Eye Candy: Another Slutty Lindsay Lohan Photo Shoot

I think the reason this girl is forced to deflect so much flak is because she's slutty, dirty and not afraid to openly explore her sexuality. That and she makes no apologies for being who she is and what she does.

I -- along with thousands of other men -- salute her.

So Many Skanks, So Little Time

Here's and easy one:

How many skanky tramps does it take to give you whooping cough and a funny tickle in your nads? One. . .two. . .three. . .

And if any of these club rats belong to you, first let me say I'm sorry. Not for making fun of them -- they do that shit all on their own -- but for not being there for you when you needed it the most. Seriously, someone should have stopped you before you made that plunge.

Chester, Meet Chicks

How is it the people taking these pictures are never aware of the douche bag in the background until it's much too late. I mean does it never occur to the folks hitting the shutter button to, I don't know, assert a little tactical influence and divert said douche bag's attention elsewhere? For example:

"Uh, excuse me sir, but your creepy gaze and Teflon mustache are fucking up the shot. Would you mind stepping aside please?"

How hard was that?

One Giant Douche Bag & Mercy Killing

What you're about to read is a short story my younger brother recently conned me into writing for his college English course. I had 20 different topics to choose from, but as soon as I started reading his email the words "mercy killing" immediately jumped out at me. This is in no way a true story, but I wanted to share it with you fine folks anyway. Enjoy.

Oh, and by the way, the guy above is a total fucking choad. If you emulate him in any way, shape or form you deserve multiple whacks about the head and face with a sock stuffed with pool balls.

Have you ever known someone who was terminally ill? I have, and his name was Chuck. I met him while I was doing volunteer work at the local hospice, and to say he was comfortable with his situation would be an understatement. He used to joke about the timing of his illness being “priceless,” but for the life of me I could never figure out what he meant by that and could never work up enough courage to ask. Some things are better left unsaid, know what I mean? He didn’t have any family to come visit him because he had made some mistakes earlier in his life, but if he wouldn’t have offered up that little bit of information to me during one of our visits I never would have asked about that either. Anyway, if you would have asked about my stance on assisted suicide—or euthanasia for the purists of the world— before I met Chuck I would have told you it was an inhumane and disgusting way for someone to die. I would have said euthanasia was for dogs that have bitten the hands that fed them one too many times and that anyone on the pro side of killing a human being because things got a little too difficult to bear was someone who needed a stiff karate chop to the throat. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Only four jurisdictions in the entire world have laws on the books allowing the killing of people out of mercy: Oregon, Washington, the Netherlands and Belgium. Oregon and Washington have both passed laws permitting assisted suicide, while Belgium and the Netherlands allow assisted suicide as well as euthanasia. Switzerland, on the other hand, says it’s illegal to kill someone out of mercy on their soil but only if it’s done out of “selfish motives.” What those motives could be remain unclear, but one has to think they might have something to do with money.

Now, if you’re like me you’re asking yourself what the difference between assisted suicide and euthanasia could be. I mean they both garner the same result in the end, so what could possibly separate one act from another. Well, much like the fine print on your cell phone contract—you read that don’t you?—it’s all in the wording.

The easiest—and most straightforward—way to determine the difference between the two deadly acts is to look at how death occurred, or if you’re in the mood for technical jargon, the act without which death would not occur. For example, if someone administers a lethal injection or slaps a plastic bag over a dying man’s head that would technically be considered euthanasia. On the other hand if the person who is dying performs the final act, like swallowing a handful of pills or shooting themselves in the head, and another person allows it to happen then assisted suicide would be the judgment. It’s a slippery slope, but in the end it doesn’t really matter.

So what about Chuck? Well as I have said, he was quite the character. Toward the end I would sit with him and listen as he waxed philosophical about his condition. He never let himself slip into the realm of self-pity, but I could tell that somewhere inside he wished things were a little different. I mean who wouldn’t right? I know if I were lying in a hospital bed with cords and wires protruding from my body the wellspring of regrets would be overflowing, but Chuck never allowed me—or anyone else for that matter—to feel sorry for him.

One day, as we were in the midst of one of our conversations about all things trivial, he sprung The Question on me. He asked, in all sincerity, if he were to try and kill himself if I’d try to stop him. I told him yes, as a matter of fact I would, because I enjoyed his company and thought he deserved to have someone with him during this tough time. He let out a chuckle at this, touched my hand and told me I had already done enough. It struck me as odd, because to me enough was on the other side of impossible while you were lying in the bed you knew you were going to take your last breath in, but he simply winked at me and said that one word again. Enough.

After our visit ended that day I never went back. It was hard not to go, but I told myself he would have wanted it that way and I was all right with that. Chuck died in his sleep two days later. I like to think I made it easier for him to let go.

Gay Or Straight Douche

Granted, this guy could easily be gay, but any time you throw a fucking peace sign in a photo you immediately cross over into the realm of the douche. That ridiculous face doesn't do him any favors either.

3 Girls, 1 Ridiculous Wrist Band

If you can divert your attention away from the nipple playing peek-a-boo from beneath that girl's bra -- I bet she's fun at parties -- then I'm sure you've already noticed the stylin' wrist band Pauly Ballbag is sporting.

And I have $10 on him putting the entire photo session on hold while he actually searched for that fucking thing. Any takers?

His Mother Must Love Him

You know what makes me laugh the most about this picture. No, it's not the waxed chest or that totally fucking fem coat Choad the Wet Sprocket is wearing. It's the cute little nick-nacks in the background. Let's see, we have a nice hand-crafted wreath on the wall there. And, oh look, a cute little arrangement just above that. And, wait, what's that hanging above his head? Are those. . .balls?

Jesus, only a total chooch would be able to get teabagged by his own mother's decorations.

H/T to Phil for the pic.

The Fun Never Stops

This guy is such a meat bag even the girl is rethinking her decision to be seen in the picture with him. Look at her face. That's not a look of affection or even contentment; that's a look that says "If this dickhead even looks at me my tits will explode."

I'm serious. Look at her face.

Heavy D-Bag feat. Lita Ford

First let me just say that the woman seen with tons-of-choad up there isn't really Lita Ford; it's just some random broad with a ridiculous coif. Second -- and this is where the awesome lives -- I'd just like to direct your attention to Heavy's hairdo. That's the kind of shit to write home about.

Dear mom,

High mom. How r u? I m fine. Tnks 4 tha kookies. Dey wer verry yummy. Did u notice i lernd to spelllllllllll yummy? I m having lots of frinds and good time. I wuld rite more but my hayer neds ta b warshed. C u soon.

Luv Hevvy

Hi Mom! A Douche Bag Date-Raped Me!

You know what really frightens me about this image? It doesn't startle me in a "holy shit, that girl has a dick" kind of way or even scare me in a "holy shit, that girl with a dick wants to use it on me!" kind of way. Oh no, what I'm talking about is much more bone-chilling than either of those scenarios.

What really frightens me about the above image is that bipedal ball bag surrounded by baguettes is the kind of guy that gets put in a position of power when he gets older. What kind of position you ask? Does it matter? The kind of position should be of zero importance to you; what should be of major fucking importance is the fact that you are probably taking orders from his kind on a daily basis.

Whether you're a cop, a paralegal, a truck driver or the mumbling knuckle-dragger responsible for stocking the shelves at Walmart -- or is it Wal-Mart? -- you are all, in all likelihood and in your own special way, being told what to do by someone who wore skin-tight t-shirts and ended all his sentences with "bro" all throughout his high school and college days.

Sleep tight.

20 Signs You're Dating a Big, Flapping Douche Bag

Ladies, for the most part, are able to discern a normal guy from a self-absorbed ball bag. Normal guys are, well, normal and douche bags sport straight-brimmed trucker hats and put rims on their Ford Festiva. It's not exactly percentages and algorithms I'm talking about here.

But every once in a while the human equivalent of HIV is able to infect a woman's life. He smooth talks his way into her panties and before she knows what's happening to her he has his own key to her apartment and is choking the life out of her with his purple wife beater. I've seen it happen a hundred times and it never gets any less sad.

But never fear girls, your humble blogger is here to offer up a few ways in which you can protect yourself. Think if it as rape prevention for your soul.

The 20 signs you're dating a big, flapping douche bag -- once again with visual aids -- are:

20. He spends more time having mental sex with himself than having physical sex with you.


19. He takes more bubble baths than you and thinks he's Tony Montana from Scarface.


18. He's more proud of his ridiculous tattoos than he is of you. He also has tattoos in the most feminine spots but will invariably become angry if anyone points them out.


17. You're dating this guy.


16. He constantly reminds you of how much ass he got before he met you, the size and shape of said ass and how many one-night stands he had.


15. When you go out he makes you pay for everything because he "forgot his wallet" or some other lame ass excuse for not picking up the tab. Either that or he simply refuses to pay because "that's the way it should be."


14. His mother still gives him money, does his laundry or pays his bills. She also swoons over him like he's still a child and still calls him by his childhood nickname. He, in turn, thinks his mother is an idiot and he talks shit about her behind her back.


13. He incessantly points out other hot women to you and brags how easy they'd be for him to fuck.


12. He insists on reminding you of how tough he is yet he shrieks like a girl at the sight of spiders, snakes or any other form of creepy-crawly. I recommend putting a snake inside his pillow, but make sure you catch his reaction on camera.


11. Anyone not like him is considered "a fag" or "gay."


10. He still talks to his skanky ex-girlfriend because they have "been through a lot" and any time you bring her up he flips it around and accuses you of cheating on him.


9. He threatens to kick any guy's ass seen talking to you, looking at you or smiling in your general direction. He'll also threaten to kick your ass if you make light if his maladjusted nonsense.


8. He has a 10-year-old's sense of humor and anyone not in sync with his childish antics is either "a fag" or "gay."


7. He thinks all the UFC fighters are "pussies" but the mere sight of blood on TV makes him nauseous. Test this yourself by confronting him with a used tampon.


6. He gets obnoxiously drunk when you go to the bar, gets manhandled by the bouncers for insulting the waitress and then blames you for not cutting him off.


5. He fancies himself a hard ass but threatens to kill himself if you ever leave him. This you should do immediately in an effort to rid the world of one more walking canker sore.


4. He corrects everything you do but blames his own shortcomings on someone or something else. You can test this on your own by buying a new shelf or computer desk and asking him to put it together. Make sure you're out of range when the inevitable object-chucking tantrum begins.


3. He belittles your hobbies and interests or anything else not directly involving him. If you do involve him in one of your hobbies and he's too fucking stupid to get it right then he'll immediately say that it's "gay."


2. Everything he has ever accomplished is greatly exaggerated and everything you've ever accomplished is considered inferior. He'll also have a story to top any you tell and thinks everything he does is unique. In short he's a total fucking tool.


And the number one sign you're dating a big, flapping douche bag is:

1. He puts his hands on you in a physical manner at any time. Ever. If he ever does hit you then you should feel no compunction with grabbing a pair of scissors and removing his tiny little balls from his body while he sleeps.

My Dog Ate My Homework Douche

Jesus Christ on a dyke, was high school always this bad? I've vaporized a few brain cells since I wandered the halls of good old Edsel Ford -- and on more than one occasion while wandering the halls of good old Edsel Ford -- but I don't remember ever running into a walking ball sack such as this.

Listen kids, contrary to what you believe you're never going to appear to be a tough guy with a fucking bakcpack -- with chest strap -- secured to your body. No one, not even the biggest nerd in school, is going to scamper away in fright at the sight of Jim Henson's version of Eminem. If you really want to scare people try dropping the bookbag and picking up an Uzi.

Works every time.

Tower, This Is Ghostrider Requesting a Fly-By

Negative Ghostrider, you're a fucking choad wearing a trucker hat. Drop off your cute little girlfriend so all the boys can have a go at her and then take your ass back to 1986 and audition for the part of "Guy That Gets Lost On His Way to the Shitter."

Over and out douche bag.

No Thanks Baby, I Like It Raw

You know, I can't really tell if this broad is purposely doing that with her lips in an effort to emulate what her friends have assured her is "sexy" or if she's just spent so much time in the tanning salon soaking up UV rays that her face is now perpetually baked into the universal sign of the douche. I'm inclined to think the latter.