Guy: “Your hair smells good. It’s like honeysuckle and clov….. HEY! That’s MY Herbal Essence, isn’t it?!!?”
Lady: “Oh calm down, Mike. I was out of my shampoo and used a drop of yours. What’s the big deal?”
Guy: “Why you conniving little thief! You know my hair has to be maintained with a delicate balance of bounce AND body, and Herbal Essence is the only solution that works!! Hell, half the reason I do these stupid photo shoots is to pay for the gallons of product I have to use to keep up my masculine appearance!!!.”
Lady: “Oh my God, you are such a little baby. I guess now is a bad time to tell you I used some conditioner too, huh?”
Guy: “You biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch.”
What was the brief for this photo shoot?
“So, today we’re shooting a house coat that the designers insist on making sexy. I need the hair and make-up to read, ‘dinner at eight,’ but the dress itself needs to look like one of Carol Burnett’s rejected costumes from her Cleaning Lady routine.”
SAD PATTERNS PRESENTS:
This post originally appeared on November 17, 2011
“Look dumbass, do you want the freaking tangerines or not? I didn’t spend all morning picking these damn things just so you can change your mind about having freshly squeezed orange juice with your breakfast. Geez, mother was right. I should have married Barry Jacobs. He’s a dentist you know. Even if he was bad in bed, I’d at least get free teeth cleanings.”
Damn this thing is dumpy, but it does remind me of a story from when I was in the 5th grade:
I hated my 5th grade teacher. She was not very vice and frankly, not very good at her job.
One day she comes in wearing stove-pipe trousers, made of gray banker’s stripe fabric, like the dress on the left.
Not really understanding textiles or design, I raise my hand and asked her, in front of the whole class, “Are those your husband’s pants?”
She curtly said, “NO, THEY ARE NOT!” and continued the lesson.
I still have scars from the daggers her eyes shot me.
Totally worth it though because she never wore the pants to class again.
I always wondered what it would be like if Elton John
designed the costumes for Dr. Zhivago.
Guy in stripe shirt, thinking: “It… it’s just so… perfect! Mustn’t stare… mustn’t stare…”
Guy in white shirt, thinking: “Aww Hell! I’m looking. Something that fine deserves adoration and worship!”
Guy in check shirt, thinking: “DAMN SON! YOU GOT A LICENCE TO CARRY THAT THING!?!”
Guy in blue shirt, thinking: “Every time I wear these pants I get random guys checking out my ass… MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!”
Tina’s mom was working through some issues…
“Hey sweetie, I just finished a new stuffed decoration for you!
It’s a tiny ballerina, clutching a floating heart… as if she’d been abandoned by someone she trusted and left to fend for herself.
If you pay attention, you can see the quiet desperation of her lifeless eyes slowly fade away as she loses her grip and comes to terms with her fate.
Frankly, the sweet embrace of death would be a blessing for her.
Now, let’s go hang her up so the countdown to her demise can begin!!”