Wrapped Up Like A Douche

The Big Time
Well, an amazing thing happened yesterday. My humble blog—which has long been laboring on in relative obscurity without a care, happily manning the lower rungs of the blog-fame ladder (except for the countless e-mails it periodically sends to other, more influential bloggers and their lawyers, hoping to pick at the table scraps of their mighty readership, or at least an generate an attention-grabbing lawsuit)—attracted 81 hits. This is not quite as many as the day it was mentioned on a certain superstar blog (which no doubt flosses its teeth each morning with more visitors than have come the way of the WULAD during its entire sexistence), but still many more gentlemen and lady callers than had recently been rolling down the electronic pike.

Let me amend that last statement, since I’m fairly sure these were mostly gentleman callers—I’ll get to why in a minute. You might wonder what brought such a flood of attention to your friendly neighborhood WULAD; was it the incisive sociopolitical commentary? The humorous slice-of-life tableaus? The nostalgia-laden journeys into the green grass and ruined mattresses of childhood? The myriad contests featuring valuable prize packages, such as a lifetime supply of Weetabix or a week in my closet?

No, these web-weary travelers came from far and wide across Al Gore’s glorious internet, from industry titans like Google and MSN to plucky upstarts like Pappy’s Olde-Tyme Coal-Burning Engine of Searchin’, in pursuit of one holy grail: “Paris Hilton Crotch Shot.”

It is my sincere hope that, although they may be initially disappointed at the numerous ways this site fails to deliver on that request, P.H.C.S.-surfers may choose to stick around and enjoy the plethora of other fine attractions available here (including my serialized memoir, A Heartbreaking Work of Britney Spears Orgy, or my exposé of low-wage-earners, Nickeled and Dimed in Jessica Alba Topless), and perhaps even make this a regular stop on their celebrity crotch-shot-hunting rounds. (I promise I won’t tell how you got here.) And let me just close by saying, in the immortal words of the Bard, “What I have done that might your nature, honour, and exception roughly awake, I here proclaim Laura Bush Naked Wrestling.”

Photographic Evidence
For those of you who read here about the gargantuan double-hot dog and corresponding dogless-dog Belle and I constructed during Game 1 of the ALDS at the Oakland Coliseum and were skeptical that what was detailed in the diagram was actually possible, we here present two images (click each to view the full-sized hot dog action) for your perusal. Read 'em and weep. No, I want to see you actually weeping.