Wrapped Up Like A Douche

Seek and You Shall And So On
(Homage á Funnsylvania)

Note: all bold phrases are actual search terms used to access this humble site.

The other day, I was on my way to meet some friends for a few old-fashioned southern Parlor Games and maybe one of those Mission District Chris Isaak burritos I've been hearing about, when who should I run into but my old buddy Dave Matthews, Anti-Semite. "Happy Birthday Bruce gay," he said, which is just the kind of zany thing I'm used to hearing from him, since I am neither gay nor named Bruce.

"What's news, anti-Semitic Dave?" I asked. "Still trying to be a fake bat boy for the Chicago Cubs?"

"Emphatically," he responded. "Although in the meantime I've had to settle for ape reproductive organs pictures and the occasional nude images to stir up erections."

"Have you tried GAVIN NEWSOM’S CROTCH?" I asked, though as soon as I said the word "crotch" I began to feel the need to take a whiz schlong like nobody's business.

"Aye, and it's as elusive as Johnny Damon's ethnicity," Dave said, looking directly over the mystery object, which continues to move erratically. "If only he had a fat Jewish blog like everyone else." Meanwhile, my Mongolian penis was telling me I needed to make a pit-stop post-haste, or my rubberized bladder would make trumpet brain damage the least of my worries.

Suddenly, we both looked up to see Josh Brolin nude in finish line, which was surprising, since neither of us had noticed there was a Fun Run going on. The triumphant and unclothed former star of that movie about the Goonies pirates in Oregon walked over and I asked him delicately if he intended to put some clothes on now that the race was over, especially if he wanted to avoid the dreaded barbecued penis. "WULAD is sexy," he grunted, and believe me, if you’re a straight male not named Bruce, that's the last thing you want to hear from a naked Josh Brolin.

I tried to distract him by asking, "Do you have any thoughts on how to shut up your roommate?"

"Well," he said thoughtfully as he accepted his gold medal and bouquet from a hot chick wrapped in Canada flag, "you could try stories of babysitters tying up..." He trailed off and a look of fear came into his eyes.

"Tying up what, Josh?" I tried to ask, but just then I heard a commotion, and thought, "Oh shit, here come the DORKAGE COURT REPORTERS."

Sure enough, we were soon surrounded by them, and I knew pictures of me and naked Josh and anti-Semitic Dave would be plastered all over the Dorkage Court faster than you could say "Swiss cheese gives me indigestion."

And that, my friends, is a just a slice of the exciting life I lead—you might even call it a portrait of the artist as a young douche.

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P.S. New additions to the WULAD Gallery today.