HE LOOKS LIKE.... The Morbid Game of Psychoanalyzing Strangers in Pictures

2011-03-15T23:07:00.001-07:00

He looks like a poor decision maker.

2009-10-06T23:58:00.000-07:00

He looks like he's taking the news stoically, but his baby brother Cameron is devastated...he just can't believe it's not butter.

2009-10-06T23:37:00.000-07:00

He looks like he has mastered the final and ultimate maxim from Sun Tzu's Art of War:

When one can not overcome his enemy by strength or strategy, poison his Tic Tacs when he leaves them on the counter of the Hyatt men's room while he's locked in a stall taking a dump, and when death befalls him, call a press conference and publicly make love to his corpse. Time has shown that great men win battles, but only a dead man fucks with a crazy motherfucker.

2009-09-24T01:57:00.000-07:00

She looks like the age range for this Singles Fantasy Vacation to Niagara Falls was a little wider than she had anticipated.

2009-07-09T22:31:00.000-07:00

He looks like the Mills Valley Elementary School record holder for number of times held back in the 3rd grade (18), traumatizing nearly two generations of little boys who were afraid not to be his friend when he bounded up to them and asked them to honk his nose. Sleepover parties were always the worst. No one could sleep around him.

Incidentally, that marching band kid who thinks he's British gets punched in the gut, just moments after this picture was taken, by the little gay kid in the front row who hates posers.

2009-06-29T00:27:00.000-07:00

US Military Interdepartmental Memo (Highly Confidential):

She looks like proof that the military's experiment using covert operatives as delivery systems for "silent but deadly" biological weapons is wildly effective, causing gagging and instant death within seconds to those within a 12 ft radius. The carrier remains immune, though in her debrief reported a heavy, meaty smell shortly following engagement of the weapon. She was adamant the smell didn't come from her.

2009-01-28T12:00:00.000-08:00

They look like ladies...two authentic ladies who drink lady drinks and eat dainty lady portions while sitting politely and smiling and nodding and only speaking when spoken to with their legs coquettishly crossed like ladies. except they'll only have anal with the lights off because they're saving their vajayjays for marriage.

2009-01-28T09:49:00.000-08:00

He looks like if he hadn't been responsible for ordering the genocide of hundreds of thousands of people in his own country, his staff wouldn't be so terrified to tell him he's about to kill the stripper.

2009-01-16T17:31:00.000-08:00

He looks like even pedophiles know that reversing the roles every once in a while can be healthy for balancing a relationship.

2008-01-24T00:50:00.000-08:00

He looks like even by sending the US Army a photo that implies he's physically disabled, potentially mentally disabled, holds dubious company and is of questionable sexual orientation, Reggie's still getting sent to Vietnam because he's black.

2008-01-16T00:32:00.000-08:00

He looks like Karl Thurman, son of Walt and Barbara, a proud man who's made a living solely off of volunteering for medical studies. He was one of the original pioneer test subjects instrumental in getting Viagra approved by the FDA, and his body's violent response to a mixture of red river mud and armadillo excrement allowed researchers at the University of Texas (El Paso) to determine that bathing the body in this solution to cure eczema is as scientifically ineffective as an old wives' tale.

Karl's last experiment involved testing a combination diet/male-pattern baldness drug, a drug that could help a man simultaneously lose weight and regain hair with one pill, like a Pantene 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner. Fortunately for the drug company, it was quickly discovered that the drug sometimes had the opposite effect of uncontrolled body hair growth and they halted the drug's development in search of other formulas. Unfortunately for Karl, his secret hobby of participating in local swingers parties was seriously impeded by the body odor which can be conjured up by a man with excessive body hair.

Karl has since retired from medical studies. He lives in St. Paul, Minnesota with his two pugs, Cagney and Lacey, running a local Help-U-Sell Ebay store while enjoying a colder climate which allows him to keep his body bundled up the majority of the time.

He still longingly cruises swingers websites out of nostalgia, and the only part of his body he still meticulously shaves are his pubes because it makes his junk look bigger. Just in case he should ever get over his body hang-ups and rejoin the bored, adventurous housewives of the midwest and the alternative-lifestyle accepting husbands who love them. Just in case...

2008-01-12T20:33:00.000-08:00

She looks like her momma so fat, even her fat roll's got a camel toe.

2007-12-05T02:30:00.000-08:00

She looks like a beard. A big, bushy oh-your-dad's-gonna-be-so-pissed-that-he-paid-for-that-wedding beard.

2007-11-29T00:33:00.000-08:00

He looks like Sonny, who at 45 years old, still lives with his mother in a modest trailer home down by the river. She had put up with having to cook for him and clean up after him, but after all these years and Sonny still insisting that she dress him every morning as well, at 74 years old, she finally decided to do what she should have done in the beginning--she waited until Sonny drank himself unconscious on Wild Turkey, then paid the two teenage boys next door to haul him into the city and drop him off on the church steps in hopes that the kind Sisters of St Mary would take him in. She took comfort in the fact that since Sonny had never been more than 2 blocks away from his own home, the bastard most likely wouldn't be able to find his way back home.

2007-11-21T01:09:00.000-08:00

He looks like he's taking sexy back. Sorry JT.

2007-11-19T17:12:00.000-08:00

He looks like Mortivius (aka Todd), who slayed the dreaded Lord Bentamar in the epic battle of Ragonton to free the Plasivian slaves whose children held in their voices through song the ability to unlock the magical chest of the Grand Wizard Trominic of Frandolfur that contained the golden dagger of the Order of Hyanda, enabling the carrier to achieve level fourteen Dragon Stealth. But he had to go home shortly after because he has Calculus homework, and his stepmom found out he was wearing her good church skirts to the park and grounded him, so he'd better get home before she gets off work from the Big Lots.

2007-11-18T22:26:00.000-08:00

She looks like a drama queen.

2007-11-16T22:15:00.000-08:00

She looks like that hot Asian girl you met on the sidewalk outside the bar at closing time who you were lucky enough to talk into going home with you. Except this is how you remember her looking. You have no idea how you woke up naked this morning with your arms around an obese, bearded homeless man with facial boils and what appeared to be a complete indifference to bladder control.

But he did make you pancakes. That was kind of cool.

2007-11-15T18:19:00.000-08:00

He looks like R Kelly version 5.2. He's time-traveled from the year 2033 to warn himself to stop pissing on underaged girls during sex because in the future when the world is under martial law and technology and robots rule the world, "them 14 year olds grow up to have themselves a real fucked up sense of payback."

2007-11-12T20:10:00.000-08:00

He looks like a harp who's only dating her because he heard she does anal.

2007-11-11T23:58:00.001-08:00

They look like the cause of little Billy Stanton's lifelong terror of boobs. What started as a family effort to help him with his 3rd grade science project, quickly turned into an unforgettable night when a combination of glue fumes and poor ventilation made the women giddy. Billy was arrested 14 years later in the French Quarter of New Orleans when he reflexively punched an intoxicated young woman who, thinking he was cute, suddenly appeared before him and flashed him. As officers led him away, witnesses claimed he was in tears and remorseful, muttering, "They never give you a choice....those crazy bitches just never give you a choice."

2007-11-11T23:55:00.001-08:00

They look like...having your first lesbian encounter can be really awkward if your dad just won't leave the room.

2007-11-09T23:36:00.000-08:00

He looks like after presenting at his ob/gyn for the 4th time in 3 weeks with complaints of severe, throbbing breast pain, the doctor shaved Jeff's chest into bra which quickly eased his symptoms and improved his quality of life.

"How did you know that would work?" the nurse asked the doctor after showing him the thank you card from Jeff with this happy picture printed on the cover.

"He's a man who keeps showing up at the ob/gyn. Sometimes you just have to treat delusion with delusion."

"Brilliant," said the nurse, as she took off her scrubs and let the wise old doctor have his way with her on top of his desk, which was their custom on Wednesdays when he could stay late at work while his wife attended her weekly bridge game.

2007-10-15T19:52:00.000-07:00

He looks like Vladislav Kardashev, a Russian man who was somehow talked into signing up to be a mail order groom by his sister, Masha, who had grown old and fat as a spinster and was determined not to have her shy, sensitive younger brother suffer the same fate.

"In America, you find movie star to adopt you, like Angelina," she said as she filled out the paperwork while Vladislav sat quietly next to her, stroking his cat, Sergei.

"A man must be with woman, share bed, make babies," Masha said as she filled out Sergei's basic information, checking the box next to "thin" under the section "Body Type" rather than being truthful. She figured a woman purchasing a husband through the mail should not be a stickler when it comes to minor discrepancies. Vlade meanwhile, was looking out the window, hoping to catch the young boys from the nearby primary school passing by on their way home. He had a particular fondness for the slight, dark-haired timid boy who always walked alone, far behind the laughing, playful group.

"You deserve to be happy, Vlade. Do not let your life waste like mine."

Though Vlade had stoically stayed by her side and been her constant companion ever since their parents had died while they were both young, she always did feel that her inability to find marital companionship should not also obligate her younger brother to a lifetime of bachelorhood. But to be honest, there was a larger ulterior motive for this plan--she had heard from her neighbor Raina, that she had been paid 250,000 rubles for her son Boris by a lonely American widow living in Florida. And despite occasional worries about not having heard from Boris since he left for America, she now lived comfortably by her neighbor's standards. Masha hoped Vlade would fetch close to the same amount, as she had her heart set on a liposuction operation that would cost 120,000 rubles and maybe an extensive facial hair removal procedure with the remaining funds in hopes of pleasing the eye of the charming postman who had once told her she would not be so repulsive if she didn't look like a cow.

When the letter from the service arrived and stated that a woman named Sarina was interested in Vlade, Masha insisted he accept the offer. Sarina was looking for a loyal, virile man to be her companion and was willing to pay a hefty fee that would afford Masha her surgery and then some.

Vlade obediently accepted and headed off to Beverly Hills, California, where he discovered Sarina not to be the exotic, dark-haired young woman in the picture that had come with the offer, but an old, demanding Iranian woman who kept him in her house as a house boy and who often whimpered in her sleep. He did not mind though, as he had been able to take with him his faithful companion, Sergei, and he spent most of his days laying in bed in his boxers, dreaming of a fantasy life of friendship, hand-holding and secret-sharing with the slight, dark-haired timid boy he had seen walk by his house so many afternoons in his memory.

2007-10-11T19:49:00.000-07:00

They look like members of the devout Christian missionary group, Ready for Rapture, on their way to Israel to promote understanding of the impending battle of Armageddon and to teach non-believing Jews that those who don't convert will suffer eternal damnation while those who believe will be sent to heaven, leaving a pile of their clothes behind. To their euphoria, the Rapture occurred while they were in midflight, bringing to fruition the event to which they had dedicated their entire lives. To their chagrin, it was their clothes, not their souls, that God was ultimately interested in.

2007-07-27T16:26:00.001-07:00

She looks like she's surprised to say, the number of table accessories that she can stick up her cooter is limited to nine. He's determined that she can handle at least one more.

2007-07-18T14:18:00.000-07:00

He looks like he just discovered that getting crabs from a teenage prostitute in Thailand ain't no joke...

2006-08-03T11:59:00.000-07:00

He looks like a great example of the age-old Christian debate, what makes a child gay? Is it the immense enjoyment of a phallic oral applicator for his cough medicine, or wearing shirts made from his sister's recycled bedspread?

2006-04-19T14:41:00.000-07:00

He looks like Alton, the guy who operates the Tilt-A-Whirl down at the shitty amusement park behind the Walmart. When asked what he likes to do when he's not working, he replied, "Seven? Yeah, seven's a lucky number...I ate m'hat." Alton drives around town in a brown 1990 Datsun hatchback covered in hundreds of bumper stickers. The one that people notice most is the one on the back window that reads, "The only Bush I trust is the one between my legs." Ironically, Alton is neither a feminist nor does he know who or what Bush is. He's just a simple man who really, really likes stickers.

2006-04-18T13:23:00.000-07:00

They look like the Hartford boys of Plains, Kansas, who were all born within the confines of their parents' modest two bedroom farmhouse. Their father was affected by a deep-seated fear of hospitals and even deeper-seated belief that blacks, whom he often ranted were spilling out of big city places such as discos, whorehouses, police stations and hospitals, carried a contagious disease that caused wanton slothfulness and deviant sexual desires. Thus, he insisted that the boys be delivered at home by Dr. Sharper, the local veterinarian. This arrangement seemed to work out well when Gaylord (left) and Otis (right) were born, but when it was time to bring Laverne (2nd from right) into the world, the good doctor neglected to thoroughly wash his hands after treating the Grossman's sick piglet for dysentary, exposing Laverne to a bacteria that lead to what many believed to be mild mental retardation and what his mother believed to be a dire need to breast feed her youngest son well into his teens. Gaylord is 3 days away from being expelled from Central Christian College after his roommate, Josiah "The Xsperminator" Samuels turns in a surprisingly well-written paper with Gaylord's name on it, arguing that "blue-balling" is inherently unethical and providing a graphic two-page description of a woman's role in oral relations in proximation to a man's testicles (excerpt: MY BALLS/YOUR CHIN/I WANNA PUT EM ON YOUR CHIN, etc.).

The fourth young man at the table is Todd. Todd lives next door. Todd came over because Laverne told him they had an Atari. They don't have an Atari. Laverne just wants Todd to touch his penis.

2005-12-05T09:40:00.000-08:00

He looks like he would have been more appropriately dressed had he complemented his outfit with tan argyle socks to match his shoes. That white on brown ensemble just makes him look tacky.

2005-11-04T10:09:00.000-08:00

He looks like what began as a fun night of dropping acid with the boys, is about to turn really ugly when someone notices his head has grown a cake.

2005-11-03T12:26:00.000-08:00

She looks like a sexy photo entailing a deep lunge inadvertently became a pivotal point in her life.

Suddenly, the rip in her universe where boys have penises and girls have vaginas paralleled the rip in her taint where unexpected testicles tumbled through, bringing upon her a lifelong limbo of gender confusion and a deep regret for every Jamie Lee Curtis joke she ever made.

"Look at it this way," consoled her best friend Charlie-Ann May while standing at a distance, careful to keep her mom's van between them, "At least now you know why you were always really, really good at softball."

2005-11-02T12:19:00.000-08:00

He looks like Pablo, an attendee at Ricky Martin's Learning Annex Workshop, "Advanced Techniques for the Pleasing of the Ladies." Here he is participating in the "Romancing of the Flower" segment, where instructors complimented him on his quick grasp of technique. Pablo had traveled all the way from his native Venezuela to attend this course and was quite pleased with what he believes to be invaluable romancing skills. "It smelled and tasted better than I expected. I learned to go in strong," said Pablo of the lesson as he wiped his face with a paper towel.

While Pablo was satisfied with his experience, some attendees were not as high on the workshop. "I thought I was gonna learn how to eat pussy," shouted an angry Louie Vitirelli, a 42 year-old butcher from Buffalo, NY as he stood outside the administration office demanding a full refund. "I can let go of the fact that we didn't get to practice on real pussies. But mashed up pie? Pie ain't pussy. I mean, has Ricky Martin even seen a pussy?"

Calls to Ricky Martin's publicist were not returned.

2005-10-31T20:22:00.000-08:00

She looks like the mastermind behind the crystal meth epidemic sweeping the U.S.

Incidentally, her famous Coconut Brownie Surprise Bars came in 2nd in a Betty Crocker baking contest where one of the judges exclaimed, "I had 3 of them this morning and would have eaten the whole plate if I hadn't gotten distracted by an impulse to sprint across two state lines before running myself through the plate glass window of a Gap Kids store in Jersey."

Her grandkids love her because she gives great hugs and her apron always smells like cinnamon.

Her dealers love her because she wears a pearl necklace.

2005-06-13T10:08:00.000-07:00

He looks like after the fruit punch from his cousin's bar mitvah took its toll on his bladder, he stumbled into the wrong bathroom stall where he found a couple of burned out Wall Street brokers doing lines for stress relief. They asked him, "Hey kid, do you party?" and he was like, "Yeah" and they were like, try this. And all of a sudden, life was soooooo good and the next thing he knows, he's waking up behind the wheel of someone's Lincoln Towncar with the hood crashed into a Jack in the Box drive thru, a dead hooker in the backseat, an empty glock in his lap and $50,000 in bloody cash spilling out of the glove compartment. On the positive side, his cousin did mention that he did a wicked version of Journey's "Don't Stop Believin" on karaoke that night before he tossed the DJ through the plate-glass window.

2005-06-11T23:36:00.000-07:00

He looks like Mark McGrath but with a smaller penis. His friends call him Chill and his claim to fame is that night he got so drunk, he flattened a neighbor's parked Miata with his Bronco and didn't realize it until the cops showed up the next morning to inquire about why his truck was parked in the community pool. His favorite actress is Tara Reid. Yeah, she's a good actress.

2005-05-04T15:12:00.000-07:00

She looks like she's cleaning up the little accident that her friend Fluffernut left on the carpet of her dad's office. Meanwhile, she can't wait for her dad to see the little accident she left in his briefcase.

2005-04-19T20:45:00.000-07:00

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.

2005-04-18T20:37:00.000-07:00

He looks like Sammy, who really, really, really hopes he gets chosen to become the national spokesperson for Jesus Juice--The Exalted Mormon Alternative to Soda.

2005-04-18T20:30:00.000-07:00

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.

2005-04-18T15:44:00.000-07:00

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.

What?? There's a Book??

2005-04-06T17:12:00.000-07:00

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
PMB #237
Los Angeles, CA 90025

Digital submissions should be emailed to brokenhalo6@gmail.com (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!

2005-03-02T09:42:00.000-08:00

He looks like Samy Choy, the owner of Samy Choy's Holistic Pest Control, who uses his training in martial arts and meditative mind control to extract pests. Many who have observed his work describe his methods as "unorthodox, though highly successful." One satisfied customer explains, "He makes his way around the room grunting, howling and meowing while forming a variety of claws in the air, all while maintaining a rigid squatting position. It's an intense process that can take hours, but his concentration is inhuman! And at the end of the day, I don't know how, but he always comes out with a box full of rodents." Samy has earned an amazing reputation for his service in this arena, making Samy C's Holistic Pest Control hugely successful and almost as profitable as his restaurant, Samy C's House of Mystery Meat, which was recently given highest ranks by Zagat's.

2005-02-07T16:36:00.000-08:00

They look like Willis and Perry, two average American guys who have been best friends ever since the first week of freshman year, when they lived down the hall from each other. They were both hiding out in the shower stalls calling their mothers on their cordlesses when they simultaneously realized that the echoes of girlish sobbing weren't emanating solely from their own mucus-filled heads. They soon bonded over the fact that they both hated their respective meathead roommates, that they both wanted to major in pre-med or mechanical engineering or special events coordinating (Psych! There's no such major!), that they both preferred cashmere to wool, and that 500 thread-count silk sheets were the only way to go because they make your naked body feel absolutely DELICIOUS when you wake up in the morning. The two were often seen in the cafeteria line having punching contests or pulling each other into headlocks for no particular reason other than, "What? It's FUNNY." They were always the shoulder for each other to cry on when they couldn't seem to get girlfriends, because all the girls they met were too crazy, too prudish, too aggressive or just plain girly. Perry in particular, had a rough time getting dates because he would always jokingly refer to girls as bitches and hos, which he convincingly played off as an affectation of just another white boy who wanted to be black.

No one ever said anything when the two spent more time chasing each other around during football games in the quad, trying to slap each other's butts rather than actually playing. No one ever said anything when they synchronized their Halloween costumes with Willis' "Gay Punk Rocker" complementing Perry's "Gay Guido." No one even said anything when they got matching ass tattoos , with Willis getting "Joanie" and Perry getting, "Chachi," both claiming it was an inside joke (their friends just rolled their eyes). No one ever said anything until one day, the Portuegese exchange student who didn't know any better innocently asked, "You two do sexy together, yes?"

"We're best friends," said Perry, as equally offended as confused, while everyone within earshot avoided eye contact with him. Perry and Willis looked at each other, ready to laugh off the comment, when in that moment, like Adam and Eve just after biting into the forbidden fruit, something changed.

Whatever happened between them after that, no one knows. Willis showed up to class the next day with a black eye; Perry joined a frat and began dating and having wild exhibitionist sex with the hall whore who would take off her top for anyone who fed her enough peach schnapps. Neither ever spoke of the other.

20 years later, Perry, now married with 3 kids, would run into a girl who had lived in his hall during that fateful year. "What ever happened to Willis?," she would ask. "You guys were...tight."

"I don't know," said Perry. "Fag," he added, furtively under his breath.

"Excuse me?" said the girl, but Perry was already changing the subject to the wild boys-only cruise to Rio de Janeiro he was looking forward to taking in August with hundreds of past and present members of his fraternity. Shortly after she left, he hurried to his car and was seen sobbing into the steering wheel, his tears falling from his face and drenching his seafoam and mochachino Roberto Cavalli cashmere sweater as he dialed his mother's phone number into his cellphone.

2005-02-07T11:43:00.000-08:00

She looks like a method actress who, despite her husband's protests, lived in a crackhouse for over a month to research her non-speaking role as Crack Whore #2 on an episode of The Shield. She returned with collapsed veins, severe tooth rot and a wicked petrified crust on the back of her neck that smelled strongly like wet dung and took an assortment of power tools to break off, but she gave the best damn non-speaking Crack Whore #2 performance to ever be cut for time from a cable network television show.

Her career took a turn for the worst when her stellar performance caused her to be typecast as Crack Whore #2's, Dead Prostitute #4's, and Halle Berry's stand-in. She took time off from acting, found God, and returned with a vengeance, vowing to accept only auditions for characters who defined the very fiber of moral righteousness and innocence. But when she fought hard for and lost the lead role in The Princess Diaries to Anne Hathaway, who in her opinion, looked neither like a princess nor a diary, she become angry and despondent, cutting off contact with friends and loved ones and slipping back into the drug dependency which she always blamed for her career's downward spiral. These days, sadly, she can be seen twitching down Hollywood Blvd., loudly announcing a willingness to trade handjobs for Thunderbird. Her husband, Leonard, would like her to come home.

Vote for the 2005 Bloggies!

2005-01-30T20:13:00.000-08:00

Thanks to everyone who nominated this site for the 2005 Bloggies! He Looks Like is currently up for the Best Kept Secret and Best New Blog awards, so please go here to vote!

Note: The Voting page was down for a bit but is now working as of 1/26 so please vote!

2005-01-30T16:43:00.000-08:00

He looks like he's embarking on a long and fruitful live of being completely retarded to social cues.

2005-01-27T13:26:00.000-08:00

He looks like he's constantly being mistaken for a neo-Nazi ever since that night he got really drunk and his frat brothers convinced him to get their house address tattooed onto his hand so he'd be able to find his way back home. What people don't notice right away is that the tattoo actually wraps around his hand and reads:

18742 S
HATE
RFORD ROAD (THE
BIG HOUSE RIG
HT BEHIND MANNY'S
LOCO TAC
O SHACK &
PASTRAMI, NEXT DOOR TO
THE ENTERP
RISE RENT-A-CAR)

DON'T BLOCK THE DRIVEWAY, THANKS.

But while this look comes in handy when convincing the snooty maitre'd at the French bistro that he is surely NOT going to pay for his salad when he specifically asked for no tomatoes, and yet his salad looks like some giant tomato-eating robot took a big heaping tomato dump on it, people tend to judge him by his appearance and neglect getting to know the real him. He's actually a very cheerful guy with a sweet, sensitive disposition. He likes sunsets over the ocean and the clean smell of the air after it rains. His favorite color is aqua and he cites his mother as his role model. In his spare time, he likes to write poetry and paint landscapes, as well as spend time with his two cats, Lady Lovely and Mr. Butterball. If there is one thing he could tell the world, it would be...he's devastated that Brad and Jen couldn't work it out.

2005-01-26T14:30:00.000-08:00

She looks like if that ho-bag freshman doing her makeup in there doesn't get out of the bathroom right now, she's gonna have to break down this door before she pisses herself again.

2005-01-26T09:45:00.000-08:00

He looks like when his only son AJ came out to him, he had a lot of trouble accepting the thought of his boy being a homosexual. But after struggling with the normal feelings of anger, sadness and guilt over what he may have done wrong as a father, he finally reached a cathartic level of acceptance when he read the acclaimed self-help book, "When Bobby Likes Anal: A Parent's Guide to Coping With a Child's Homosexuality." He called up AJ and told him he loved him, no matter who he liked to poke and where. And as a loving gesture of acceptance and understanding, he went through his late wife's closet and found this sweater which he thought A.J. might like to wear.

2005-01-26T09:31:00.000-08:00

She looks like she gets infuriated when people insinuate that she might be adopted...

2005-01-25T16:26:00.000-08:00

He looks like a poster child for the anti-drug campaign, “Say No to Crack Babies.” His daddy was a drug dealer and his mother was Whitney Houston, though she gave birth to him secretly when she was supposedly on her “3rd” run at rehab, paying a nurse to pass him off as her own. The nurse, desperate for a score one day, unwittingly traded him back to his own father for vial of crack and a sixer of McNuggets. His father had hoped to sell him on the black market for a nice little profit (they pay more for the white ones) but something came up and he needed a baby to help some traffickers pass off as a family in order to smuggle a large shipment of coke across the border. Soon little Baby Cracker (Rico who cuts the stuff was real proud of coming up with that name) became a fixture on the scene, raised by the prostitutes and pimps and dealers who adopted him as their very own. Unfortunately, the crack his mother smoked while he was in the womb left him quite mentally deficient, but his surrogate family taught him well and he could smack them hos like a champion. After his father was killed by an undercover cop in the middle of a bust, Rico got him a job working the door of a seedy strip club in New Orleans’ French Quarter. He’s the best doorman the club has ever had, as he can say “I’ll fuck you up” in 12 different languages, and his crazy eyes really freak out anyone even thinking about starting trouble. Whitney showed up once and not knowing he was her son, offered to suck his dick for crack. Instead, he smacked her up real good and sent that crazy bitch on her way.

2005-01-24T16:36:00.000-08:00

He looks like when God asked him to leave heaven, God said, "Dexter, I know you got that crazy funk and you're bringing it all up in here, but now I need you to go out there, beyond the gates of heaven to spread that mean ol' funk of yours, okay?"

And Dexter said, "My man, you speak the truth. There are bruthas and sistas whose eyes are closed to the Lord cuz they ain't experienced that glorious funk that can change their lives. And I'm gonna find those people and touch 'em so they can be saved in the name of our righteous Lord and the Funky Revolution." So he packed up his electronic keyboard and an assortment of velvet suits and mock turtlenecks, picked his fro nice and high, and strutted out of those gates to spread the funk in the name of the Lord.

As the gates closed behind Dexter, St. Peter whispered to God, "You are aware that by funk, he thinks you're talking about music, right?"

"I don't care what that moron thinks," said God. "My crotch and everyone else's has been itching like a mah'fucker ever since that guy got here, so he can go on and spread his nasty funk someplace else."

2005-01-24T08:56:00.000-08:00

He looks like Dr. Sebastian Reichmann-Lowenstein, the famed behavioral psychologist whose work in analyzing human behavior in high stress environments has led to much understanding of the effects of war and poverty. While little about the man's personal life had previously been known other than his having married eight times, much light was shed by the publication of an unfinished autobiographical manuscript that was discovered after his untimely death at the age of 64.

Here is an excerpt from this manuscript:

My mother was a cold woman. While she did not possess the disposition necessary to be a nurturer, she nevertheless proceeded to bear a child for reasons unexplained. I remember my childhood as one of encouraged intellectual curiosity, molded under the watchful eye of both parents, who were rogue Freudian psychoanalysts recently emigrated from Zurich to Cincinnati, Ohio.

Mummy was often engrossed in her work, and the terrible neuroses projected onto her by her patients drove her to a passionate secret affair with Portuguese brandy, which she often snuck after dinner from a bottle hidden behind a shoe rack in her closet. I found her asleep at the foot of the stairs in a pool of urine with her hose bunched around her ankles on so many occasions, I finally gave up on scrubbing her hose with soap and merely ran them quickly under hot water before setting them out to dry, so that when she wore them again, the pungent smell of human waste would be evident in public once her body heat warmed the garment. In hindsight, this behavior was quite passive aggressive, but I do not feel the need to assume contrition. Father was a kind but physically infirmed man who was equally consumed by the mysteries of the human mind. Together, they were brilliant analysts who seemed to regard me as an unregulated test subject with which to exercise their eccentric theories.

They quite enjoyed sitting in the background and observing me in my daily dealings with both adults and other children, never encouraging or reprimanding, but quietly taking notes and whispering to one another. They kept a ledger next to my bed with meticulous records of my psyche's development, from which I was encouraged to view when I was old enough to read. It was from here that I later learned that I was particularly resistant to relinquishing my anal phase, as I seemed to almost defiantly refuse to recognize when and where it was appropriate to dispel waste.

My parents blamed it on an unresolved fascination with my mother and the womb from which I sprang and as a result, when I reached the age of 4, rather than buying me the rocking horse in which I quite fervently desired, they bought me a plastic female doll, with hair not unlike my own mother's. As this was the only item allotted to me which I could claim as solely mine, I soon became quite possessive and protective of it, keeping it clutched tightly in my arms at all times. This doll became as real to me as any other living and breathing person, and I named her Judy. Judy was the love of my formative years. As our relationship developed, I blamed her clothing for her inability to change or grow as I was and I banished them from her body.

Soon I shunned the company of other children, as the attention of Judy was enough to keep me satisfied. Together, we explored the mysteries of the world and each other, and I truly believed I would need nothing else of the world other than my dear, compassionate, hilarious Judy. And it was with her help, that I ceased my habit of defecating into the produce bin of our icebox before suppertime.

When I turned 9 years of age, an official of the community approached my parents in regards to my schooling. By definition, I was homeschooled but in truth, my parents wanted me free of institution and to discover my own place and the projections of my psyche within the collective of the world. But after threats from this official, I was soon shipped off to Lincoln Elementary, where I spent the rest of my developmental years miserable in the public school system.

Judy's presence in my arms from the first moment at school quickly made me a target of stronger and more aggressive children whose mothers fed them excessive amounts of bovine milk. Before the day was over, Judy had disappeared from my desk, leaving me wailing inconsolably for hours until her charred remains were found in the field behind the yard. The culprits never came forward and after years of grieving, I submersed myself within my studies, soon obsessively engrossed in a career based solely on refuting the work of my parents. Now looking back upon my years, I believe I never did truly recovered from the loss of my first true love, though I did try many, many times to replace her companionship with lesser others.

After excerpts of this manuscript were published in the New York Times, Mitzi Goldberg, his first wife, confided in a friend, "I always had this strange feeling that the complexity of my anatomy made him somewhat uneasy." To which her friend replied, "Honey, it's cuz you're anatomically correct."

2005-01-23T23:03:00.000-08:00

She looks like her mom and dad are extreme conservatives who are very strict about the kinds of influences they would allow on their children. She was never allowed to watch TV, even PBS programs which her parents claimed were too morally irresponsible in their promotion of homosexuality and hallucinogenic drug use while fetishizing hand puppets. She's 16 and the only movie she's ever seen is "The Ten Commandments," which her family would watch every Easter after dinner with the Reverend's family. Her favorite part of the movie is when Moses parts the Red Sea, because she always feels a little funny in a naughty place. She once told her mother about this when she was 14, causing her mother to lock herself in the bedroom and wail hysterically, praying at the top of her lungs for 16 straight hours for God to save her daughter's soul. No one has ever told her how babies are made--only that they are bestowed upon a man and woman who love each other and have received a blessing from God. She's thoroughly confused by the little girl who lives down the street who says she has two mommies, but she's afraid to ask her parents about this since many people have warned her not to upset her mother who's "nervous." She truly doesn't realize that men are anatomically different from women, and assumes that all people, like herself, have a vagina. One day, the Reverend's daughter asked her if she wanted to play a new game and she said, "Sure!", ecstatic because the Reverend's daughter always knows super fun games, like pulling off each other's shirt and wrestling in the garden shed, or Chair, the game where they take turns sitting in each other's lap. The Reverend's daughter said this game was called Tea Factory, as she unbuttoned her jeans and dropped them to her ankles. Outside of playing Bible Trivia, she has never had so much fun.

2005-01-21T20:46:00.000-08:00

She looks like she ain't fuckin' sitting in the back of the bus.

2005-01-21T20:45:00.000-08:00

She looks like she's all dressed up and ready to go as her son's prom date. She has a sneaking suspicion that her strong connection to her son may be somewhat sexual, but is scared to death about the disturbing implications of this.

2005-01-21T20:44:00.000-08:00

He looks like when he finally got a day off from guarding that pot o' gold, he was ecstatic about getting to go shopping. He has not felt this fabulous in years!

2005-01-17T09:42:00.000-08:00

He looks like when he tells his wife that he's working late at the office and she looks at him suspiciously because he's been spending an awful lot of time "working late at the office," he's really not lying...if working were defined as "tender yet playful mutual tongue massages for delightful hours on end with the department cat, Toxicodendron radicans." (They're botanists).

2005-01-17T08:41:00.000-08:00

She looks like Chelsea Clinton on a good hair day.

2005-01-14T10:22:00.000-08:00

He looks like that guy who shows up to parties, gets really drunk, then spends the rest of the evening compulsively declaring to anyone who will listen (and even rooms full of people who won't), "Duuuude! I am sooooooooo drunk!" In this picture, people have found him passed out on the kitchen floor. But when they pick him up by the hair, like a drunk circus monkey on cue, the first word out of his mouth is, "Duuuuude!...." One day he'll get beat up by some drunk guys who think he's too pretty for his own good, leaving him with a broken jaw, severely bruised testicles and a raging morphine addiction. But tonight, they plan to Saran wrap his naked, unconscious body to the large oak tree in front of the local senior citizen's home, with a large cardboard sign around his neck that says, "My pussy smells like strawberries." The old folks are going to get quite a surprising awakening at 4 in the morning. Except for his senile grandmother, who always suspected that kid had a pussy.

2005-01-13T14:50:00.000-08:00

He looks like he just got done showing the police where he buried the bodies, and now he'd like a Fanta.

2005-01-13T13:48:00.000-08:00

He looks like when he goes into chat rooms and pretends to be TammySmiles!, the 12 year old girl from Sarasota, FL who hates the 6th grade, scary movies and mean people but loves Aaron Carter, dolphins and shopping at Miller's Outpost, he feels like he's doing a public service by messing with those sick motherfuckers who use the internet to prey on innocent children. ("Sick motherfuckers...," he likes to rant, "Why aren't there stricter laws against weirdos on the internet????") He's single and a computer analyst who works from home. Other than his mother and random people in a crowded bus, he's never been touched by a woman. He's in a bowling league, but he's not very good. His favorite food is soup. He hopes one day he'll meet a woman who can have entire conversations comprised of only Simpsons quotes.

2005-01-13T09:53:00.000-08:00

He looks like after years of ridicule over the massive hump on his back that is actually the ingrown fetus of his twin brother, he decided to do something special for himself on his 70th birthday by having a few ribs removed to render his fat, nagging, "Prudey Judy" wife obsolete. While trying to demonstrate his new "capabilities" to the boys at the Y, his back gave out, but he has too much pride to tell anyone that he can't get up. He's been in this position for 7 hours now and his friends have left to sit in the sauna, grumbling something about him being a "goddam show off." The kid in the background thinks he's dead, but isn't overwhelmingly concerned. His parents have threatened to send him to fat camp, and right now, that's number one on his mind.

2005-01-08T21:52:00.000-08:00

He looks like Steve “Chi-Chi” Callahan, the All-Pro NFL defensive end who’s sick and tired of certain speculations that are being made in the media. Callahan is best known for leading all defensive players in tackles and pass interceptions for the last three straight seasons, but these impressive stats are too often overlooked in favor of certain frivolous whisperings. Yes, Callahan is often seen on the sidelines, sporting a bare midriff. But what the public seems to not understand, is just how realistically hot it gets in those uniforms. Even in -12 degree weather. This “questionable” look serves a practical purpose which the gossip-starved public seems too maliciously fond of neglecting.

Yes, Callahan’s elaborate, 17-minute touchdown dance, professionally choreographed by the same dance specialist who’s worked with Ashlee Simpson, Justin Timberlake and Color Me Badd, is the most gratuitous the league has ever seen. But this celebratory act is the mark of a professional, who understands that fans pay good money to be entertained.

Other players have often complained that he is always quick to jump onto a pile, often unnecessarily, even after the play has been stopped. “100% intensity,” responds Callahan as he irons a seamarine silk ascot in front of his locker before a game. “That’s how you have to handle every moment of the game. Even if the ball is dead, you’ve still gotta get on top of that writhing, muscular pile. In this business, there’s little room for mistakes.”

Plexiglass Simmons, Callahan’s teammate and roommate on the road, laughs off the speculations. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with Chi Chi. He’s just a guy who works hard and plays hard. Yeah, he’s different and a little strange, and I never met anyone who liked hanging out in the saunas so much, but that’s just white folks for ya.”

Last week, Fox Sports aired Callahan’s Beyond the Glory documentary, where Callahan showed his sensitive side. When asked about rumors that actor Jude Law had threatened him with a restraining order after he had sent him numerous lengthy letters and lavish gifts, Callahan broke down into tears. “If a man respects another man for mastery of his craft, does that automatically mean he’s making unwanted advances towards him? Because another man has incredibly delicate skin and the most perfectly shaped mouth, does that mean I want to ravage his smooth, limber body with a Coke bottle until he whimpers? I’m so tired of this! I’ve been linked to Paris Hilton for god’s sake! I’ve been photographed eating watermelon like I’m giving it cunnilingus! What more do you want from me?!?!?"

When told of Callahan’s comments on the show, team general manager Alvin Scottsdale just sighed and shook his head.

2005-01-08T19:22:00.000-08:00

He looks like he crashed a college house party he wasn't invited to and made a scene, making several overt and inappropriate passes at the girlfriends of some meathead jocks, creating havoc on the dance floor with some moves he learned in his Aerobic Striptease class at the gym before making the unfortunate mistake of having too many jello shots and passing out. His fellow partygoers decided to teach him a lesson. After numerous attempts of trying to get him to release his bladder by putting his hand in warm water, they finally resorted to giving him several grotesque facial piercings. Sadly, the mascara and ladies' undergarment were what he already had on when he arrived at the party.

2005-01-08T19:21:00.000-08:00

He looks like Louis, the guy no one wanted to let into the frat because he was way too eager, way too geeky and he always spit when he talked, an unfortunate trait when combined with his habit of always standing too close to people. Yet he still managed to make it in anyway, due solely to the fact that the frat president popped a surprise woodie when he had all the naked pledges get down on all fours and eat Kibbles and Bits out of dogbowls while he doused them with the garden hose, and he was terrified that Louis saw. (He didn't). The president hoped that by granting the overeager Louis entry into the group, it would keep him quiet. Louis is a black mark on the Pike tradition, and his brothers have trouble finding it in their hearts to stand up for him to members of other fraternities, though he is a surprisingly good mud wrestler which serves them well during the annual Greek games. They cringe whenever they feel that familiar overmasculine smack in the backpack followed by a "Hey guys..." Louis' standard greeting. He always shows up to all football games with his face and chest painted in school colors, regardless of harsh weather conditions. He gets drunk off of 2 beers or 1 wine cooler, and once inebriated, is fond of affectionately touching and bear-hugging other men. He claims to have once date raped a passed-out cheerleader, but the girl was actually in the flag corps, and she refutes the story saying that not only was she conscious, but that she had stumbled upon Louis crying from homesickness, and that he had begged her to "cuddle him." Louis is generally regarded as a doofus, but is relatively harmless. Incidentally, he accidentally farted when he flexed for this picture.

2005-01-08T17:49:00.000-08:00

He looks like a lesson to all kids about what happens when you don't get your Sex Ed from a reputable source.

2005-01-07T08:27:00.000-08:00

He looks like he came out to New York City at the age of 17 to pursue a career of modeling, an aspiration he had held dear ever since Father Tilly told him that he had "the nicest lips of all the alter boys" when he was 10. He stepped off the bus with nothing more than a small backpack full of clothes, his guitar and his lifelong dreams. One look at his long brown hair bound into ponytail by a rubberband and a friend in "the biz" proclaimed, "The first step to a modeling career is good hair. Well, actually, it's a slutty disposition and a complete lack of moral scruples, but you also want to have good hair." Since he had spent most of his money on his bus ticket out and had no bankable skills with which to pay for a glamorous cut, his friend referred him to the Vidal Sasson School of Styling where he received a stylish 'do from a hairdresser trainee named Babú, a flaming Kenyan with undying allegiance to Richard Marx and large, jangly bracelets. He was horrified when he saw the resulting hair style in the mirror but Babú assured him it was hip and cool...kind of Simon LeBon meets a featherduster. His insecure, self-conscious query of "Does my hair make me look gay?" soon became his never-failing catchphrase, and people quickly tired of him, avoiding him on the streets. His efforts to break into the modeling business failed, and other than appearing in a handful of salon books of haircuts-people-never-get-but-flip-through-and-laugh-at-while-in-the-waiting-area, he went to meeting after meeting with agents who snickered and politely waved him away. He headed back to his small town to live with his parents, where he has journals upon journals filled with rageful, psychopathic entries directed at the Vidal Sasson School of Styling. Sadly, if you ask most industry insiders, they will say that it wasn't so much his eccentric hairdo that killed his career, as the fact that he was always wearing homemade shirts made from what appeared to be recycled tablecloth. He died at the age of 24 in a freak jello accident, a very bitter, bitter man.

2005-01-07T04:31:00.000-08:00

He looks like he's feeling quite smug in the fact that he's completely naked from the waist down in this Employee-of-the-Month photo...and no one will ever know it.

2005-01-06T13:58:00.000-08:00

She looks like the ex-punk rocker who, after the third incidence of waking up naked in a public place having crapped herself, found Jesus, reformed her life, returned to her roots and now travels through small towns in the midwest, playing to middle school audiences, singing inspirational folk songs of redemption, hope and the power of the human spirit. She self-produced two CDs, and while neither ever made any waves on the national charts, her song, "When You Wake Up In a Subway Tunnel And It Could Be Your Poop Or Someone Else's In Your Hair, Jesus Will Be There To Lend a Kleenex" has gained much underground popularity on college radio stations. She lives in Milwaukee with her husband, Dan, and their three young children.

Pineapple

2005-01-04T19:17:00.000-08:00

Christmas

2004-12-23T11:35:00.000-08:00

2004-12-16T16:52:00.000-08:00

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.

2004-12-15T15:57:00.000-08:00

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.

2004-12-14T15:48:00.000-08:00

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

2004-12-09T18:27:00.000-08:00

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.

2004-12-09T08:52:00.000-08:00

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!

2004-12-07T10:18:00.000-08:00

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."

12/3/04

2004-12-04T10:52:00.000-08:00

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.

12/2/04

2004-12-04T09:55:00.000-08:00

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.

8/25/04

2004-08-25T09:22:00.000-07:00

8/24/04

2004-08-25T09:19:00.000-07:00

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 Match.com 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.

8/11/04

2004-08-11T11:45:00.000-07:00

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.

8/10/04

2004-08-11T11:37:00.000-07:00

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.

7/30/04

2004-07-29T20:45:00.000-07:00

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.

7/29/04

2004-07-29T16:44:00.000-07:00

7/28/04

2004-07-28T23:45:00.000-07:00

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!"

7/27/04 (GENTLEMAN ON THE LEFT)

2004-07-28T17:31:00.000-07:00

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

7/26/04

2004-07-26T06:00:00.000-07:00

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???????

7/25/04

2004-07-25T23:48:00.000-07:00

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.

7/24/04

2004-07-24T22:28:00.000-07:00

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.

7/23/04

2004-07-23T14:34:00.000-07:00

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.

7/22/04

2004-07-22T22:33:00.000-07:00

He looks like he pays fat women for sex.

7/22/04

2004-07-22T20:01:00.000-07:00

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

2004-07-22T17:13:00.000-07:00

That's exactly what we do.

Photo Release Form

2000-02-22T16:50:00.000-08:00

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He Looks Like
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