i think most of the time i ended up being e.honda. seems like the gent below was motivated by our friend dhalsim and has perfected some sort of spinning defense move.

i had posted earlier about some jail in the philippines actually choreographing an entire dance sequence set to michael jackson’s thriller. it seems that, by popular request, they have modernized somewhat and are performing soulja boy now.

thanks to cath for the linkage again. i think she sent me the last one too – so i’m wondering whats fueling her filipino jail dancer fetish?

look at bottom left.

…taken from today’s top diggs.

i wouldn’t even consider getting a published wedding announcement if i had a last name like the ones below:

and my personal favorite:

greetings to both of my readers. today marks a milestone in the long and storied history of this website. this is the 300th article to be posted, hopefully one of many that have made you laugh, cry, vow revenge, hurt someone, etc., over the past year or so.

actually, the posting has been light the last week or two because our home dsl is out. it’s set to be restored this week or early next week, at the latest. it’s hard posting over a sprint wireless connection which mimics my first non-modem internet connection ever, a 128k dual-channel isdn connection.

to commemorate our 300th post, state senator jackie speier has slipped the unofficial doylez.com hand salute at one of her recent political events.

titpoits!

at least its spelled right.

tri brought up this picture of gemma atkinson today and while she is well-endowed in other spots, she also sports these:

looks like she was in a weird pedicure machinery accident when she was younger. if adriana lima came up to me and her feet looked like that, i would turn her down without hesitation.

full picture is here (nsfw site) [bastardly]

i used to wear glasses, but now that i’ve had laser eye surgery (courtesy of my wife), i no longer need them. i think that with or without glasses, i was probably the same – computer nerd.

even young kids don’t like bushie all that much.

[taken from craigslist, sent by paul o]

If V is for Vendetta, F is for Fartist. The first part of the word is “fart” for the act of firing bacteria created air and poo particles at an incredible speed. Everyone one does it, and it has been proven that farts bring joy, yet they are taboo in public. The second part of the word is “artist” because that is what I am. Much like Picasso wielded a paint and easel, I have the ability to practically fart on command and have perfected the ventriloquist and ricochet methods which allow me to strike with devastating accuracy from cover much like a highly trained sniper.

My main hunting grounds are the mean streets of BART, which I am forced to endure twice a day for half an hour at a time. Many people from other places tell me that BART is great or some similar shit, but anyone who rides it daily like me knows that it sucks. To pay $10 a day for the right to park and ride to and from work is excruciating, especially on the way home when I think about paying to stand on a packed train with a bunch of self absorbed aholes. But I must give BART some credit, for they launched my career as the most lethal vigilante in history.

Here is a list of some of the victims and the methods with which they were punished:

Mr. Read the newspaper to his wife on speaker phone guy: You are on the top of the list for one reason and one reason only; you are without a doubt the biggest asshole in history. Who sits there and yells on speaker phone and reads stories about an axe murderer to his wife during rush hour (in the elderly and handicapped seat no less)? You do. I fought for almost two minutes, desperately pumping the volume up button on my iPod trying to block out your transgressions. My career as a fartist started then, my ignorant self absorbed friend, and you were treated to turkey chili con queso. Oooooh it was hot and wet when I crop dusted you, how did it smell? Call your wife and tell her about it.

Ms. Lower her shoulder and cram her way on to a way too packed train lady: I could not believe you were actually going to try to cram your way on to our way too packed train, but you sealed the deal when you lowered your shoulder and repeatedly rammed your way into the crowded mass of frustrated passengers. It took me a stop or two, but slowly I was able to back my tight buttocks right up to within 2 feet of your short ugly face. I used the silencer once again but you bathed in it. When you cried, “Oh god, who farted?” I was crying I was laughing so hard.

Two teenage girls talking about sex and two teenage guys talking about taking drugs and driving: You have no idea how stupid you sound talking about subjects like that on a silent BART train during the afternoon commute. I saw one lady actually get up and move away because your conversation was so inane and ignorant. Bonus points for the one girl saying she prefers wine and salmon to a beer and burger now, I can’t tell you how impressed we all were with you. The woman behind you who rolled her eyes and slumped in her seat wanted more of your tips on living the high life for sure. And guys, I’m not sure what drug exactly you were talking about taking and then driving on the freeway but I just hope you don’t take anyone with you when you earn your Darwin Awards. I approached smiling, appearing to be heading for the exit, utterly forgettable in my everyday Dockers with polar fleece pullover. You were all sitting together in the “quad” chairs that face each other and no one else was around you for obvious reasons. The ambient noise from the tunnel meant I was able to really make you shiver when I delivered, I am actually shocked that a burnt hole wasn’t left in the back of my pants. It was one of my fall specials, a preseason pumpkin fart that smells for five minutes. By the time you realized what was happening I was doubled over laughing on the escalator in the station, I hope my gas taught you something valuable. Silence is golden.

Next time, more victims and a discussion over which came first – the need to fart or the elevator.

seems harsh to punish your friends by encompassing their heads in your mangina.

and a snippet of the world air guitar champion from 2007:

now get your white honkey ass out.

[thanks to cath for the link]

just in time for christmas.

it sounds like he’s singing inside a shower. everyone sings bad inside the shower, even harry connick or mariah carey. that’s just the way it is. also, isn’t it a sin to be drinking alcohol at church?

the best is catching someone (like, say, my daughter) who thinks they are home alone and so they are belting out tunes while showering.

thanks to my irish brother paul’o for sending that over.

a new jacket!

i’m so glad someone made a video of this because i saw this game and had to rewind the tivo a few times to make sure i saw what i was seeing.

safety sign recently spotted

sorry for the low-grade camera phone picture quality.