Hermit’s Scrapbook: “Liberation”
Here’s a little morose poetry from the great Hermit’s Scrapbook:
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Janet was determined not to follow the path her Mother had taken. Born out of wedlock, Janet was witness to Mother’s endless parade of lovers who grew progressively more sleazy and less wealthy in direct proportion to her advancing age and diminishing beauty. Janet’s own romantic life was a confusing jumble of hurried, backseat sex and promised phone calls that never came. The men who substituted for lovers in Janet’s life smelled of stale cigarettes and false bravado, rap music and chrome rims, court dates and ankle bracelets. The faint whiff of body odor breaching cheap deodorant.
Harvey was a frequent customer at the Quik-Stop where Janet worked. He was middle-aged and overweight and his pockmarked face was testament to some past battle with acne. He was shy and clumsy, but drove a new Audi which indicated steady employment and relative financial success. Janet secretly fantasized about the things she could buy with Harvey’s money and when he began his awkward flirtation Janet flirted back. After just a couple of dates he asked for her hand in marriage and young Janet pounced like a she-lion on a wounded zebra.
Janet’s newfound prosperity was nice, but as those who marry for money soon find out, it comes with a heavy price. The long weeks spent pretending. The tedious visits with his mother. The tacky wallpaper. The suppressed giggles from her friends. His propensity for cross-dressing. But, by far the worst, was Harvey’s foul breath blowing heavily into her face as he pressed his flabby bulk against her small, young frame during coitus. It was more excruciating than any poverty and sent her into soul-crushing despair.
When she finally informed Harvey that she was leaving it was as if the gates of a hellish prison had been flung wide open.
The crushing news, coupled with Janet’s unchecked exuberance, caused Harvey to promptly drown himself in the closest body of water, much to the horror of the miniature deep sea diver, the bubble-blowing clam and the assembled tropical fish.
GoDaddy Tongue Licks My Cheeseballs
Site was down all morning, thanks to the Ad Wizards at GoDaddy, who prefer to pay Danica Patrick to take off her clothes than actually provide working dedicated servers.
Which, come to think of it, is actually a logical decision.
But the site was down alls morning and now I’m cleaning up the detritus and getting ready for some more new-column shenangians.
In the meantime, enjoy the perfection of curvy-taut Carolyn on the right. I would pitch-step through a field of nuclear daisies just for the chance to fondler her bears in the woods.
Poo Party
And lo, when the Tri-Hott Bikini Hotts come together to grovel at the heart of Doucheness, then hark! the Hardyclowns will say “Yo.”
— The ‘Bag of Mormon
Jenn Pearwoman for the “win.” Although it’s a Pyrrhic victory. And by Pyrrhic, I mean doughy.
Ask The Reverend
Ladies and gentlemen, Ask The Reverend begins. God help us all:
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Q. Dear Reverend Chad, I have a friend who brags about his penis size on the internet. Like a lot. Is this normal? I think he’s insecure and overcompensating. How do I approach him about it without coming off sounding like a total dick?
A. Well my young Paduan, like Romulus said to Remus before the Persians conquered Constantinople. “Who are you to accuse me you prick?” I really seriously would not be concerned myself if someone did that. But if he really wants to prove his size, ask him for a naked baby picture if he had a big head he had big penis. The proportionality of penis size to brain size in something like AMin=Mout. This was figured after the almost disastrous birth of myself. The nurse thought I was a breach baby and they had to turn me around but the doctor looked closer and said it was my boner and not a leg. Thank you for your question CBN.
Q. paraphrased… You got two chicks to bang in a tavern of some sort.Sure thing pretty fatty or girl giving me the Mayan Eye of Coitus hotty. Do I take the bird in the hand or or try for the one with a two hole chance with no bush, chance of nothing too.
A. Well Ive always said you talk to the hot girl briefly, tell her your married, and if shes not in the mood for my porch beef, I would walk away as proudly as I had walked to her and bang the fatty in an abusive and disrespectful manner. ………… I had you fooled, man. If your single you do what I would do and bang the fatty if the soft touch on the hot was unsuccessful. If your married you can only go with the hot chick cause she would have accepted my answer in prose. You cant be married and f@#K a psycho stalker fat chick cause shell hunt you down Glenn Close style. That movie killed the whore industry for a decade. Screw off Glenn Close you cow. Man my wife better not find out about the hookers. Thanks for el questiano Mang. You ever get a problem with these things èèèèèèèèèéééé. We must be past the front page so Imma start swearing a litlle. Me and my ÈÈÈÈÈÈÈÈÈÈÈ. f@#K.
Q. paraphrased…….How do you get it all done and live such a cool life?
A: You hide a bunch of cash from the businesses you owned, but you pay most of your taxes but do some seriously questionable accounting things. You repent and send your wife to school and work. Ive only been at home for two years. I have significant holdings in the Dutch ( no repect) Antilles. So we move to our hometown and everythings cheaper. Her biz took off fast nut mine didnt. And its none of your freakin business anyway to make me betray my distrust in the universal banking system. And my wife is a wonderful peach who could never find out about chicks and shit. Gullible she is and I am very discreet. Like a spy sneaky. Move over Dan Morrison and James Bund Shes cool with the drugs and we plant Lennys outdoor clones in the forest behind the plantation du Kroeger. Rev Chad will be back to work soon, mid-life glory days over. But I did enjoy the doobs, drinking, hookers, and booze the last few years and will continue with the debauchery learned behavior patterns from my teens.
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Your Monday Morning Post Filler
Old Man Gabanzo and Inflata-Aryan Sue are alls I got while we wait for Rev. Chad to shake things up around here.
Hey, it beats having to sit through nine minutes of commercials to watch two minutes of crappy d-grade late 90s rom-com on basic cable.
Lookin’ at you, CMT Network. If that is your real name.
Collective HCwDB
For those of you who have been putzing around these holidays and had the temerity not to check in with HCwDB for the past few weeks, there’sa changes afoot in these here parts.
The douche mock is going multiperspectorial.
By this I mean some of the bestest and funniest of the regualrs in the comments threads will be contributing thoughts, rants, and assorted sundries on semi-regular and hopefully regular basis.
And of course I’ll still be mockin’ in true DB1 style.
Coming up shortly, the very first of the most anticipated column since construction began on the Parthenon, “Ask Rev. Chad.”
Party Douches
A lil’ trip down douchery lane…
Comment of the Week: Aristotle
“Anybody can become angry – that is easy. But to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way – that is not within everybody’s power and is not easy. Especially when the Sharkbag is macking on Tiny Mayan-Eye-of-Coitus Giggle Booble Fondles.”
– Aristotle
Friday Thoughts and Links
“Stingrays Aluvva thaa boobiesss!!!”
I have no idea why I picture a short, squat, Italian pizza man witnessing this event and proclaiming that sentence with pride.
But I do.
That’s my fantasy and I’m sticking to it.
Well, that and this dreamscape from last night.
It’s a brave new world here at HCwDB in 2013.
Anything can happen!
And by anything, it means your humb narrs sitting around in his living room, lying on his still-stained rug, scratching his crotch is vigorous vertical motions, enjoying a Yoplait yogurt, and watching Drew Carey sleepwalk through The Price is Right.
Here’s no Bob.
But few are.
Remember to spay and neuter your ‘bags.
Here’s your links:
Your HCwDB DVD Pick of the Week: “Knight jumps queen! Bishop jumps queen! Pawns jump queen! *Gangbang*!”
This geniusness gave me a Jewish Comedygasm. And have you tried getting borscht stains off of your pants? (done in Seinfeld voice)
Have a young daughter? Want to turn her into a Bleeth? Now there’s a kit!
Save the Horses! Sex and the Ponies?
Oompa Loompas wanted for crimes in the U.K. Joey Porsche wanted for questioning.
Okay, enough of my shenanigans. Have some Pear:
Or as I like to call it, Ups.
Friday Haiku
Look at his girl** and
fellatio handlebars!
**Her name? Lucy Furr.
Tying girls to tracks
is passe; Snidely Whiplash
now uses roofies
— Morbo
Handlebar mustache
Doesn’t distract from baldness
Or doucheness, either
— DoucheyWallnuts
Tell me friend have you
ever danced with the devil
and the pale bald guy?
— Chris Brown Note
She grew bright blue horns
Since the Gyroscope was put
In her Monkey Hole.
— The Reverend Chad Kroeger
