Around this girl, the rest of the world just appears to be shades of grey… not the shitty erotica book.
This guy is back from the future of fashion and modeling to tell us all that there is no hope. The future is littered with the ruins of the magazine industry, and the only appropriate accessory is a cane to help you walk through the post-apocalyptic landscape littered with anorexic, bone-lost skulls.
This girl certainly accomplished what she set out to do if it was “creating a gooey mess in a blogger’s underpants.”
If I’m ever put into a position to decide who lives and who dies on this planet, the very top of the “Who Dies” list is going to say, “That grown man with the pink polo shirt, oversized baseball cap, blue shorts and purple douche headphones draped around his neck.”
Are you frickin’ kidding me? I am neither a fan of smoking nor redheads, but you wear both like badges of “fuck you, guy who writes these things,” among other frills and boner-inducing quirks.
When Tammy and Rachel traveled back in time to their cherished shared memory of their blossoming BFF friendship, what they had really traveled back to was the genesis of a lifetime of bad fashion decisions.
Um… why are you even reading this? Get thee to a lotion bottle!
Bigger is not always better. Fake is never as good as real. Ladies, how would you feel if all men started walking around with 12-inch rubber dildos popping tents in their pants all day every day? You’d get the man home, unzip his pants and go, “Oh… I could’ve bought that.” That’s what fake breasts are. They’re disappointing, and when a woman goes overboard on the inflation, they’re the refusing-to-jiggle elephant in the room. Seriously, though, there’s no such thing as bad boobs. You’re welcome, guys. Have a good masturbate!
She clearly doesn’t give a fuck about what you’re seeing — only what she’s seeing, which right now is all blue, baby.
This is like when Prince performed at the Super Bowl and he stood behind a sheet so the silhouette of him and his guitar made it look like he had a gigantic demon penis — only this lacks any semblance of mystique, sex appeal or rebellion. You might as well be a guy on a street corner on your phone with a Guitar Hero guitar.
Any time your tit chasm (sorry) distracts from 8-inch earrings and a Sears windbreaker, you’ve been — what we call — blessed. Not getting greedy and propping those things up in some ridiculously reinforced brassiere or ill-conceived top and just letting them rest naturally is the pièce de résistance.
Hey, I’ve got a thing for Hispanic Catholic schoolgirls as much as the next guy, but I also have a thing for chocolate cake and wouldn’t want someone to take a piece and guide it all the way into my esophagus by hand.
Sometimes, you just have to ask yourself, “Could I have thought of that?” Answering, “No,” usually means it’s a YES. Answering, “My brain hurts,” means it’s definitely a YES.
I guess we should be happy these two found each other, sparing the rest of us their fuckery. Can you imagine seeing one of them walking down the road alone? It would be more depressing than Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road.”
[If that white, plastic watch isn’t the word of God, God never spoke. -Ed.]
I’m about to get inside your mind and change your opinion of this.
1. The watch 2. The mustache 3. The smile 4. He had to have retied that tie so many times until it was just the right length 5. “A well-tied tie is the first serious step in life.” -Oscar Wilde
Also, it’s a Charvet. Boom.
There gets to be a point where seduction become exhibitionism and it’s no longer anything more than you masturbating in public, and not in the kinky, discreet way — more like the “creepy sex offender laying it all out there in a park” way.
This is why people have made Christmas more about Santa Claus than Jesus. You can debase the character all you want and it just comes off as funny, no matter how horrible it really is. Who wants guilt during the holiday season?
Christmas is the absolute worst time of year because people like this, who think they’re fashionable and festive, take it upon themselves to combine the two things to make “Christmas fashions.” The result is pretty much always this — a gaunt, dead soul in red and green.
This guys knows his place. He’s a pig. A damned dirty pig. Oink, oink! Boink, boink! You’re going to roll around in his slop.
I know this all sounds terrifying, but he paints a very compelling picture when you talk to him about it.
There’s nothing sadder in this world than overestimated cup sizes. Your tits aren’t going to magically fill them one day. And I mean… aren’t you worried about birds nesting in there? Or dust mites? They’re probably bad for boobs, too.
I’ve affectionately titled this photo: “Dong pic.”
Sharing is caring, mother fucker! Nobody wants to share their soda with a dog, but you don’t have to be a dick about it, and you certainly don’t have to stiff-arm him in the face like you’re Michael Vick.
Uh… yes, please. That tiny piece of ass hanging out the bottom of those little athletic shorts is what would cause my eyes to bug out and my tongue to roll out of my mouth if I were a wolf in a cartoon.
I understand real women have curves, but real women don’t have inadequately repressed random bulges.
A human body pressed up against a wall is instantly 10 times sexier than a body that’s just standing under its own power. This is called the “We’re All Lazy Fucks in America” effect. It states: The strength of a man’s erection is inversely proportional to how upright a woman is.
Seduction pro tip: Don’t wear a leotard stuffed with two melons and pantomime pinching nipples while flicking out your tongue and saying, “Tit monster! Tit monster! Tit monster!” I know most of you already know this, but here we are.
If you’ve never had an orgasm that made your partner call 9-1-1, you’ve got some fucking to do, my friend.
OK, everyone has their own little quirks when it comes to the release of an orgasm, but stumbling out into the wilderness upon climax and going missing for a whole week is not going to get you many repeat customers.
This is so classy that one time Nick at Nite accidentally aired this photo in place of a Welcome Back, Kotter episode.
Women’s accessories have gotten out of control. Nobody notices your earrings. Nobody notices your shoes. Nobody notices your disco ball. How about spending that money on a date once in a while? That’s a nice accessory.
The one positive thing that’s come out of Jersey Shore is we now know who the women are who find guidos attractive. That means we can weed them out of society by pinning them down forever under their own personal guido, thus effectively eliminating both the guido and the guido sympathizer threats.
Nobody can tell anymore when someone is being serious or they’re mocking Jersey Shore. I think these girls are for serious.
1. Humans are not orange. 2. Duck face needs to stop. 3. Being a drunk, walking STD idiot should not be glamorized, monetized nor mocked. It should simply be ignored.
Contrary to popular belief, women did not invent blow jobs. This guy did. Meet Harold Johnson, or as he’s known in fellatio circles: “The Godfather of Suck.”
What is it that causes one’s eyes to roll around like those plastic googly eyes you used in arts & crafts in grade school when you’re given good oral? Whatever it is, it makes you look like you’ve never had your weewee near a girl before. Ew! Cooties!
I have this sneaking suspicion you're trying to be funny or clever or something... but that Yes/No post about trans women was just NOT. Good. At. All. The "yes" was iffy enough and rather 'WTF?' (gender role experts? wtf?). But that bottom "No" was just horrible and disgusting and anti-trans / transmisogynistic like woah. TRANS WOMEN =/= DECEIVERS. That is one of the worst, most oppressive tropes about trans women out there. Whatever you were aiming for, you missed. By a long shot.
Heterosexuals, your job is thus: make more people. That is the one thing in your life that you’re supposed to do. You win a Pulitzer or start a war, that’s great, but if you don’t spawn another person, then you’ve ultimately failed as a human. So, these people have the right idea. Social proprieties be damned, they’re just going to stick it in at every opportunity. These are incontrovertibly good humans.
Straight people go way too far out of their way sometimes to attract the opposite sex. You really don’t need to be super fit, limber or holistically healthy to make someone want to touch your area. Stop flexing your muscles and try just sexing your muscles every once in a while.
This is how far society has come. Less than two decades ago, you could barely say “gay” on television. Now, men’s eyelashes are butterfly wings. That’s progress.
Part of that progress is you don’t need to be loud and obnoxiously flamboyant to make sure everyone knows you’re gay anymore. Just maintain a celebrity blog and make death threats against bullies who harass gay children.
When you’re over 21 and still living with mom and pops, the mere prospect of them leaving you home alone overnight provokes an orgasmic response that the Rabbit vibrator you keep hidden in your “off-limits on cleaning day, mom!” drawer can’t match.
Mucking about is all well and good, but reminding your parents of just how retarded you turned out is rude and unnecessary when they’re already paying to keep a roof over your head well into your thirties.
no, the part where you called trans* women "guys" and said that they got breast implants only to confuse ""gender role experts"", and then said that having a penis and being a woman is a "no" :/ you can say ~~it's okay to be transgender~~ all you want, but youre clearly just an asshole.
You have no comprehension of how this blog is formatted or what the message of the post is. If you did, you’d understand that it supports openness of gender neutrality and indicts deception. Please take your hate elsewhere.