Dorkjuice is the brainchild of a handful of dorky dudes who often juice themselves. That’s all there is to it, really. I guess I could keep rambling, but there’s not much of a point. It’s a site. It’s funny. We’re dorks. The end.
Anyway, so today I’m riding the bus to a coffee shop and there’s this lady sitting near me and a few seats from her there’s this oily, stalker-looking, child rapist (probably) guy. So he looks at old crab crotch (sidenote, that’s also what I call my Grandma) and says, “Hey. Smelly Bertha. How’s the war going, eh?” And she doesn’t even acknowledge him.
That’s when I realize I’m caught between a child rapist (probably) and a senile woman who smells like pickled Werther’s (definitely). Then I start thinking, “Would I rather be mauled (and possibly coughed on) by an old, crazy lady or molested (and possibly coughed on) by Oily McForehead?”
I mean, it’s kind of a hard call, you know? Most people would lean toward the mauling, obviously, but when you’re actually in the situation and you can see those little bits of crust in the corners of Grandmother Time’s mouth and you’re looking at her nails and they look like they haven’t been trimmed or cleaned since JFK made brain punch all over the trunk of that gorgeous Cadi (he could have had the decency to lean the other way)…I mean, you start thinking, “Could I really let this human litter box touch me?” I’m not saying she smelled like cat shit, I’m just saying she had a definite litter boxiness to her.
But then there’s the oily guy too. So I start thinking if I could stomach that. Then I decide to play a little game of “Bang, Marry, Kill” with Granny, Oils, and the depressing-looking bus driver. And, I pretty much decide I’d bang the bus driver. And as I’m figuring out which to marry and which to kill, I realize this hasn’t solved my initial dilemma of if I’d rather get raped or mauled…so I pull out the old 3DS and play some Zelda.
And I guess, when you get right down to it, that’s what Dorkjuice is all about.
- Joel Higgins