#AskHp – Linen Pants

As you may be aware, I am now running an advice column as a regular feature. It’s as easy as using the #askHp hashtag and seeing if I pay attention. If I do, the chances are pretty high I will be able to use my significant life experience to help you navigate the murkiest of lifewaters. So, the next time someone shits in your milkshake, why not #askHpWhat could go wrong?

Having just dug deep into my pulsating question-sac, I can pull forth this shining question and hold it aloft like some inquisitive trophy; the very flickering Promethean light of human curiosity given form.

 

How do I tell a girl her linen pants are see through?

 

Perhaps the best place to begin is with the butt itself. Many people assume that the butt is something that should be hidden, shaped or somehow wrangled. To them I say: pish tosh. I once spent ages following a magical butt around a shopping mall. Arcane mystical tendrils that only I could see burst forth from between those fleshy moons, those chunky more-than-handfuls and beckoned me to follow. I was held in thrall, the butt was a funky spaceship sending out a hypergalactic tractor beam. Each step was an ecstatic prayer as I followed this butt and the hands of my heart flew up into the sky with sheer joy, but as I tailed this tail, I realised this tale would be too titillating to tell. I pulled up short. I reined myself in and put down the cosmic telephone. I ended my communication with the divine and much like a man who has seen the face of god, I have never been the same since.

But enough about butts. Let’s talk about what you can do to tell someone a girl her linen pants are see through.

 

1. Dress up as a mirror.

This will surely attract attention and encourage people to check themselves out. When said girl comes over to have a look at her outfit, begin whispering, ‘Your pants are see through… Your pants are see through!’ When she says, ‘Fuck me! A talking mirror!’ you should whip off your mirror suit and say, ‘Your damn linen pants are see through and I can see your vrot panty.’

2. Leave an anonymous sticky note.

On her ass.

3. Take some pictures of the ass and put them up in public. 

Someone in the office in which I work has a habit of taking shirtless selfies. I print them all out and stick them up in the office whenever they appear. I think it’s working.

4. Hack into the ass.

If you have your level 7 ass hacking badge (if you aren’t a member of Rump Scouts then what the hell have you been doing with your life?) you should be able to hack into the vast majority of asses you will encounter in the wild. Anyone wearing linen pants probably only has up to level 3 ass firewalls and these should be easy enough to bypass. Once you have hacked into the ass, I would suggest running the :PowerTwerk: command. This command overrides the muscle fibres of the ass and causes it to become both rhythmic and powerful. Couple this command with the linen pants and one can expect nothing short of a bootyquake. Once the ass has broken free from the pants, you are well within your rights to point out to the owner of said ass that linen is hardly a sufficient casing for an ass running the :PowerTwerk: command. Your victim, none the wiser, will be forced to reconsider their future hiney housings.

5. Wear your own see through linen pants.

This will signal to the owner of the ass that linen pants can indeed be see through. Once this has been acknowledged I suggest you both come visit me so I can inspect just how see through these pants are, so that I may give my professional opinion.

 

Yours bouncing across fleshy hillocks,

PW

 

And there you have it folks and folkettes. Please feel free to ask me for advice on my twitter account using the #askHp hashtag.

 

Header image: © Raimond Spekking / CC BY-SA 4.0 (via Wikimedia Commons)

Original file can be found here.

Five things they don’t tell you about life

We are evolved monkeys. We lost some of our hair; we developed an intricate language with which to misunderstand each other. But that’s all we are. We toil for seventy years so that we can spend a few years resting before we die, slowly pickling in our own juices and become more and more alienated from mainstream life.

There is no soul waiting room where we hang around before popping into a body.

And when exactly does the so-called soul enter the body anyway? Is it at the moment of birth, the moment of conception or somewhere in-between? Does it have to happen within a womb? What if we are conceived in a Styrofoam cup? What happens if the sperm is delivered via a spout other than the penis itself? What happens if the parents are of opposing faiths, which god gets to deposit the soul? Is the soul power with that little burrowing tadpole, the most blindly optimistic thing in our cold universe, or the turgid egg – waiting for the fastest, most aggressive sperm to wriggle and burrow through its membranes?

We don’t get told a bunch of things before we step through a door, suddenly forget everything and start pissing and shitting all over the place as our souls suddenly become babies. We have to figure it out as we go along. And it’s much like your father – fucking horrible.

But I’ve learnt some things along the way, and I would like to share them with you.

 

One: If you don’t ask, you won’t get.

There’s a reason the Bible says the meek shall inherit the earth. It’s so that the people at the top can ride you around like a little fleshy pink horse. If you need something, you gotta ask for it Mr Quiet. So the next time you’re on a date with a girl lean over and ask her: Can I put my sperm-depositor in your lovechute?

See what happens. You will be surprised.

 

Two: It’s hard work being a pervert

Sometimes you aren’t allowed to look at butts. Sometimes you have to try really hard not to. Sometimes the butts are not yours to look at

 

Three: Smile and the world smiles with you, shit your pants and you shit your pants alone

Don’t shit on your own doorstep before you get off the pot. The early bird gets out of the kitchen.

 

Four: Bacon is not that funny

It’s a breakfast meat. It’s elevation to some kind of magical thing is just dumb. Take the joke out the back and kill it with a brick. Don’t even bother burying it, just leave it out for the twin crows of zombies and ninjas to pick at the carcass. Then blow the whole garden up. Those jokes suck.

 

Five: The funniest things are those which aren’t funny

Slipping on a banana peel – not funny. Slipping on a banana peel and dying – much funnier. Slipping on a banana peel and setting in motion a series of events which lead you to travel back in time and kill your own grandparents – even better.

Take a look at these jokes.

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

Euripides.

Euripides who?

Euripides jeans, you menda deez jeans.

///

Knock knock.

Who’s there.

Gerald.

Gerald who?

Hello please I’m being eaten alive by a dickwolf.

 

I’m sure we can see which joke is funnier.

 

PSW Eindhoven

 

[Pic courtesy of Mike Burns]

Five things to make you not feel so awful

I’ve spent the majority of my life feeling awful. This was brought about by a number of factors, including but not limited to: Being born with one and a half legs, the inordinate size of my bonce, my body hair, the way my teeth are so close together and that time all the dogs died.

I was feeling awful this morning, and as I contemplated throwing the entire cup of hot coffee down my throat in the hopes that it would somehow burn through my oesophagus and provide me with a nifty food letterbox, I realised that I had to pull myself together, to shape up, to pull my socks up above my knees before I was in for the high jump into the dog’s breakfast.

So I thought of five things that could make life better. Five golden eggs, shat from the very cloaca of the golden goose herself, into the waiting nest of opportunity. And before I get sidetracked any further, let me present them to you like some kind of frittata of fun, filled with the cheese of happiness and the potatoes of positivity.

 

One: The UFO like sound you can make when you hum while you whistle

When I was a kid someone gave me this great book, which taught you how to make sound effects with your mouth. It came with a record to help you get an idea of what everything should sound like, which I listened to once before the record player stopped working.

I learnt one sound effect; the sound of an alien ship hovering over unsuspecting cows moments before mutilation. I have since used this sound to great effect. Not only does it irritate my sister endlessly, it also causes dogs to cock their heads and go: Hmmm? Hmmm? Hmmmmmm? Which is cute.

Two: You are going to have sex

If you haven’t had it yet, the chances are you will have it sometime soon. You, dear friend, will be dancing the horizontal dance, making the beast with two backs and doing the mattress mambo. You will literally be shaking downstairs hands with someone – stiff, penile finger in moist vaginal glove. Imagine that, you and a person being all naked together. Isn’t it incredible? There might be screaming, there might be wailing, there might even be a midget.

HA HA MIDGET SEX JOKES. OMG HAHA MIDGETS. MIDGET SEX JOKES ARE SO FUNNY.

Three: Email humour is on the decline

If we extend our sexual metaphor a little, if we rearrange our imagery pants to make way for this rather welcome intrusion, we can make an observation. We are in 2013, and in modern parlance we could say that we are now at the ‘just the tip’ stage of the year. Yes, dear friends, we will be balls-deep by December but for now we are just in the entrance hall, so to speak. Our fingers are on the nipples of the year as we tweak away and as the year’s nipples harden we notice a yelp of excitement from the year itself – email humour is finally on the way out, much like the lubricating secretions bursting forth from this very year’s lovechute.

Gone are the days when we receive idiotic jokes, typed out in 24-point Impact about the old man, his wife and the priest or PowerPoint presentations of non-funny jokes. PowerPoints – are you fucking kidding me? The last time PowerPoint was used for a joke was when someone at BlackBerry explained why they weren’t going to go for touch screens.

If you still receive jokes and glitter graphics and cute babies and puppies and entire .wmv files as attachments – tell your mom to stop emailing you.

Four: There’s a soccer player called Kaka

And no matter what he does, he always comes in at number two. And no one wants to shower with a Kaka on the floor. And whenever Kaka plays soccer, he always looks so flushed.

Poor Kaka.

Five: There is no five

Don’t expect me to solve your damn life for you. Life is mostly shitty, boring and painful. You should be grateful I gave you four things to make you happy.

 

Yours in heartburn,

PW

How to be Interesting

Jambo! Let me just put down this ancient Chinese burial mask I collected at masturbation camp in Tibet next to my mp5 player (yeah, it’s not available to the General Public yet). And while I’m here I may as well take off this wig made from the dreams of Barack Obama and sit down on this chair that was hewn from a single rock of Lance Armstrong’s self-belief.

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