Sunday, January 27, 2013

Attractive, Hot Single Ladies 11

You guys either start calling up to take out our ladies, of we loosen their chain and they can come visit you whenever they want!

This beauty likes to keep her figure by dancing, glowing, and keeping a well-balanced meal of souls.  She's perfect for anybody that loves ballet, hot bodies, and the clacking of gum-less chompers.

She's looking for a man and loves to boogie, but isn't necessarily a bogeyman.  [Editors note: We told her not to use that joke on her form, but she threatened to curse us with icky dry mouth and frankly we've got a huge back-stock of ladies -- some even come with coffin -- and we'll do about anything to push one of these off on a poor unsuspecting sucker find everlasting love.]

Give us a call and let this lovely creature dance into your heart, usually straight through the rib cage.

Likes: Whitening toothpaste, applied over entire face
Dislikes: People storing nick-nacks in her eye sockets

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Spooey's Worthless Q&A 3

Returning from a long absence that involved restraining orders from two pygmy marmosets, an 18th century portrait of a milk woman in her fancy shoes, a light post, and his own left wing, Spooey gives out more advice that should only be followed by absolutely nobody at all.

Dear Spooey,

I got some email today, and I have one question:

Should I renew my passport?

Thanks, Don In Duluth


Dear Don In Duluth,

Picking a Russian woman can be hard.  Here are the rules I follow:

1. You need to make sure you have the widest selection to choose from: prostitutes, sluts, girls, whores, virgins, and bitches.

Well, you've got that covered!

2. You need to be sure they are interested.  Do they want to meet you?  That's a good start.  How about chatting?  Even better!  Sucking, well, that's a bonus!  Some even want to cune for you.  I'm not sure what that is, but it's got to be great -- it rhymes with fun!

3. Be warned: Prostitute slut whore virgin bitch girls can take a lot out of a man, so a steady supply of Canadian Viagra is a must.  The warm syrup center really makes the pills go down easy!

I do want to warn you, while this all looks to be on the up-and-up, don't trust Pablo Hanna.  I don't think somebody named Pablo knows a lot about Russia virgin cune-hungry bitches.


Friday, January 18, 2013


I regretted starting "Playboy Month" the moment I did it, and I regret it even more after sitting through this slimy pile of 80s movie tropes viscus.  Staring Playboy bunnies, a Thurston Howell III imitator, and the boom mic (or at least I hope that's what it is, it's long and meaty and appears at inopportune times), this Playboy production stretches the limits of comedy until it snaps back and permanently mars your face.

And here I thought I rented Pound Puppies: The Movie.

This T&A film is actually just a T film unless you think the A stands for asinine.  It's wall to wall boobs with nary a butt to be found.  I've watched enough of these to know this is original, and that's either an exciting development in my cognitive abilities or just an utterly sad footnote on the facts rumbling around in my head.

This film is actually a stunning treatise on class warfare, where the well-to-do are uptight, cold bitches and the down-on-their-luck are wild, fun party girls.  It's a modern existential film with strong undertones filled with many well developed characters and their boobs.  It's follows in the footsteps of Equus, just, you know, without the horse.

There, my existential philosophy class in college finally paid dividends!

The Romney family's annual sweater inspection.

Professor Plot Exposition™ lays out the basic plot.  Our three heroes are failing college, which means they will lose control of the family fortune of really bad jokes and pratfalls.  One of them is doing an imitation of Thurston Howell III, and the others are actually attempting to act.

They are all wearing sweaters.  Preppies, everyone!

Hey, James Dean, get out of the shot!

Here's our villain, who the movie promptly forgets after this scene because, damn it, we emptied the Playboy mansion to shot this and nobody wants to see this guy chew scenery.  His evil plot is to ruin our heroes studying so they fail the final exam so he gets the family fortune of comical clacking teeth.

His accomplice is Senior Dirty Italian Groundskeeper™, in another brilliant win for racial diversity in movies.  I might have used the wrong word.  Racist and racial mean the same thing, right?

Nothing screams sexy like industrial hamburger frying equipment.

Here are the four hot chicks hired by the accomplice to distract our heroes by sexing them up.  One of them has her own subplot that counts for the "B" plot of this film.  B as in "boring" and "banal bile" and "bobo bites bananas!"

Total price?  $10K.  That's $3,333.33 each ... and now my math minor comes into play.  I think that's the last time my college education will relate to this movie -- I didn't minor in crap.

Proving that you can take platinum blonde a little overboard.

Enter our two frigid preppettes discussing the finer points of not putting out.  I think we are seeing our director's life being vividly played out on the screen, or he's just getting back at some woman in college, or there was a sale at Macy's on comical platinum hair spray.

And sweaters.

The one of the left talks with a female imitiation of Thurston Howell III.  Did the other actor forget to call dibs? Does anybody care?  Do rich people really have soirees with $12 tent rentals?

My local community theatre has really updated the mirror exercise!

One of the preppettes lets her boyfriend fondle her through plate glass.  What would that be, first base on a walk?

This also reminds me of my various summer camp experiences, just without the glass, and with a Teutonic counselor named Helga instead of a Playboy bunny.  OK, maybe not at all the same, but the shame seemed similar!

My brother's name is Jeff.  Jeff, the lucky bastard!

Our hot chicks throw a party.  This was not at all like my camp experience.  There was more crying.

She's looking  very disapprovingly at the minuscule height he's achieved on that collar.

Our preppettes manage to chase them off, but our sad, lonely and pathetic guys ... actually, wait, that's me, the viewer.  Regardless, here's where the director earns his paycheck and actually blocks the boom mic for a good 30% of the scene, and also manages to crank up the symbolism.

Should sweater wearers stick together?  Does the lack of sweater on this preppy show he is moving over to the dark side of lingerie wearers?  Does the red tinsel hanging down represent a christmas tree just out of frame, hanging like the Sword of Damocles over this decision?

And, most importantly, could the set decorator find a more bland balloon color?

The hottest blood transfusion ever!

The preppettes decide they are going to have to learn to fake liking sex, so they practice while we are treated to what seems like incestual voyeurism, punctuated by pratfalls, broad physical humor, and an almost hanging.  A sure-fire comedy recipe!

Note: Matching lamps, matching in-tables, matching beds, matching socks, matching 80s no-shave bulge.

Someone get the set designer a cookie!  They've made up for the pastel balloon debacle.

After this, Mr. T fired a million bullets and hit nothing but exploding flower pots.

Our ho-bags with hearts of slightly dented tin rescue our preppy heroes from a fate worse than death by playing lo-fi A-team in this movie's explosive action scene.  The director decided against CGI and went right with the rental van and the cardboard wall.

This scene signals the ramping up of the tension and a ramping down of naked chicks and the complete stopping of the VCR as most of the 16 year olds watching this finished already.

I managed an A-team and a masterbation reference in the same paragraph.  I'm not sure if that's good or bad.

Characters from left to right: rubber dummy, pervert dummy, dummy, and dummy.

Wait, that's right, we had a villain!  And a plot!  Both the movie and I suddenly just remembered that.  The preppettes call him, he arrives with a gun, hijinxs that would have gotten rejected for an Hanna-Barbera cartoon happen (too expensive to animate, show Huckleberry walking again!), and the movie wraps up with the Preppies ace-ing their test and our expensive prostitutes falling in love.

Everyone makes out well in the end, accept people that might have come into contact with bodily fluids at the wrap party.

Sunday, January 13, 2013

Apocalypse Boob

If there's one woman any straight man my age would want to see naked, it's Marie Osmond!

No, wait, that's my own personal demon, I apologize.  Part of the restraining order that keeps me from coming within 50 miles of Las Vegas or Branson -- or owning an incredibly creepy doll -- also states I that shouldn't mention her name.

I also am legally obligated to never lose weight.

I meant this lovely creature:

Screw you, Catherine Bach!  I rule the demolition derby!

Lynda Carter.  Here starts our long and twisting path in which we painfully try to pull hearsay and rumors together to create just enough words to create a post that has some slight relevance to the increasingly irrelevant Playboy month.  Why did I start this?

The desire to see her nude has sparked the continued rotation of this picture:

Etta Candy is not pleased by this turn of events.

The story of this picture goes like this: Carter was supposed to play the Playboy bunny Miss May in Apocalypse Now.  A typhoon destroyed the set, Lynda signed on to play Wonder Woman, and Colleen Camp got the part.  This picture is supposed to be from the production.

Also, according to rumor sourced from the very internet itself -- the wealth of all that is true and right -- Hefner has an entire set of photos locked up in a vault, along with the real gun that shot JFK, the Roswell aliens, and Hef's dignity and pride.

Carter herself says it's a cut-n-paste job.  Others think it's real.  Still others say "pretty lady!" and giggle a lot.  What do I think?  Who cares, because you don't need this picture to see her boobs.  You just need to rent Bobbie Jo and the Outlaw, or learn to google you noob.


There you go.  Stop obsessing over a single picture.  I mean, there are other things in life ... well, not for me, legally, damn restraining order!

I don't think they are playing that guitar right.

Since Francis Ford Coppola is a supposedly big fan of this site (note that the word "supposedly" removes any penalty for myself being an outright liar) soon we will know the real answer.  Leave a comment, Mr. Coppola!

Side note to all the idiocy:  Yes, I knew who Etta Candy was before I embarked on this thing that slightly resembles a coherent post.  Among my many other redeeming features, I'm a comic book nerd.  No, no, ladies, line forms to the left!

Friday, January 11, 2013

KnowNothings Mark II: Jazz Odyssey

A slight break, my pseudo band KnowNothings is putting together some new material, and I always like to slap together a older instrumental and a classical guitar piece.

So, for your listening pleasure (not much comedy in this post, and hopefully none for listening to these tracks!)

[Links removed, coming back soon, stay tuned!]

These are m4a files, iTunes and a number of other software will play them.

Leave some comments to tell me what you think.  And if the comments are spam, I will consider that means you love them so much that you want to give me great prices on pills to make my love life better.

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Bardos Metal Mania: W.A.S.P.: Blind In Texas

Borrowing the look from Gene Simmons, the pants-on-fire/cross-leg dancing of Paul Stanley, and the talent of Peter Criss after a 48-hour cough syrup bender, Blackie Lawless -- before his conversion to the One-True-Religion-For-Rock-Stars-Who-Drank-Too-Much™ -- probably liked to hang out at the Playboy mansion ... and that thin pretext is enough to include this in Playboy month!

Blind In Texas

A Good Start

Sleeping the sleep of the angels!

Your video starting with Blackie Lawless dead.

Most Costly Mistake Ever

He uses those buzzsaws to shave his chest.

It's a saloon, not a salon, guys.

Our threadbare plot is W.A.S.P. (I am getting sick of those periods) plays a show in Texas, and Blackie thinks he's going to get into a old-timey prostitute's pants skirt -- which, frankly, should be relatively easy if the prostitute has a good grasp on the mechanics of her profession.

But, after seeing that Lawless had much better hair then her, she headed for the hills, and Lawless got trapped in the desert please god of please I promise to believe and pray every day to die.

Worst Case of Chaffed Nipples

 You know his left nipple is a mass of pulpy, bleeding flesh under there.

Without a doubt, this song exists for one reason -- it allows the band to play any venue and insert the name of the town in the chorus.  Of course, these modern Mozart's didn't expect Bardos would see them in Kalamazoo, which has, oh, a couple more syllables than Texas.

It was a joyous moment to hear "Blind in Kllmoo!"

Finally, boobs!

The director says squeeze!  Harder!

Guy in the bowler hat is really suspicious of the boobs.  Since this suddenly seems to be the 1860s, and prostitutes in the old west weren't the cleanest bunch, I suspect he's eyeing the cleavage to see how big the bugs are that crawl out.

Smaller than shot glass?  That's a high class hooker!

The Face that Caused Shivers in People that Read Reader's Digest

The black hole at the center of metal.

The face that scared a million uptight people and made everybody else go "he's trying too hard" until Marilyn Manson came along and stole the crown.  There's a thin line between scary and wanting to get make-up tips from the guy.

You can't look at that picture without wanting to jam things down that endless black hole, can you?  I'm thinking I can get a whole ham in there is I push hard enough.

That last paragraph sounds just like W.A.S.P. lyrics!

2013 Golden Girl Cosplay Winner

Sweats Vodka

Here's guitarist/sweat factory Chris Holmes.  If you are going to lift a costume from Ace Frehley, how about you don't make it the "Music From The Elder" years?

Bardos has gone to many shows, and I've never seen a worse guitar solo than when I saw W.A.S.P., and I've never seen somebody sweat as much as Holmes did.  There's no joke here, because it's impossible to describe.  Buckets.  Upon buckets.  It was like he was possessed ala the Exorcist, but instead of puke it was a fountain of stinky, rancid guitarist sweat.

People outside were worried about the lyrics, Bardos was worried about catching a contact STD!

Never a Rattlesnake When You Need One

Don't you have roadies for that?

Our happy ending quickly turns to a depressing, life-crushing ending as Lawless is rescued from what would have been an excruciating death, but he didn't get the woman, so I guess I can be happy about small miracles.

That, and I think I'll finish my life never being hit by Chris Holmes' sweat.

Saturday, January 5, 2013

Delivering to Douches for Decades!

Continuing our month celeberating Universal's 1947 Mummy movie The Mummy and the Curse of the Crystal, staring Billy Falbo and Fay Wray's second cousin on her father's side, we take a look at some Playboy merchandise.

Nothing says "never touched a woman" more than a house full of Playboy merchandise, except maybe a cabinet full of Axe products.  I know some of you are thinking, "why would he say this, he might lose some readers."  The jokes on you, I already have no readers.

Actually, if I have no readers, then who's asking me this?

Playboy Bunny Pillow

Guaranteed to liven up any suede couch and doubles as a handy shammy for any bodily fluid spills.  If it fails to get you any chicks, then you can always repurpose it as a giant novelty sports hand for that next peace rally.

Playboy Mug

The quickest way to put HR on alert is having a Playboy mug in the office.

Clothing Optional at the Mansion

This seems to be some kind of bronzer, or else a spray-on 1920 New Orleans masquerade mask, or potentially some kind of WWI western front chemical weapon, or just crap in a purple bottle.

Nothing says "sexy" like a glowing, naked body the same color as an orange crayon.

Douche Bag Costume

Be the hit at your next party with our patented douche bag costume, something that is ironic, and not at all, in no way whatsoever, totally, totally seriously sold as a sexy thing.

That will get chicks.


Could they have cleaned up the 5 year old's drawing on the wall before taking this photo?

Hey Sailor Costume

Be the hit the next time you visit the wharf in this costume that's only sexy to guys who have been at sea for 43 years and have a pipe smoking fetish.

I'd love to see Hef try out those shoes ...

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Love and STDs are In The Air!

The new year is a time of renewal, and with that the return to the one true love of the ages, Hugh Hefner and Crystal Not-A-Made-Up-Stripper-Name Harris.  Let us welcome the happy couple:

Hugh Hefner


Crystal Harris

Harris said, after the first breakup, that "we only had sex once", "he didn't take off his clothes" and "he lasted only two seconds."  If this isn't a deal breaker in any of the myriad multiverses, then who am I to make smart-ass comments complain?

Now before you pull out the How Dare You!!! card, let me point out that:

Hugh Hefner is
  • Rich
  • Famous
  • Has a mansion full of babes
Crystal Harris is
  • Blonde
  • Uh, can breathe?  I think so
I have
  • a comedy blog
Get ready for a loose collection of, well, sort of Playboy related nonsense in January, the coldest and most bitterest of months.  Great for laughs!