Dos & Don'ts

It's wrong to judge gays. You don't know what they go through. It's like, just because you've taken a big shit once or twice doesn't mean you know what it's like to have a big black cock go in and out of your behind. If you really want to know what's going on in the mind of the gays, get in their fucking pants. I don't mean make out with them at the drive-in—I mean literally get your body inside the pants of the guy and see how it feels. Not until you've spent the day walking around in a gay man's pants can you truly say, "God hates faggots."

Silver sequined fanny pack, French shirt, feather earrings, and a bit of leg can only mean one thing: She just got out of that "anti-fashion, big glasses and sarcastic sneakers" college phase and has finally realized that putting on high heels and actually trying is not a sign that the fascists have won.   How "Putting on the Ritz" is this? She's so graceful and dapper, right down to the white gloves. It's like it's 1925 and she's the prime minister of hand jobs.

If you don't think men like floppy boobs and a bit of chunk, why don't you roast them chocolate almond brown like a Christmas peanut, then splash some salty water on them and see what we say? That's right, we can't even talk.   Fuck those

Rockers

rastas who think they're so great just because they wear a striped tea cozy over an orange Girl Scouts shirt. The new shit is the "girl who got out of bed in the middle of the night to go to the store for more cigarettes and just grabbed whatever she could find in the dark" look. Gyal dem flex!

Holy fucking shit. Winner of the best couple award. Could they be any cooler, please? Freddie Mercury and Glenda Danzig but with a more pasty alcoholic UK vibe. Like their genitalia is all black hairs and flourescent white skin. Goddammit, they're so rude you almost have to put them in a condom.

Ever get so horny you turn into Ernest Goes to Camp and fanatically bust your nut in less than a minute? What are you supposed to do after that? Say sorry? What are you, George Costanza? Lucky for you, this girl basically has a tattoo that encourages such behaviour. Just shrug your shoulders and point to it and get on with your day.   It's funny when girls wear tiny skirts in bars and do jokey sex poses, because we can all have a good laugh and then, when nobody else is looking, run to the bathroom and beat off like it's putting out a fire (which I guess it kind of is).

We're pitching this new show to MTV called "Chink My Ride" where we take whatever shitty bike you have, add crazy handlebars, and give it to an Asian pimp. You don't get your bike back, but it's like a homeless guy giving you his cat—it's in a better place now.   Dear Racists,

So this makes you barf? These are mud babies, are they? What do you do, chop your dick off before debating with me? These girls look so tropical and fun you could basically go TO them for your vacation and spend the whole time lounging around on their bodies and playing in their hair with your friends.

If there are still any of you out there who refuse to hate the left, this little snapshot ought to put you over the edge. From the self-indulgent bongos to "Tigger" (complete with baby knapsack and his name shaved into his head) to the relentlessly uneducated blowhard who rams the talking stick so far up his own ass it's sort of like he's skull-fucking your ears with his dogma, these people are worse than the fucking Bible- thumping, right-wing, corporate, fascist…oh wait, they're EXACTLY THE SAME as those guys.

I like how this retarded spic is so convinced he's some kind of cross between Ricardo Montalban and Theodore Roosevelt that the shit is almost worn out. The only way this shirt would truly make sense is if you replaced "man" and "legend" with "medication" and "boss."   When women grow old gracefully and have their long hair in a bun and these intricate recipes that take days, it makes everything OK in the world. It even makes us look forward to growing old ourselves. However, when old ladies bust out the horny trannie-hooker-biker-fag-skinhead look, it makes us feel like the future is paved with AIDS so we might as well start dying right this second.

…and don't think becoming a raver girl is going to make this any easier to swallow. All you've done is replace evil with stupidity. Can't you be sitting by the fire and telling us wise things? I realize you may have married the wrong guy too early, but you snooze, you lose. Stop punishing us for your mistakes.   Is this that weird disease where kids age really fast and next thing you know you have these tiny little 70-year-olds running around Disneyland with two weeks to live? Is this when the toddlers are aged to be in their early 20s and they're like, "Look at my boobies. I have boobies," and the dude is all, "Boobies."

I know this is going to blow your tiny mind, but recent research has proven there's something in prolonged exposure to cat shit that leads to mental illness (Google it if you don't believe me). Single women get it worse because they are statistically less likely to change the litter as much as couples. So the cycle is, the lonelier she gets, the lazier she gets; the lazier she gets, the more cat shit sits around; the more cat shit sits around, the crazier she gets; the crazier she gets, the lonelier she gets; and so on and so on, until this fucking nutbar thinks "Carl Nathaniel" loves Mickey Mouse and hates George Bush. Somebody kill this tiny human and get a penis in her owner's vagina, pronto!

Sorry about the resolution. These two were Brooklyn tough guys talking about martial-arts moves all night (one had a fucking cellphone thing attached to his ear). Everyone was making jokes about how all macho men are secretly fags, to which I was like, "Whatever." But then they ended up on the curb outside the bar whispering into each other's ears about how much "I fucking care about you, man." Whoops!   What you can't see is that his cornrow ponytails go all the way down to his ass. It's sad and scary what cocaine has done to comedians like John Belushi, but look what it does to Jersey trash. It makes them feel so sexy and confident, you'd almost forget we're dealing with a high-school dropout who can't spell "lamb" and a mother of two who thinks we are not horrified by her gray vagina.

Indie-rock hipsters have taken the low-slung pants of hip-hop but tapered them a bit and said no to the high-riding boxer thing that made it OK in the first place. You can't do that. When you only appropriate some of the look, we are forced to appropriate your wet anal ass hair and the pink crack that surrounds it all night.   Here's a rare shot. A DON'T photographed mere inches from a perfect DO. So you look at her little slut socks and imagine them in the air with her shoes still on (that made my bag tingle) and then your eyes get slammed in the face by Mr. Half Cowboy/ Half SunburntBabyOnHoliday. It's like some kind of

Clockwork Orange

therapy to condition you to stop getting public boners.