The tires on the Econoline clung to the edge of our fourth hairpin turn along a narrow two-lane road. A volley of loose gravel and sizzling rubber were spat from the wheel wells to their deaths on the rock-strewn shores in the darkness far, far beneath us. My clammy fists clutched the stitching of my denim trousers as I stared at the oncoming raindrops through the cracked and foggy windshield before me. Queasiness began to overwhelm my senses as the foul odor of nicotine, stale Cheetos and moldy bean dip rudely mixed with the partially digested arugula and pulled pork that sloshed in a sea of distilled agave within my stomach. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled and a flash of light illuminated a Pacific Ocean hell bent on winning its audition for the remake of Victory at Sea.

Behind me, neoprene rollers pinched a purposely placed Chuck E’ Cheese receipt; dragging it down to be caught in the shiny teeth of the serrated cutting wheels, where it was ribbon-sliced into eighth-inch strips. Horizontal scissor-arms snipped with tiny chirping sounds, shearing the ribbon ends into fine confetti before they fell onto the rubbish lined floor boards. My perplexity compounded. “A fully functioning, battery charged shredder in a van?” I silently questioned as we hurdled around another elbow in the road. But the steady surge of beating bass drums in my temples prevented any further query.

Strangely, I hadn’t the strength, or courage to summon a glance towards the hulking shadow piloting the vehicle. Something deeply embedded in my oscillating psyche kept torturing my curiosity. Then, with one brief flash of radiance across the sky and a veiled glimpse at the reflection in the windshield; I beheld, as it were…

She¹ appeared like the apparition of a monolithic edifice to Mount Fuji. Her heavily-jowled face was resolute. The upper lip was beaded with small drops of perspiration that glistened ominously with each retina-searing bolt of ocean-bound electricity. The wrinkles cascading from her tightly screwed brow told the story of eighty calloused years of toil on this forsaken planet; yet her lone remaining eye had seen so much more. Each jowl loosely fortified a mutton-shaped neck that was honed, no doubt, from limitless hours of speed-shoveling prolific provisions into her aggressively salivating and masticating mass-disposal system. And her arms. Her arms mimicked a terrain… a terrain riddled with miniature mountain ranges of follicle unchallenged moles; somewhat resembling the surface of an enormous half-melted golf ball, as they spread forth their doughy wings and blotted out the rest of her swollen carcass. As the light receded, her leathery mitts began to flex as they clung to the shuddering steering wheel while the van hydroplaned through another pothole along the rapidly narrowing road.

Suddenly, the ear splitting sound of melting drum brakes and skidding tires on loose asphalt rattled truth down my spine. The van lurched to a belching and bleating halt in front of a silhouetted mass of ancient structures. A subsiding glimmer of light from the horizon briefly unveiled a graveyard that was under the vigilant scrutiny of a towering steeple.

Startled at the grave implications, I noticed my chin had begun quivering and my toes were reaching the final stages of their death curl. Terrified but powerless, I glanced downward and realized my jeans had migrated to my knees. My seat was perilously close to unbinding itself as my right arm ping ponged like a speeding locomotive with my hand clutched firmly around my taut manhood. This abominable sight caused a momentarily lapse of consciousness as my face flushed like a Cardinal in cardiac arrest. Struggling for rational thought, I fought to bring my heavy breathing and guttural groans to a manageable level. My heart continued at a hummingbird’s pace, but my breathing soon became a secondary concern; for my eyes had just noticed the milky white substance, spackled to the inside of the windshield, that was slowly forming animate stalactites, then freefalling into a burgeoning pool that was beginning to drown the quivering dashboard confessional.

”Get out,” barked the commanding menthol-masked voice of my driver. I swiftly worked to cover my exposed lap before shutting my eyes in a vain attempt to refocus and wake myself from this inexhaustible nightmare. For a surety, I had no desire to exit the van. But my choice was made for me when the door swung agape, to a sea of tombstones. Indeed, an ominous omen of the horrors my weary eyes would soon witness…


¹(All inferences to Plinky’s mom are done so at your own risk. The author of this passage takes no further responsibility for any such actions.)
 

I'm going to have to read Crucial's goodness on the train ride home.

That said, I'm done with work, and the chick in this pic is fantastic...from the neck down.
 

As it nears 5pm in the best state of America(a drunken stupor), I bid you all a good weekend. If I post on here again, I'll be drunk as potatoes. Hopefully I can wash "bunk" out of my mind with a forty or two of Colt 45. Yes I drink that. Yes I love it. Get off my ass.
 

The link to Wrath di Khan was good, but right after that they did a take off of Clash of the Tiitans "Perseus:Monster Truck" It was hilarious!
 

Oh Kettlehead. Doesn't he ever feel stupid standing in front of the mirror, unbuttoning his shirt and checking to make sure the sight of his shaved chest will cause the desired effect?
 

Why can't Crucial Head be my anonymous stalker? {sigh}
I ask not in vain but for the good of this website.


Ok my semi-Latino friend, I can take my bitch-slap like a man and laugh it off, or ...
 

Great sampling, DB1, I'll need some time to digest them, each and every one.

That's no squirrel, it's just a piece of head stuck on a piece of tail. Minus the nuts, for the time being.
 

the videos aren't available in Canada.

Reason #73452 why America sucks.
 

Gone Country 3.

My prediction:

Grieco falls for Tara Connor and makes advances. George Clinton has way more game. WAY more. Being a dipshit beauty queen she is swayed into thinking George Clinton is Barry White or Isaac Hayes which to her is one and he same, a sexy old black guy with romantic music chops.

Clinton cozies up and Grieco, who thinks all gals are his until discarded, snaps one of his three remaining brain cells and goes bat shit bonkers.

Clinton does her in Grieco's trailer while Grieco is in the make up room ( about a 3 hour ordeal just to make him look half-simian at best).

Taylor Dane comes in hot off of a cocaine induced bender and believes that George Clinton is BILL Clinton and she offers to Monica his Presidential staff.

Clinton, getting more ass than he has in years decides to join Big And Rich on their next tour, displacing Cowboy Troy ( the worst fucking idea for an act ever, rapping country ) and turning millions of hayseed fatboys going commando under their overalls to bring them his wimmin'.


Clinton wins the Gubernatorial election in Arkansas in 2010.





You heard it here first.
 

Oh my god -- that pink monstrosity of the Blowfish will haunt my dreams.

Who would take the time to make that? In Felt no less.

Well, at least he's not Orange.....
 

Yeah but what about this moron's sandals? Are those of the orthopedic variety? Why would someone buy white sandals in general? Footwear like that is all I need for my judgment that he should be killed.

-Parker Lewis Cant Douche
 

ugh! enough of kettlehead... a substandard douche at best. why DB1? I'm sorry about "that ass" thing... now stop already! & xenu to boot, I'm gonna strap my laptop to my surf racks & drive thru the coin operated car wash now.... fucker!
 

Oh, Troy, really.

I'm here in the States, and you think I'm OK, right? I know you didn't like me dumping you for Matt, but you were right and he was a dick and by the time I dumped him, you moved to California.

Alls to say, I'm not going to be home tonight. Me and Suzanne's step-mom are getting together for a pizza and beer girls night out with some friends. Call me this week end. I should be around.

And don't be so hard on Americans - you were born here too ya dork.

And to the rest of the bunch here:

I think Crucials cool, I think I could be Chupacabras neighbor if she lived in Maryland, and Ashfish - you're my kind of gal. Medusa reminds me of myself, if I was kinky. And to all the other women here - don't let these guys push you around or try anything. Feel free to make 'em cry.

Me and Troy were a number once - a long time ago. He's a good guy. Crazy as shit. but a good guy. I'm one of the few people who can out talk him.

Maybe I'll tell some stories about him. I come here about once every other day or so. There's a lot to read, and its funny stuff - you all are a crazy bunch.

xxoo

Aqua
 

I'm waiting to do my pilates to Crucial's mock on tape series.

...in the meantime, I'm gonna listen to some John Meyer, seduce Chelsy Davy, take her to the museum to see some fine art like Cymon and Iphigenia, and the Blowfish, go shopping for Kettlehead costumes for this halloween, and amuse ourselves by throwing everlasting gobstoppers to squirrels before seeing the Wrath di Khan at the old opry house.

Thanks DB1, what a date that was!...now I have to treat my nads for orange crabs, thanks Chelsy...
 

@Aqua Marina

...hmm...you're kinda cute...single? Wanna get a beer and maybe some pizza? I prefer my anchovies on the side. Next to my lamb fries.
 

Kettlehead is proving to have the consistency of the legendary Peaches.
 

anything from Adult Swim is generally worth watching. i need not actually be able to watch them to know that. and that is the only positive development of this Friday T&L session. sigh.
 

Kettlehead's eyebrow is just taunting us now.
 

Xenu, you don't really have to douche it up when the object of your desire's claim to fame is playing spoo tureen #4 in Cum up my Nostrils 37. Her expectations aren't that high.
 

I’m spent. I wrote some juvenile haikus, knocked out a few at the Ŝämúrǽ S©röte thread, and continued my harrowing tales with a rotund being that may, or may not, have something to do with Plinky’s mom.

Time to start properly hydrating myself for Super Bowl weekend. Let’s just say that Biblical proportions will be an understatement for the amount of alcohol to be consumed at the Crucial household on game day. Gonna be so hungover Monday morning, I’ll be voting for Yelnick McWaWa for HCwDB of the month.

Have a totally awesome and stupendously radical weekend everyone. May all of you score big in your office pools on Sunday evening.

¡Viva fútbol Americano!
 

Thank you, Crucial, for that epic splinter in my mind's eye.

I got a c-note riding in our office pool.
 

And to be fair to the Brit Chick; hell, I could stand in a gaggle of Limeys and look orange.

But she is indeed orange.

Just sayin; next to J. Porshe she'd look, er, British.
 

Damn! You Brits have it rough! You end up with a busted chick even if you're fucking royalty!
 

@Douchebag in the pic: A dictionary called. It wants its definition of "poo" back.
 

Ok, I finally understand Xenu. He's the DJ at the strip club, and all the girls he's with are the dancers. The world makes sense again.

@Aqua Marina

Aww, thank you. Making boys cry is one of my favorite past times. No seriously, you should have seen me on the elementary school playground. That's what you get for teasing a porky chick damnit.

It's 3:30, I'm finally off work - three and a half hours late thank you very much, and on my way to being drunk. Whoo hoo! Tax season can suck a fucking nut.

I would have thought being a prince and all would bag you some pretty hot chicks, not that she isn't attractive, just not the kind of girl I pictured a prince going out with.

Gone...Country? What in the hell spawned this cesspool of steaming fecal matter? This is why people who have cars on cinder blocks in their front yard shouldn't be allowed to own tv shows.

I think I saw Samurai Scrote's face in the Pop Art version of The Blowfish. Does that mean I have a week left to live now? Fuck.

John Mayer should be pegged as a terrorist to human decency. Which homeland security office do I need to contact to make that happen?

Kettlehead, oh Kettlehead. You remind me of my fruity exboyfriend who couldn't figure out if he was gay, straight, or bi. Please, do the world a favor and become asexual. I'm sure you will spawn the anti-christ. You have enough devils around you in the picture for it. Take Kettle here, make his whole head that shitty orange color from a bad bleach job, add about 25lbs and 5" in height, and you've got him pegged. In fact, I'd dare say he had a picture like this, only he was in a dress. Yeah, THAT should have been my first clue that relationship was gonna be fucked.

At least the Le Wrath di Khan was the last link I looked at. It redeemed the rest.
 

I just figured out that if we want to drink on Sunday for the 'bowl action, we have to get that shit tomorrow. Then sit on it for an entire day. Yay Georgia! Thanks for not letting me buy beer on Sunday! That should really cut down on the drunk driving.

And yes, I did just figure out how to work the italics this week.
 

No amount of showering is going to clean that blond's couter canal out. And what the FUCK is on Xenu's feet? They're like...gayer Crocs. Didn't even know that could happen...Fuck Xenu!

And hello to our new bag huntress Aqua Marina. And by hello I mean don't post any pictures of yourself, or the guys here will start drooling.
 

*cooter canal that is. I'm not sure why I thought *cooter would have a u.
 

How many poorly aimed loads ended up leggy Peggy's hair that night? The world may never know.

No wonder they're in the shower. She needs a rinse. And he needs to throw down some scratch to finish those tats.
 

Crucial:

That was REALLY well written.

Lovely stuff.

Do 250 pages of that and call it a book. You'll be famous. No lie. I know my brake fluid and that's the real deal.
 

Aqua:

Yes, yes, yes. All true. I was just feeling pissy, afterall, why should I care what paranoid fantasies corporate America goes through to justify the errant nonsensical horseshit of not permitting videos to play outside the USA?

The irony? The Americans jump all over China for limiting what gets in, but they turn a blind eye to their own country what limits what gets out. China does it for the reasons Goering defended fascism: "defence of the nation", "Defence of the revolution", etc.

But America? "Defence of our bottom line." It's like I told you back in 87, when we had lunch on the grass in Farragut Square: The difference between the Soviets and the Americans: "The Soviets have old white men in grey suits who run the government which controls industry. In the USA, there are old white men in grey suits who run the industries that control the government. In either case, it's a bunch of old white men in grey suits who run things."

But who gets burned in the process? Everybody else.

I hope you had fun with Linda tonight. Give her my regards.

And, yes, I will fess up - me and Aqua were a number back in the late 80s. I loved her, she... not so much with me. However, I was batshit crazy. Still am, babycakes.

And no, you can't out talk me, I just let you. Why? Because I really like the sound of your voice. No shit. (Aqua has a very nice voice - low to middle range, soft and slightly nasal.) That and your hair. You always had awesome hair. Is it to your waist again? Or at the bottom of your shoulderblades like when we last met - what - 4 years ago? Or was it 5? You DO resemble Aqua Marina in that regard...

I'm not interested in discussing Matt - we've been over that stretch of broken road way too many times. I know you hate him, but that's no reason to always talk about him.

And about telling stories about me? Please don't. I like telling my own stories, and you know I'm mostly shameless and am willing to tell most any story of my life to anyone who will listen. I don't need you making up crazy embellishments of what is likely already crazy nonsense. Besides, I have PLENTY of really fucked up crazy stories on you, so why don't we just NOT do that, eh?

I look forward to talking with you tomorrow, so we can take this offline...
 

As I sip on a cup of Yellowtail, I ponder this douche's choice of footwear. I think I had a pair of those when I was 5. Blame my mother. Obviously, he is suffering the same plight as a 42 year old man. Is it that bad Xenu?
 

@ Troy -

Bogart, Sinatra and Grant - during that cool sepia-tinged riff - breifly stopped spinning like tattered leathery lathes in their sad moist graves.
 

From the pic, he's writing his golf score down on her ass, Dig...
 

By The Way .......................



The Loop Gal seen here recently, April Rose Haydock, is the "2008 Maxim Magazine Hometown Hottie" .

Now , you and I both know that Maxim stopped being funny a few years ago and they couldn't snap a flattering photo with a gun held to their heads but this gal is smoking, Bleeth or not.

Her My Space has a LOT verrrry nice photos including blondes!





Remember to lock the bathroom door on this one .....
 

....thinking unpure thoughts about this hott

a trophy wife in the making

somewhere out there, a budding Radiologist is preparing a comfy lifestyle for her...

Pr-enup required....
 

if this photo is colored then i wouldn't even have a cock to masturbate with because it would just explode. yowza!

but yeah. i saw Loop de Poop in the making for 2009 Most Expensive First Date Hott ever since... this Wednesday's limerick thread.
 

and Professor Troy Tempest, no matter how batshit crazy you are, i will always think of you as an innocent looking family man. yep yep. family man. :D
 

Douchebag1! The Millais is a new layer of funny! tyvm
 

I don't think you can buy any footwear gayer than those mandals. How could a man see those and think they'd be a good purchase. Jeez, I'm gonna blow my brains out.
 

"(and lets just pretend George Clinton was not in that clip)"

Sorry DB1, but if he consented to be on a cheesy "reality" show with the other wanks.....I mean, with Grieco and Justin Guarini.....he's lost.
 

Nothing says masculine like a guy in capris.
 

Kettlehead's Halloween picture is a perfect example of the cheerleader effect. A group of girls that seem attractive at the first passing glance, but upon closer analysis one realizes that none would be worthy of taking to bed-even if that bed were a futon mattress on the floor of a flop house.
 

SteveLs wrote:

Steve L. said...

and Professor Troy Tempest, no matter how batshit crazy you are, i will always think of you as an innocent looking family man. yep yep. family man. :D

In many many many ways I basically am. Not so innocent, really, but certainly "just a guy with a fambly".
 

Yep. It's official, that Gone Country was even conceived and greenlit is the clusterfuck that ushered in the Apocalypse.
 

This hottie in the pic with Xenu is melting my face off. Nicely done.
 

XENU here is a Dogpatch Schmoo in outre-pose.

DAISY MAE inhabits another perspective with her feet several inches higher than XENU's, an odd effect of wearing high heels with thick disappearing soles, while he poses with a true vanishing point arrangement of clodhoppers.

Her hand is just in the wrong place, terribly wrong, and his expression agrees.

The strange aura of art moderne as they pose in an "unwet wet set" makes me want to find the shower knob, turn it on as fast as possible, and see if they wash away downstream with all the other poo.

That, or do a wet tee-shirt bare-down strip.
 

This comment has been removed by the author.
 

by the way about Ms. Loop de Poop... i recall when her first pic was posted on HCwDB we were all speculating about her MILFiness and so on. but her MySpace page (courtesy of Vin Douchal) says she's 26. if she looked like that when she's 26 then she's still pretty hot. but it also means she's aging faster than she should be. creepy.

(her Maxim pics are perfection of course, presumably because of makeup and all that)
 

@Troy, you make some good points. Yeah, corporate USA in general has their heads up their arses, laying off thousands of jobs to move more shares of their stocks to make the wealthy few more wealthy, sending jobs overseas, and billing themselves as "American" companies even when reality is they intentionally push the manufacture of their goods to China, yeah, I'm looking at you Wallyworld. But the whole blocking of videos outside the borders makes no sense, but I'm sure it comes down to greed, sadly something that most Americans covet/are good at.

But I digress, The Greico stain appearith, why oh why!

And Mayer maybe be a douche, but he's hella talented douche who can meat pole any chick he wants, the latter may keep him in the "so what he's a bag" but the former, you can't/won't/don't see most any other bags on here, so I for one, considering he can play the shit out of guitar, don't quite consider him a total bag, to be a bag you have to have no discernible talent, see "Greico," who, sadly, went to school near me, he's from podunk Watertown, New York. He was a douche in high school, he's a douche now.
 

Sorry, ImageWrangler, having talent does not automatically earn nottadouche.


He may garner a few "wows" while playing that Strat ( see: 2004 Crossorads Festival version of City Love ), but he's perhaps the biggest target of Db1's celebrity douche obsession.

Don't try to win that arguement around here, I've tried. True, he's no Brett Michaels, a shitheel that's very essence screams "do-hoo-hoosh-bag" , but he earns the scorn well, like say, A-Rod.
 

Here is the text that accompanies the link of mine DB1 posted under "Reader The Douchefather notes that HCwDB can be seen in the work of British pre-Raphaelite painter John Everett Millais (1829-1896)"


Here's a painting by British pre-Raphaelite John Everett Millais (1829-1896) depicting "Cymon and Iphigenia". To quote Millais scholar M. H. Spielmann , " Cymon, a rollicking rustic (19th century speak for Douchebag), newly-awakened to the charms of womanhood, is leading the fair maid - little "asham'd of such a guide" - in a riotous dance."

Millais's source was a poem by the 17th century English poet John Dryden. The poem described the love of the aristocratic but boorish Cymon, who had been banished by his family to live in the country as a rustic, for the distant and refined Iphigenia.
Sound familiar? Throw a cocked Hardy-Hat and a wallet chain on Cymon and we're looking at Jimmy Thongbiter spending another Thursday night at Clubb Synn
 

What roman museum did he rob to get those sandals?
 

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Steelers World Champions!
 

WTF with Kettlehead? is it me or the ones in costume look really underage?.... geez that's 10 kinds of wrong.... :/

Gus von Douche
 

Robot Chicken is one of my all time favorite shows.

See also: Two Kirks, A Khan, And A Pizza Place

-Wop
 

i bet this guy didn't have a mirror when he was dressing. i have him as top three worst dooch offenders! that girl is beat down also. I will call this dooch chicken leg McDooch