Dude is just chilling. He's unflappable. You could be like, "Humpty, what if nobody shows up to our party?" and he'd be all, "Don't worry about it, doood."
This fucker is starting a whole new thing. Soon these "Willy Wonka punks" are going to be all over New York, drowning German kids in chocolate rivers and getting shitfaced in Loompaland and stuff. We went to see Maiden this week and happened upon hundreds of unintentional DOs. They had perfect Harley purses and hot feathered hair and were so far gone into white trash land, they had become haute couture.
These two should start a band called Wank Fantasy.
A lot of fags will tell you guys look good with jizz on their faces and, if you're in love, that may very well be true. But from a straight perspective, we think nothing looks better than a guy with his face just dripping with hot, wet beer. And then he's all licking it like a little whore...I'm getting a heteroboner.
I hope dude is for sale, because I am buying him to hang out at my house. What a piece of eye candy. He could just be sitting on your couch eating biscuits and drinking tea and you'd think to yourself, "The sun is shining." One of the really great things about dark pants is they take attention away from what might be perceived as a big ass and they keep the eyes up top, where the tits are.
In an era when we're all buying duct tape because we're scared of sand-nigger farts, it is pretty refreshing to see a guy who had a million-dollar bounty on his head chilling with a glass of wine and a tape recorder in his face. Every skate park has some eccentric old guy with a Bud and long hair who talks about the government and blah blah, but how many of them regularly pick up a deck and tear the bowl a new ass? In Pro Design knee pads, no less!
The thing about Italians is, they take care of their mistresses for eternity. Even when the guy dies, he has his son go over there and make sure her radio still works. In exchange, these women stay mind-blowingly hot, right 'til the grave.
This guy is dressed as that chick in Le Tigre who dresses up as a guy. What is he, a punk rock version of God?
Whoa, it's the walking police sketch. Did you purposely set out to look like the personification of rape or is that a look that sort of just toppled out of the closet onto your head? Speaking of racism, sometimes reality can be so harsh it looks like a KKK cartoon.
And then there's Nigel.
"Dear Mum, Don't half miss your bangers and mash but the beach is absolutely smashing. Can't wait to make some new friends—or just muck about." That's cool––a diapered monkey as a pet. Why don't you just ride around town on a unicorn and dig your spurs into it every time it gets tired? Why don't you put a rainbow in a jar while you're at it?
And the winner is… a woman who masturbated in the nude until this guy came down from his gazebo stage and yelled, "You fucking bitch, you ruined my Glastonbury appearance" while dumping garbage on her. She then used one of the pizza slices from the pile to continue masturbating until she was taken away and put in an ambulance—no joke. Can someone just snap his hair off? The follicles are probably pretty weak from obsessive dyeing so you could probably turn him into Captain Stubing if you just grabbed a side and popped the whole top off like a beer cap. God that would feel good.
"Aw fuck, Zorf was totally wrong. Earthlings don't dress like geriatric gay Italians."
"Will you shut up and just relax? We're fine."
The problem with dressing up as a magical Mad Max cyber-gypsy is, eventually you have to get on a bus and go buy cigarettes. There's no dry ice filling the room with smoke at the 7-11. Just you and your stupid fucking stupid-ass face.
There's something real special about looking at a beautiful landscape and seeing a nice lady also looking at a beautiful landscape with a big, beautiful landscape embroidered on her back. Oops, where'd she go? I can't see her anymore.
Whoa. You probably don't know this, but there's this thing that moose hunters get where they see the beast but are too awestruck to shoot it. They just sit there frozen until it walks away. Luckily, Neil Simonton of Byron Bay, Australia, was man enough to aim his camera and catch this buck (possibly the heaviest DON'T in the history of VICE magazine) in mid-stride. "My heart was pounding after I caught him," said Neil in a recent email. "It was a huge adreneline rush." Nice fucking purple track pants, you fat bitch. What are you, the fucking Michelin Man? Nice gay hat, too, you fucking little loser bitch.