Yes, it’s time. It’s time. Worst flyers of the year. And yes, by worst we mean better than the best.

For beauty really is in the eye of the club goer, Shanghai. One man’s freaky CGI gay sex domination spanking fantasy is another man’s... freaky CGI gay sex domination spanking fantasy.

There are no wrong answers here, good readers. There is nothing to be ashamed about. There is no shame. If you happen to be responsible for one of the gems below, feel no indignity. Feel no dishonor or humiliation. Feel no pain. We sincerely wish you all good things in the world and success in the new year.

Again, a quick note on judging criteria: there was none. So relax about it. In our selection process we sifted through 2,410 events listings, looking to champion technical inability, conceptual misfires, ineptitude and an overall je ne sais quoi, mais, c'est merde..

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This guy looks real cool and all. He looks chill. He’s got dreads. He looks like he knows the place to be.

But hey, look in his sunglasses.

Bet he doesn’t know he’s about to get smoked in the face with a soccer ball.

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No, Ingo.

You.

You’re wunderbar.

Okay... you win, Ingo.

We’re BOTH wunderbar.

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Everybody, shhh!! Don’t tell her! It’s a surprise! Shhh!#$^*!

...it’s *Belvedere Vodka*!

tgag4356(^3lsgnahsa457(&*(fagnhlnhart4

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Just trying to trace the thought process of the designer of this one. Got a girl off the internet. Super-imposed her on some weird property listings background.

And then just to jazz it up a bit, just to get those colors really popping, why not just go ahead and close your eyes, and start wailing on your keyboard with a brick.

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Every Wednesday down at Lounge 18, great vista views of the Shanghai skyline, finely crafted cocktails and the angry, disembodied spirits of deceased salsa dancers, forever condemned to lethargically enact their grim ceremony. Hovering just slightly above the lounge seating at the bar, their spectral visages are pressed together for all eternity, forever sealed in a noiseless scream, a prison of shadows, a death embrace.

That’s every Wednesday at Lounge 18 from 9pm. No entry fee.

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Looks like in addition to a very classy wine tasting, this event also features some old dudes breaking down to the sub-atomic level and disintegrating before your very eyes.

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My main problem with this one is those two musical notes just thrown in at the side there. They seem a little distracting and don’t really bring anything to the overall composition of the thing. I feel we could lose those two notes. Can we lose those?

Other than that though, there is absolutely nothing wrong with what’s going on here.

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You know how hard it is to get your cab driver to drop you at the intersection of “Saturday, May 15” and “Live Band”?

I mean, shit we must have driven around for like an hour looking for “Rock n Roll”.

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Somehow I feel they could have done more for DJ Woody, whom I personally know to be a mush up DJ of considerable talent and ability.

He brought in his top mush ups all the way in from Petropavlovsk for God’s sake.

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'70s, '80s AND '90s? That’s one magical fucking tape.

No wonder the gremlins want to get their freaky little paws on it.

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Just a quick stop on the Windows flyer before heading off to the yearly Adult Entertainment and Sex Toys Convention in the magical, enchanted forest of woodland fairies and leprechauns.

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Even Brian Austen Green is bummed about being on this flyer and that dude hasn’t worked in like years.

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I’ve seen this guy before. Comes to Kakadu after work, knocks back a few, has some laughs, round or two of darts, shoots the shit... hanging with the fellas. Just one of the guys, you know?

But I’ll tell you something else you might not know. Serious. When he heads home at night he just beats the ever-loving bejesus out of his wife and kids. Tragic.

It’s like he’s leading two lives...

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The one not going to your party.

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Might work if you’re a crust punk band. Or grindcore or something. But if you’re a fusion jazz combo, spraying the band’s name in shit on a wall might miss the mark a bit as a promotional strategy.

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Just what the fuck is this piece of shit. What the fuck. Fucking fuck, fuck. What the shit fuck shit fuck were they thinking. I mean, c’mon. C’mon. I mean... fuck, look at this. Fuck. Arg. Death. Kill. Bllarrg.

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This might be just a rumor, but I heard that there’s this underground prison somewhere in the Bund area and the only people in there are Russian models. There’s like a secret key card that all the managers of these clubs have, and when they need to do up a flyer, they head down to the prison, swipe the card, pull out one of these Russian models and have a little photo shoot.

When they’re done, they chain them back up and dump them back into the prison for the next guy to use, maybe tossing in a pack of Juicy Fruit or something for the models to fight over.

What a weird life that must be.

One minute you’re being sprayed with milk for some flyer and the next you’re burning your hair to keep warm.

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Cheeky little sausage! Sneaking in the shot there. Your shadow gives you away, my friend! The jig is up!

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Mankind struggles to obtain the ineffable. The search for bliss, the quest for truth, the pursuit of the profound, it anchor us and enables our flight out into the world -- our hopes, our dreams, our aspirations. And, for the lucky among us -- the luckiest, really -- there comes a moment, a brief flash, a brush with the immortal, a glimpse of God. And in this moment, this brief flicker, this ephemeral, fleeting instant, a deep, warm, and powerful revelation transpires. True knowledge washes down from the heavens. The veil has been lifted. All things in the world become one.

"This is the best, most greatest blowjob I have ever received. In my entire life."

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Happy holidays, you delicious bastards.

The door is thataway ------------->

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