Thursday, December 23, 2004

Thursday, December 16, 2004

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He looks like a new-age holistic healer who honestly believes that crapping on your chest while playing a happy lil' diddy on his banjo will cure your eczema and occasional bout of bad breath.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

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He looks like Carl, the superintendent of an apartment building just blocks away from the campus of a major American university. The sight of his opened flannel shirt and his cutoff shorts is a normal one around the building, as, even if everything is in working order, he likes to wander the halls, asking every young female resident he sees if she needs "a lil' help with her plumbing," as he strokes the handle of the hammer that hangs on his tool belt. He claims his plethora of body hair makes him so hot that he's unable to keep his flannel buttoned, which, while strange in winter, is thoroughly unpleasant in the sweltering summers, where the smell that wafts from his chest earns reviews of "smells like wet dog," "I think something died in there," "My granddad's colostomy bag smells better." He routinely likes to let himself into girls' apartments when all the kids are away on winter break, inhaling the clean scent of their intimate wear as he presses them to his face, masturbating into orange juice cartons and sitting on their couches naked while watching Nascar. No visit can begin or end without him compulsively rubbing every bathroom and desktop item that isn't bolted down against his testicles. While Carl carries around the smug conviction that no one has any idea of his delightful covert activities, many have suspected his perversions when they return from vacation to find a mysterious musty smell clinging to even the most innocuous items. He is finally caught one day by the mousy girl in 4B, who came home early after her devoutly religious family's Christmas was ruined by her sister's announcement of not only being a lesbian, but of having a black girlfriend as well, only to catch him with her toothbrush jammed deeply up his ass. He was immediately arrested. For years to come, neighbors who were present that fateful afternoon would recount Carl's final angry yet eloquent words before the cops jammed him into the back of the police cruiser..."My only problem is that I love too much. And if that's a crime, then you, me and everyone else in this world all deserve to be behind bars." God bless you, Carl. I hope you someday learn how to tie your shoe.

Tuesday, December 14, 2004

He looks like the thought of marijuana getting legalized gives him a pants-splitting boner. Posted by Hello

Thursday, December 09, 2004

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She looks like someone who was permanently traumatized when her parents sat her down on the night of Halloween when she was 9, as she eagerly waited in her superhero outfit to go trick-or-treating, and told her they were getting a divorce. Because daddy is a cheating son-of-a-bitch homosexual. She never did get to go out trick-or-treating that night, as her mother quickly packed her and all her stuff up into the station wagon and peeled out of the driveway, accidentally hitting and killing her cocker spaniel Cuddles in the process. The psychological trauma of this series of events was never dealt with, because she was quickly plunged into the hell of tenements, welfare and food stamps as her mother had no bankable job skills other than giving a mean blowjob, which was something she fortunately discovered with the help of a kind, drag queen living next door. She went through life lost and numb, until one day, at the age of 14, while going through some old boxes looking for something of value to hawk on the street to trade for food as she hadn't eaten in days and her mother hadn't been home in weeks, she found her superhero costume from that fateful night so many years ago. And then it all flooded back...the fear...the anger...the confusion...and most importantly, the pain...of a girl interrupted. Something in her brain shortcircuited as she squeezed into the costume and for the first time in years, felt empowered and alive. She disappeared from her house, prancing the streets of Chicago for days, performing mindboggling deeds of "superhuman" wonder with a wand made from a toilet plunger handle with a used condom wrapped around its end and wearing a tiara made of take-out foil, until the cops picked her up and sent her to a psych hospital. No one ever came to claim her and she became a ward of the state. To this day, she still walks the halls of the hospital, asking to be referred to as Girl Wondrous and speaking with an inconsistent Medieval accent. She refuses to wear anything but her superhero outfit, but the kind nurses who have watched her grow up in the hospital pitch in every year to replace her costume when the old one gets worn out. Somewhere along the course of things, she was discovered to be pregnant, but the hospital is keeping this quiet to avoid scandal. When asked who the father is, she always replies with a faraway blissful look in her eyes, "He's someone magical." Staff and fellow patients have been warned against teasing her in regards to if the father is Superman, as these questions promptly cause her to erupt violently, screaming, "Superman is a cheating son-of-a-bitch homosexual!!" while attempting to bludgeon the enquirer with the giant, yellow foam finger that the hospital has allowed her to wield as her super-weapon.

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She looks like she never got over her daddy dying, so when he passed on, she paid a local taxidermist $250 to stuff him up the way she likes to remember him -- so full of life, the ex-sailor who used to regale all the neighborhood kids with his tales of fighting Japs and bagging them Asian beauties during the great war. And party...boy did he used to party. In fact, his shipmates used to call him Party Boy (short for Ol' Crazy That-Dead-Hooker-Ain't-Mine Party Boy With a Heart of Gold, which is tattooed down his thigh) because he was the only one on the ship who could hop on the turrets and shoot down the 'kazes in a hail of bullets and brawn during a booze-induced blackout with only minimal incidents of friendly fire casualties (never ask him about what happened to his best friend Boondog). Every year on his birthday, she rents out the local lodge and hires a DJ, and the whole family comes out to celebrate the good ol' days. Though her sister Sharon says her youngest boy, Tommy, has a chronic bedwetting problem which she blames on that incident last year when grandpa toppled over and pinned Tommy in the parking lot while she was bringing the car around. Here is Party Boy grooving to Brick House by The Commodores. If there's anything Party Boy loves more than the ladies, it's disco!

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

He looks like a cross between, "I've fallen and I can't get up" and "Oops, I crapped my pants. And I did it on purpose."
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Saturday, December 04, 2004


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He looks like a guy who produces and hosts his own public access show in Michigan, giving tips on model train maintenance and development to fellow enthusiasts. While his bio in his homemade press kit makes a mere cursory mention of his having retired from a career as a high school biology teacher to pursue his lifelong hobbies, what it doesn't elaborate on is the fact that "retired" means "forced to resign even though charges were dropped because of a legal technicality" and "life long hobbies" means "child pornography." Strictly Anglo child pornography. His devoted wife of 34 years works diligently from home stuffing envelopes for a company that recruits people to work from home, stuffing envelopes. They have never had sexually relations, as she is a devout Christian, and takes the views of the Bible literally, though unfortunately, dogmatic misinterpretations run rampant as neither she nor anyone else in her social circle has a reading level above the 4th grade and they mostly "guess" about the meanings of the big words. She is having a secret, torrid pen-pal affair with an armed robberer named Jerome who is incarcerated in a state penitentiary in Kansas. They met in an aol chatroom, and he thinks she is a 22 year old Latina (she forwarded him a picture she saved from an adult site pop-up ad) going to school to be a nurse. With his wife happily occupied, he spends all of his time in his basement. Some of his time is spent working on a 300 sq. foot elaborate landscape for his train set. Most of it is spent fantasizing about dismembering his wife and mailing little pieces of her off to the anonymous recipients of the printed address labels her company sends her that are littered all over the house. He eats the same dinner every night, alone in his basement, which consists of canned sardines, a boiled potato, rye toast with unsalted butter and milk. Unfortunately, the chemicals used to preserve the sardines have mildly mutated his cells, elongating his head by 1.32 millimeters each year. He has been eating this meal since he was 12. After he dies and his wife moves in with her cousin, future inhabitants of his house will always complain about a mysterious moldy smell that never seems to go away.


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She looks like a housewife who loves asking her friends, "What would Jesus do?" and then cackles like it's the funniest thing in the world. But she's serious. This woman loves God, and kittens, and her husband Dan, whom she married out of high school and they just love each other to bits and pieces and forever and ever and ever and she is so fulfilled in life that every day, she praises the Lord for all the beauty and happiness He has blessed her with. Hallelujah! Nevermind the fact that she doesn't know yet that Dan gave her the clap years back from a whore he fucked one night while he was out with the boys in Memphis, and her insides are so shot that THAT'S why they haven't been able to conceive. And when asked about why there's a roll of toilet paper on the bed, she explained, "Oh, the toilet's broken so we've gotta do our business out in the backyard until Dan's paycheck comes in next week and we can have the plumber come out. But ya know, this is God's will I guess. What would Jesus do, right? HAHAHAHAHAHA. " While behind her, her husband pantomimes taking out a gun and shooting himself in the head.

Wednesday, August 25, 2004


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He looks like he's a sensitive 35 year-old who is perpetually in grad school collecting degrees because academia is so much safer than being in the real world. He lives in a little studio apartment in the area of town where all the middle aged students live, sharing the same futon he's had since he was a freshman undergrad with his cat, Sparkles (named after Chris Elliott's male model pseudonym in "Get a Life," his favorite show). He wears Birkenstocks with socks year round, wearing argyle socks with his sandels when he's teaching. He has a platinum membership to and is perpetually listed there. Due to the plethora of divorced lonely women who browse that site, he gets laid a lot more than you'd think. He has no porn stash. And that's probably the strangest thing about him.

Wednesday, August 11, 2004


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She looks like she's the den mother of a halfway house, and in this picture, she's teasing the folks by pretending to withhold the only stimulant these former addicts are allowed. She always does this, thinking it's funny but it's not. What she doesn't know is that even as this picture is being taken, the residents are plotting to kill her in her sleep, bury her in the backyard and go on a drug binge using the contents of her bank accounts.


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He looks like he thinks every day is Renaissance Fair, and therefore, he has the right to wear the same thing every day. He'll drink a solo cup of water at a party that he wasn't invited to, tell everyone at the party that it's vodka, and be so Method with his acting that he truly believes he's drunk, passing out in a pool of his own mac n' cheese vomit. The last time he did this, some jocks stole his plaid pants and threw it up in some trees where it still hangs to this day. What they couldn't understand, was how he still showed up to school the next day, wearing the exact same outfit, and the exact same pair of pants.

Thursday, July 29, 2004


She looks like the girl who was perpetually hanging out in the high school library or computer room because she didn't have any friends and had near-anxiety attacks when out in public. She used to spend her lunch hour browsing poetry pages about unrequited love, death and Wicca by fellow angstful teenage girls from around the country, until the 80 year old librarian saw it as a warning sign of another Columbine and made her stop. She suffers from intolerable constipation because she can't take a dump in a public restroom and has to hold it until she gets home. Her sprinting down the street towards home afterschool was a common sight for her classmates. She went to art school in New York after high school, lost a ton of weight on the starving artist ramen diet and ended up being discovered by a casting agent on the subway. 5 years later, she's A List Hollywood and everyone from her high school who can't even remember her talk about how she was a "friend" of theirs.


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Wednesday, July 28, 2004


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He looks like Phong, the Happy High School Exchange Student whose quote under his yearbook picture says, "Hey guys, Phong here. I'm happy happy love you American Girls and Britney Spears cuz I'm pure Gangsta Rappin yo kicking you real with pimpy ho style don't touch my bling bling wassup wassup because I'm happy Phong nigga from the westside peace slapping my ho for bitch should have my money! Go USA!" 


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He looks like walking syphilis who can't tell the difference between a real woman and a transvestite.

Monday, July 26, 2004


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She looks like a girl who craves attention to compensate for low self-esteem, and is completely incapable of distinguishing good attention from bad attention. In high school, she went through one overblown "crisis" after another, earning her the reputation of a drama queen who would consistently get drunk off of half a red Solo cup of beer at a party and blow any Varsity athlete who gave her eye contact in the bathroom . And when the entire school would find out the next day, it wasn't because the guy or some jealous girlfriend wanted to spread nasty rumors. Like a misguided self-publicist, she made sure to circulate the news herself because she thought people would admire her for having "been with" someone popular.  In college, she was that sorority girl who joined because she thought that was what it would take to get guys to notice her, but her sorority sisters hated her because she would always feign drunk and aggressively come onto their boyfriends. If you ask her, she'll tell you that her greatest conquest in college was when she slept with her 54 year old, married English Comp IC professor. In fact, you don't even have to ask her. She's still proudly telling anyone who will listen about it, seven years later.  She will also tell you that most men find her incredibly desirable, saying it in an annoyed tone like it's such a hassle that men throw themselves at her. This is not only fictitious, but is also an attempt to create an illusion of control over her self worth and attractiveness, when in truth, men like that she let's them do anything and everything to her, and that they can get away with treating her like shit. Because they really don't care and she's in denial that they don't. Yes, she is every bar's quintessential Drunk Ho. Other girls would feel sorry for her if she weren't notorious for talking shit about them behind their backs. As she gets older, she is noticing that she's getting less and less attention at the bars and thus, must resort to more and more outrageous tactics to get attention. Wearing reindeer antlers in July and telling people she can swallow a whole cupful of cum? Yeah, that's just the beginning. What she deems her overpoweringly seductive Look, really just says, "I'll let you fuck me in front of your friends before I pay for my own taxi ride home."  Yes, she's That Girl.

Oh, That Girl's daddy...WHY COULDN'T YOU LOVE HER MORE???????

Sunday, July 25, 2004


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He looks like a guy who is so comfortable with his sexual identity, that he's willing to wear his female friends' hats in public, and his girlfriend's panties in private (just kidding. He doesn't have a girlfriend). He has more white friends than black friends and more female friends than male friends, though he is everyone's friend because he's Mr. Nice Guy and hates the idea that someone somewhere may not like him. In bars, strangers will come up to him and joke, "You down with OPP?" because they think he looks like that dude from Naughty By Nature, which is cool, but it really doesn't help him get laid. Which is probably for the best since he secretly agonizes over the fact that he's hung like a beast and it causes complex feelings regarding intimate moments because he is terrified of the thought of hurting a girl. Because of this, he's only been with two girls in his life, and has had sex only six and three-fourths times. His easy-going goofball sense of humor masks his inherent shyness, and he's self-conscious over the fact that people expect him to be a better dancer than he actually is. He has a massive crush-bordering-obsession on Jennifer Garner.

Saturday, July 24, 2004


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He looks like a guy who grew up in the Pacific Northwest, in a psychologically functional (albeit, boring) family where the entire gang discussed current events at the dinner table and played Team Scrabble every Thursday night. He drove his family's wood-paneled station wagon from high school well into his early thirties, even after rust ate through the floors to the point that you could see the road whizzing by underneath from the comfort of the passenger seat. From early adolescence and on, he was a serial monogamist who perpetually dated hippie moon types who didn't eat meat, were morally opposed to shaving anywhere on their bodies, but were always willing to pose for brooding artistic nude photos which he still has in a shoebox in the back of his closet. Despite his Venusian love for the ladies, his need for independence prevented him from getting married until the age of 37, when he met a divorced botanist from Florida on a flight from Portland to Orlando; she was returning from her first cousin's funeral, and he was headed to the annual used book convention. He skipped the convention and they spent the next four days holed up in her apartment, discovering each other in every possible realm, with him proposing on the fourth with a twisted strip of black pipe cleaner serving as a makeshift ring. They were married in a small ceremony in the backyard of his family home in Eugene, Oregon, with his black lab, Charley, serving as both ring bearer and best man. They have a happy long-distance, bi-coastal marriage in which they talk on the phone every night and fly out to see each other once every two months (taking turns, of course). They have decided that, while they both love children, they would prefer not to have any of their own. While during the day, he works in sales for the largest organic fertilizer supplier in the US, his true passion is children's theater. He often donates his time and energy to staging short one-man sketches with messages of hope and perseverance to sick children at the local hospital. While his talent is questionable and his energy more than a little intimidating, the kids do get a kick out of his wardrobe, which shows off his quirky yet confident, cutting edge style. While some people may find his personality to be insufferably cheesy, others believe that he is the type of benevolent personality in which small-town communities are built upon. He's a Capricorn. Whatever that means.

Friday, July 23, 2004


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She looks like she grew up in a small midwestern town, where her family became devout Christian Scientists after her father left her mother for the chain-smoking counter girl at the local diner, whose squinty left eye makes her kind of pretty in that haggard, been-around-the-block kind of way . Her mother in turn became a bitter closet alcoholic, spending the next three years wearing the same unwashed, mauve bathrobe around the house, cutting coupons and obsessively monitoring day time television for evidence that the gays and the Mexicans are taking over the nation. After three years of being lost at sea, her mother stumbled upon the good faith after seeing the church's ad in the local section of the newspaper; she quickly converted herself and her two young children. At the age of 12, she walked into the shed in her backyard and caught her older brother having sex with a respected town councilman (and father of the most popular girl in school); her brother had his face painted delicately with make-up and their mother's best Sunday dress crumpled on the floor around his ankles. She subconsciously swore off make-up, sex and overt gender-identification from that moment on. She was an average student and went on to study computer science at the local community college. She doesn't realize that her best friend from high school and on, Lyle, has always been hopelessly in love with her, and Lyle doesn't realize that he is, unquestionably, a homosexual. When asked to describe her, her coworkers nearly unanimously used the term, "nice," though one observed, "Sweaters. She has a lot of sweaters." She lives alone in a one-bedroom apartment two blocks away from her childhood home that does not receive direct sunlight. She has considered committing suicide 3 1/2 times in the last 8 months. Her favorite color is peach.

Thursday, July 22, 2004


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He looks like he pays fat women for sex.


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He looks like that high school soccer coach who's the kind of middle-aged loser who falls asleep nightly on his ratty ass couch wearing only tube socks pulled up to his calves and briefs with his hand stuffed inside the pee-crack, firmly gripping his tiny flaccid penis, but who all the girls on the team with low self-esteem had crushes on. Is he a likely candidate to sleep with an underaged girl and then sob controllably that he was the one who was actually victimized when he finally gets caught? Hell yes.

The "He Looks Like" Game Where We Psychoanalyze People To Death

That's exactly what we do.