Tuesday, April 19, 2005
He looks like the best years of his life were spent as a roadie for Lynard Skynard, when rock n' roll was his soul, whiskey was his blood and the opening chords of "Freebird" made his testicles shudder with pure sappy sentiment. He'd had his share of laughs and sorrows and mother-daughter threesomes on the road until that fateful plane crash in '77 killed three members of the band and left him devastated. He returned home to nurse a broken heart and a severe disillusionment with God.
These days, he owns a local bar in Delmar, Alabama that proudly serves beer out of 12 oz. cans, where the confederate flag hangs proudly in the back window of his pick-up, and his mutt, Lucy, sleeps faithfully at his side. Some call him a local legend, while others call him that weird feller who wears 'em roadkill on his hat. But mostly, they know him as that guy who's usually too pissed drunk to even know his own name and usually breaks down weeping uncontrollably if anyone is sadistic enough to put on some Lynard in the juke.
Incidentally, the man seated next to him feels smug in thinking that no one knows he's wearing a toupee, and sometimes he'll pee himself just a little bit just to see if anyone notices.
Monday, April 18, 2005
She looks like she's thrilled that she found an ad in the Casual Encounters section of Craigslist stating that an "open-minded" couple was seeking a slutty submissive to play an erotic human coffee table for no-strings-attached afternoon demeaning. The open-minded couple on the other hand, is disappointed as they were not expecting said erotic human coffee table to come with a perm.
He looks like life is hard when you belong to the only white family living in a black neighborhood in Atlanta and your dad's a registered sex offender. Tired of getting his ass-kicked by six-foot tall 9 year-olds on his way to school, Jason decided he needed to go thug to earn respect on the street. He beat up the 6 year-old sisters of the 9 year-olds, got himself suspended for stabbing the Algebra teacher in the butt with spork and started wearing gangsta clothes. Unfortunately, his mom makes his clothes out of old tablecloth and his ride is a wood-paneled 1985 Chrysler Town & Country. Jason's life as a gangsta was short-lived after the spork incident, when he was sent to a juvenile reform program to be scared straight by a former gang member turned ex-con who painted an excruciatingly graphic picture of why convicts would love Jason's smooth, delicate skin and soft, tender lips. Today, Jason still gets his ass kicked by kids half his age, but he has gained invaluable self-perspective in knowing that 1. You shouldn't try to be something you're not; and 2. He never wants to be mouthfucked by a huge Dominican gang hitman named Chico who bought him for a toothbrush, a kazoo, some jerk-off mags and a box of Good N' Plenty's.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
The name of the game is fun.
We are now accepting photograph submissions to be included in our upcoming book, He Looks Like, Vol. 1. If you have reached the place in life where you are able to laugh at yourself, then you’re allowed to play with us. All photo submissions must be a high resolution digital file (ie...the non-compressed digital picture from the camera), a high-quality scan, or a photo-quality copy. Only high-resolution files or photos will be accepted!
All submissions must also be accompanied by a signed release by the person(s) in the photo. If that person is you, great. If you'd like to submit your funky-looking grandma passed out with her face in her soup, you'd better make sure she signs the release!
Download, print, and fill out this release, and mail your submissions to:
He Looks Like
2180 Westwood Blvd, Suite 1-J
Los Angeles, CA 90025
Digital submissions should be emailed to firstname.lastname@example.org (accompanying releases must be snail mailed).
Again, all submissions must a high-resolution file or actual photo, and must be accompanied by the signed release in order to be used in the book.
Let the irreverence begin!