Lupo Cativo

She didn't realize what she had gotten herself into when she stepped into the Ukranian buffet restaurant. Feeling underdressed and out of touch, she wanted to hide her un-hipster self in the corner and slowly sway to the Russian folk music in the dark. But there was something about this 'folk' music that captivated her. Mostly because it wasn't folk music at all, or at least not completely. On stage she saw an older gentleman, clad in tight white jeans and a loose black blouse that only eastern European men can pull off with style and dignity. He had a powerful, almost operatic voice that filled the room. And instead of being backed by an emaciated pack of violas, mandolins and accordions, he was bellowing to what she in her heart knew as a tin sounding Karaoke beat.



Who was this Russian pop star and how could she get more? Before she knew it, a decanter of vodka was placed in front of her. "Oh no. I couldn't. I don't drink vodka, it makes me a little crazy." Looking deep into those performing Russian eyes though, she knew she could not resist. She wanted to feel- to really feel what he was selling. The double shot was poured, the disco ball sped up it's rotation, and the rest is a blurry, amazing dream.

Taken from Hunting the Wolf.

How many times did this guy have to be touched before this happened?

This is an old classic that I'm sure you have seen before, but it's worth revisiting.

C'est L'Halloween

I saw a dead man

I was recently in New Orleans and saw a dead dude (at least I beleive he was, I can't find anything about it on the web) who had been shot out front of my hotel. I unfortunately didn't bring a camera. This was the only moment I regretted that decision. Since I don't have a picture of this glorious event, I shall instead post the following:

All I Want For Christmas...

Dear Death Car,

All i ever really wanted was to be accepted by the good people over at Death Car. However, not being of the caucasian persuasion, I've had problems finding my niche within the Death Car Elite. Perhaps this humble gift, a charming little teapot, will further push towards my acceptance into the Death Car Clan.

I hope this helps and I look forward to seeing you all in the near future.

Thank You,
New Guy Over By The Dumpster

Dear DeathCar,

Dear DeathCar,

Thanks for the invite. I am sure that both of us together can start some serious shit. Or not... Who knows? Maybe we can go on a date or something? It's possible that me posting on here will be like a monkey throwing his shit at all the peoples at the Zoo, you know without all the people watching. So in closing this will just be me, a monkey throwing shit..... And who doesn't love that?

By Fran (age 3)

A three year old named Fran drew this wonderful picture. What is it? You tell me. I think it's a boy who just took his own life by shotting himself in the head with a .45, and his brains are spilling out all over his good friend the giant penis. Either that or a gay hair dresser and his live-in lover. There is no way to tell for sure, because three year olds are fucking retarded. And you can take that to the bank.

King of the frogs will eat your children.

I wanted there to be more drawings on DeathCar, and so there was. Why? Because I fucking put them there. I like this one because any animal + Knife = Good. You disagree? Well fuck you then, you fucking fascist.

I hope that frog guts you like a fish.

Original DC Comix.

DC & Friends

It has been too long.

So the latest version of DeathCar is now up and at them for better or worse, and here is what you can expect.

Nothing.

That's right, nothing. I have invited more people to write for DC, and I assume they will continue to make this the same horrible place that it has been for the past 356 days. There will be no format to speak of. Just whatever the fuck is felt like being posted that day. So it could be a 13 paragraph rant about cunts, or it could just be a simple photo without any words. Who knows, who cares.

Yours truly,

-DWB