luck with the wife. One time at The Plantation, which has distant dock privileges,  Joel Osteen came to visit on his Sea-Doo with Shania Twain and Alannis Morrisette naked on the back. Tammy-Fae was supposed to be there but her p*ss got stuck to the car seat. Wow! That was a freakshow party.

Q Reverend Chad,a few of us at work were guessing you are probably a fan of Maroon 5. Thanks for taking the time to answer our question. Clint Damyacine

A. That’s a good question Clint. But let me ask you a question. Does a dove know how beautiful it is as it’s released at the end of a wedding or Obama speech. It might be beautiful at an Obama speech after Springsteen has finished playing The Rising, but at the wedding it is the end for the groom and an ugly image of drudgery and Groundhog Day Syndrome, from which I suffer, and better atoned with a more fitting poem from the Bruuuce. If a grizzly bear gets stoned in the forest, can he be arrested by honkie. I think not. Therefore I will put forth a motion that at all weddings Maroon 5 music must be played every fifth song. 5, the number of destiny. Two parents, two children, one hooker. Playing such festering pus would prevent many men from getting married and perhaps a few, just a few may be saved from a life of slavery and boredom which is the institution (torture) of being married with children. I understand now Ed Bundy(grrrr. young Christina) what Peg put you through. F**k Maroon 5 . Don’t get married son. Go for ex-strippers. Get it. Thanks for the question Son.

That’s all for this week. I’m depressed now so I have to take my SNRI’s. Keep the questions coming and I’ll try to answer your scintillating qeusstionez. Son.

Lurch McRoofie makes plans for the evening

Look at his eyes, Claudia.

Seriously, dear Readers…cover the bottom of Lurch’s face with your hand and look at it.  LOOK AT IT.

*sigh* Look at his face, not your hand. Work with me here, dammit.

Damn, Girl, you betta make like Chris Christie/Hillary Clinton and make plans to start running…

Pregnant Mandouche Says, "Where's The 'Sock?"

(notes from a post-coma hospital bed)

Gach…. HoHos!! Wherefore art thou HoHos?…

Alack! I have a vision!! Black Bikini Alyson offers the hope while Pregnant Mandouche offers the abyss… I must heal myself… with the power of prayer pear!!

Hermit's Scrapbook: The Truth About Bathsalts

Bath salts gained a bad reputation after last summer’s report of a deranged man shot by Miami police while making a meal out of some homeless dude’s face. Now I’m not opposed to consensual cannibalism but I was always taught better than to misuse a cleaning product.

What many don’t realize is that bath salts have been around for over a century and have many legitimate uses.

Take for example dear departed Grandmother Hermit. She was a strict Baptist and a member of the Steamfitter’s Union Local 353. Grandmother was righteous and upright, a woman of impeccable virtue. She would bristle at the telling of lies and tremble with rage at the utterance of profanity. Woe be to the child who dared use vulgarity in her presence.

I can still recall the horror of being bent roughly over the Kitchen Sink Altar as a sacrificial offering to the God who abhors filthy language.

The bitter taste of dirty hand soap forcibly shoved past my unclean lips in order to cleanse the palate of my iniquity.

The gagging and coughing as I gasped for breath between sharp rebukes and numbing blows to the side of my head from Grandmother’s swift and terrible hand of righteousness. Make no mistake, Grandma was the last person to use a product in any way other than how the Lord had intended.

Despite her charm, virtue and rock-solid strength, Grandmother had an Achilles heel along with bunions and Plantar fasciitis. To ease her aching feet she would spend her evenings sitting in the living room listening to The Lone Ranger on the radio with a bottle of Johnny Walker Red and a copy of Popular Mechanics across her lap, soaking her sore feet in a tub of warm water laced with Epsom Salts. The salts would soothe her aching bunions and cause pleasurable electrical sensations in her ankles and nipples.

– hermit

——–

Tragically Herp infects Velma and Blondie

Oh Bookish Velma and Blondie…your clue to avoid The Tragically Herp should have been his restraining odor…

Too Cool To Shower.

Andrew Douche Clay Hugs the Curves

Hickory Dickory Dock,

But her boots I’d love to knock.

The gauntlet has been thrown.  I declare this to be Limerick Tuesday.  If you think you can lower the bar more than me then click on the comments link and have at.  Son.  

Perhaps there is a douche / nottadouche subtext here as well?  I must admit…With this PompaDouche here, I can’t decide whether I want to mock him or drink beer with him.

Or both.  

And kudos to his brazen fondle of Kim Stackley’s perfect pelvic pooch, for she is verily stacked like a brick shithouse**.

**That’s high praise for a nice figure down here in the South. Don’t know how they say it in Canada.  Hosers.

Triplets

Three of these things are similar. Can you match them?

Put forth your hypotheses in the comments section. 2 points to Gryffindor to the best answer.