Ricki Hall is a Douche Icon whose only true rival is Francois Verkerk.

How could you choose one over the other? Does Francois win because of his awful moustache? Or does Ricki’s full beard and grumpy scowl put him over the top?

Compared with the two champs, the pair of douches above are neither here nor there. The huge ear hole wins points but otherwise, nothing.

This one could have reached Ricki/Francois status if he didn’t look so circusy.

The world of douches is a wonderful distraction that I urge everyone to explore and embrace. I wonder if they like each other or if they are arch enemies? When this douche thing is over, there will be thousands of dejected clowns roaming the earth, saving pennies for laser treatments.

Meanwhile, let’s rate them.

Click on this guy above ( (c) Jonathan Daniel Price) and add up your points.

Hairdo
Facial hair
Earplugs
Septum ring
Chest tattoo
Backpack
Tearful expression

I’m willing to bet that he isn’t wearing socks, which brings his total to 8 out of 10.

Even though he’s the Hipster du Jour, I can’t stand looking at Zombie Boy. Now that I see what he’d look like without his tattoos, I find him even more tragic.

He’s actually a cute guy! And he fucked himself all up.

If you think he’s a work of art, don’t fly off the handle: I’m reacting as a mother.

In any case, it’s a great marketing gimmick for Dermablend.

What’s your preference. Before or After?

~

*Update:   Here is the best possible version of Zombie Boy,   from a helpful reader, Danielle.   Now he needs to go away and leave us alone. I apologize for bringing him up in the first place.

Growing up in Los Angeles, I discoverer the magic of cholas at an early age. A chola promised to kick my ass in 7th grade, so I left school early and ran all the way home. She was mad because I’d been hanging out with her ex-boyfriend, a Mexican boy who wore a white t-shirt with khakis and a plaid Pendleton. What the hell was his name?? The main thing about him was that he was taboo.

Fashion changes but chola style is eternal. I’ve only just realized why Amy Winehouse struck suck a resonant chord for me:   She’s a Jewish chola, a hybrid I longed to be but couldn’t really pull off.

Thanks to youTube, everyone knows about cholas now and they are widely parodied. For me, they are too magnificent to make fun of. They are girls who want to kick your ass after school. They know how to use eye-liner and they look sexy in the most masculine get-up.

Mexican gangs go back several generations in Los Angeles, and have a nobility lacking in Crips and Bloods. Not that long ago, I was still planning to have my (imaginary) gang name tattooed on my bicep: “Lil’ Spiteful.” I went around asking my Hispanic friends to find out how to say ‘spiteful’ in Spanish. The closest I got was the word for ‘vengeful.’

Max grew up loving cholas, too. The first girl he ever brought home, when he was around 13, was a chola he met at Magic Mountain. She was 14 going on 25, with earrings the size of dinner plates.

His last girlfriend before the crazy one was the perfect chola, even though she was born in Israel. They met in rehab, and when he brought her home, she let me do her make-up.

It was easy to see what he loved about her. She’d been arrested fourteen times, and she could text a dirty joke at lightning speed.

All of his girlfriends were beauties. But beauty without brains was a deal-breaker for him. He always had friends who were women and he wasn’t afraid of intimacy.

God bless the Mighty Chola. Maybe I should get the tattoo after all?

The tattooed image is becoming passe as more and more people choose words to express themselves. Not just mottoes like “Death Before Dishonor,” but whole passages from novels or favorite poems.

The James Joyce one above is kind of pretentious for my taste but it’s better than all the poor unfortunate people who’ve chosen stuff from Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and poems by Sylvia Plath.

The girl above chose song lyrics, from “New Found Glory” on one leg and “Cartel” on the other. I don’t know. Couldn’t she settle for lyric sheets?

The human doodle-pad look is kind of questionable to me, but in fact I have thought about a song lyric or two in memory of my son. After looking at the archives at contrariwise.org, a blog dedicated to literary tattoos, I’m more tempted to go for something really fun. How about this lyric from “Santeria” by Sublime:

Tell Sanchito that if he knows
What is good for him
He best go run an’ hide
Daddy’s got a new forty-five

And I won’t think twice to stick that barrel
Straight down Sancho’s throat
Believe me when I say that
I got something for his punk ass

That, I could live with.   What do you think about literary tattoos? Cool, stupid, or you already have several?

If you’ve never wanted a tattoo, have a look at these stunning portraits by photographer Warwick   Saint.

After ogling the girls, check out his India photos here.

I just discovered him and it’s love at first sight.

It has been brought to my attention that the blogger known as Gala Darling has stopped taking comments, as if I’m the fucking Minister of Comments.   Fine. I took the time to read Ms. Darling’s emotional manifesto regarding her controversial decision.   It didn’t make any sense, but it seems to boil down to this:

Writing should not be corrupted by the anticipation of a response. Writing should be a pure form of expression by the artist, whose art need not and should not be produced for an audience. Otherwise, the artist is just pandering to the audience, from whom he/she desires approval.

Not only that, but the comments are hindering Ms. Darling”s personal growth.

Okay then! Do any of you feel compelled to leave a comment for Gala Darling, at the risk of fucking with her personal growth? If so, here is your chance. I will go first:

Dear Gala, I wonder why you don’t do your writing in a journal, so as to maintain your purity of purpose? The most sincere artistic expression is that produced in private, with no thought as to the market or audience! Why not go the distance, and keep your writing for yourself! Think of the purity, the boldness, the largess of freeing up bandwidth   for those cheap hucksters who write in order to communicate with   others! Ah, what do I know, right? Follow your bliss, but maybe lay off the   tattoos for awhile. Love, SW

I saw this photo the other day in juxtapoz, a stupid art magazine that my adopted son* Chris brought over.   I was stunned by the glory of the poster on the wall: NO YOU SHUT UP is the single most brilliant statement anyone could possibly make. I think it may be my next tattoo.

The photo is a still from a new movie called (Untitled), a satire about the contemporary art scene. Sign me up! Not that I’ll ever get out to see a movie, but, you know, theoretically.

Adam Goldberg is making a real comeback in my life after maybe being the guy in the Sarah Palin is a Cunt shirt. Last night, my kid got us a copy of The Hebrew Hammer and we laughed our heads off until the disc got screwed up in the last act and froze.

* If you don’t know about my adopted son, we became friends on MySpace through our shared appreciation of Deadwood. Chris lost his mom many years ago and I volunteered to adopt him. My family has accepted this situation very graciously, and why shouldn’t they?   I also have an adopted daughter, but we haven’t been able to meet yet.   If you need to be adopted, let’s talk when I’m not so overwhelmed.

Morbid Anatomy is a blog about icky dead stuff.   Every time I go there, I feel slightly ashamed, as though I’ve just peered into Hollister Hovey‘s curio cabinet. But the author is clearly passionate about her subject, and I have to respect her obsession. There are some images there that are truly nauseating, like the ones of syphilitic penises, but others (like the photo above) are often weirdly beautiful.

Obit is a website about death that has a modern sophisticated look about it, kind of like the Starbucks of death blogs. They even have an advice column “for the dying and those who care about them” by someone named Judy.   What they need is a Hit List , so I guess I need to start one.   Sting will be in the top five, as will Bono.   Nominations, anyone?

Finally, sticking to my theme of All Things Icky, here is a photo from the online site of Oak NYC, a trendy clothing shop.

Looking at the boy’s tragic tattoos, I felt bad for his mother. Somewhere, a woman is heartbroken. And yet, I saw this photo again, on a fashion blog, where the comments ranged from “Rad” to “The clothes look cool and the models even cooler.”

So here’s the story. The girl on the right is suing the tattoo artist on the left, claiming that she asked for 3 little stars on her face but ended up with 56.

Kimberly, 18, said she fell asleep while she was being tattooed. What a liar! Even if she isn’t lying, and she is, anyone who’d let that guy near them with a needle is out of their fucking mind.

Here’s another question. Should I have used “whom” in the title instead of “who?” I have no idea. When I don’t like the sound of “whom,” I don’t use it. That’s the rule I follow.

But I came across a blog whose authors are probably very nice girls, where a pair of old photos of Mick and Bianca Jagger is captioned: “how incredible are bianca and mick…I can’t decide whom I like best.” Is this good grammar? Mick, whom do you like best, Bianca or yourself?

In any case, one of the commenters noted:   “I think it’s seeing the both of them together that makes my heart race.”

I think this is even better than smitten, or “that sweater stole my heart!”

It makes my heart race when I discover new phrases to bother people with, or rather, with which to bother people.

Ooh, here is our friend Erin at a party the other night at a shop in L.A. I love the exposed bra! I’ll bet she picked up this styling tip from a Homeless Woman! Still, she makes it her own. She brings it, even.

Does anyone know what the tattoo says?? I can’t rest until I know.

Also, Erin will be selling off her closet tomorrow at her boyfriend’s shop on Main St. in Venice. She only wants to wear her own designs from now on.   If I had a stronger constitution, I’d stake it out and take photos.

Now that that cunt Erin is copying me in the Shop My Closet department, I’ve been inspired to SLASH MY PRICES! Come on down to Sister Wolf’s Closet   by clicking on the link on the right-hand column. More good stuff is coming, too!

*credit for Wassonery goes to crocodilian. (and Amy Winehouse)