After 20 hours of plane-hopping – the price of getting to Phuket from the U.S. West – the last thing Charlie wanted to do was waste day 1 of his trip sleeping on the pull-out couch of his fleabag Thailand excuse for a hotel. It was time to party, party like an American who knows his way around around a plate of pad thai and $2 hookers.
And so he drank. And he hit on those hookers. And the beer and the jet lag amplified his American bravado.
“Ching-chang chong,” he slurred, intoning a Yankee-Thai accent. “You learn-a the Engrish, you earn-a the dollars.”
Sixteen hours later Charlie learned what $2 really buys you in a Thai brothel: A sore ass and a SharpieDick on the back.
Traditionally, SharpieDicks is a man’s sport – as ingrained in the male psyche as the desire to hunt wild game and shotgun beer. But the researchers over at Deadspin have uncovered the rarest of exceptions to this rule: Cheerleader on cheerleader SharpieDicking.
And as our country celebrates an exceptional man rising against odds to the highest office in the land, let us not overlook this exceptional example of SharpieDick art, performed by women showing that their capabilities are not limited by sex. Any woman who can handle dicks like this deserves a bow and a tip of the pen.
Apologies to our loyal readers for the lack of SharpieDicks content of late. We at “the Dicks” (as we call our corporate headquarters) have been in the final throes of presidential campaign season, knocking on doors … franchising voters … and push- and pull-polling. “The Dicks” has been abuzz with the political fervor of a hard-fought race and come Tuesday we will see if our efforts have paid off.
So, as a stop-gap measure, to fill the void before we are back up to speed providing the world with SharpieDicks, we offer this informative video in an effort to reach across the aisle to the SharpieDicked. During this heated time of political upheaval, we feel it is the least we can do.
SharpieDicks is a welcoming community, a place where diverse people with diverse ideas come together around a central principle: That when a friend or enemy gets shitfaced, he or she deserves to be ridiculed and shamed with a SharpieDick, preferably on the face.
And although the premise of the blog is simple, the community can at times, be at odds.
At SharpieDicks central office, where we produce the blog, process the photos and videos and correspond with our readers, we often hear complaints about the seemingly homophobic bent of some of our content.
Enter Josh. Josh is the prototypical SharpieDick victim … passed out at the home of a “friend” after a night of heavy drinking, marked by the scabbard of the drunken couch. Along with the dick, there is the common gay reference and in this case a sign placed next to his alco-corpse reading “Will suck cock for crack.”
Our position is this: The role of SharpieDicks is not to filter the art, but to give it venue … a place for its appreciation. A SharpieDick on the face of a man is inherently homophobic (unless it happened at a gay party, or something). We don’t deny that. But if we apply our own social conventions to its deconstruction, does that not corrupt the process?
Stew on that. And think of Josh. That dude would probably eat a bag of dicks if given the chance.
This victim still has the telltale signs of a rough night before – the bloodshot eyes, remnants of Sharpie art on the forehead, and the statically charged hair that only comes from sleeping face down on the living room carpet. There is no SharpieDick to speak of, but as we know in the world of SharpieDicks, the art is in the interpretation.
Does this qualify? (and reader poll: Are we looking at a male or female victim?)
Okay, this image was stolen from the Failblog, but since Failblog is the second best resource for sharpiedicked pictures on the interwebs and since this one is so good, we’ll just consider it borrowing.
Most SharpieDicks happen in the weird post-adolescent space between boyhood and manhood, when the seeking of self meets the finding of self. But as is often the case with the process of discovery, young men occasionally overestimate their Jagermeister capacity. This boy-man found himself in that situation, surrounded by friends whose own maturity suffered a temporary relapse before they SharpieDicked a tuxedo on his passed out body.
We live in troubled times: The U.S. is embroiled in three wars costing soldiers lives, countless billions of dollars and perhaps permanently compromising its moral authority the world over. Banks are going belly up, the stock market has lost more than 30 percent of it’s value in two weeks time, and the layoffs are rampant. Troubled times indeed.
But unless you reside in an 8′ x 8′ jail cell in Pensacola, Florida, and you are identified only as “Inmate 2557,” it could be worse. Picked up on a drunk and disorderly, 2557 is the human picture of the American fall from grace. And to add insult to injury, his ass got SharpieDicked in the holding cell.
Rome is burning, but for 2557 Rome burned a long time ago. Think about that the next time you open your IRA statement … it could be worse.
Yeah, George is punk. The skeleton-emblazoned hoodie tells that story. So does the Sharpie cat face, Sharpie Swastika, Sharpie porn ’stache and, lest we forget, the SharpieDick.
Oh and thanks to George’s pregnant buddy Earl for stepping into this shot … that tat is pretty fly. And totally punk.
Although the movement started decades ago, likely in the basement of some fraternity at a third-tier state school, it lives on and is immortalized here.
SharpieDicks is all about the art that finds itself on the bodies of unsuspecting, passed out friends and foes alike ... victims who fall prey during the depths of a deep, malt liquor-induced comasleep.
Stamp your friends with the dreaded SharpieDick, snap a pic and send it to us. Your pwnership will exist for the ages for all to see.
After 20 hours of plane-hopping – the price of getting to Phuket from the U.S. West – the last thing Charlie wanted to do was waste day 1 of his trip sleeping on the pull-out couch of his fleabag Thailand excuse for a hotel. It was time to party, party like an American who knows his way around around a plate of pad thai and $2 hookers.
