Saturday, August 1, 2015

Billy Wankowsky Sings Yacht Rock to Youthful Kelly

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Billy Wankowsky has a secret.

That secret is Yacht Rock.

What is Yacht Rock? That lame douchebro fratchoad music for over forty years of lip biting, high fiving, boat sailing and Bud Light Lime summers.

Like Melville’s symbiotic whale/fish interplay that circumnavigates their douchey-ass trawlers, Fratrock and Douchechoad are a perfect margarita blend of trust fund pablum and culture blender generi-spittle.

All should beware when fratchoads like Billy hum along to remixed Doobie Brothers and fry up some ‘awesome dogs, yo’ on their boat grill. For theirs is a self contained ecosystem. A wretched hive of scam and Valium. The perfect modus operendi for wanky trusty rusty twatwaddles. Whilst lame soft rock seventh chords strummed to falsetto repetition provides the generic soundtrack to their aging, deadened, sun ripened soul shard.

But the greatest tragedy lies in what is slayed on their veritable whale hunt of pop culture somnambulism. For their overplayed ‘classic rock’ soundtrack is not merely accompaniment. It offers the soothing Steelydanitude of inappropriate dazzle. The harmonic wailings that woo ubersucklefondle quality of Youthful Kelly and her purity of holistic hottitude.

And that is true tragedy of the spectral rotting whale corpse beached on the sands of a grossly unexamined life.

Happy summer from the DB1!

# posted by admin
Friday, July 10, 2015

Death to Douchey

Christian-Audigier-Biography (1)The Typhoid Mary of Ed Hardy, arbiter of all things overpriced paint spackle and tiger tattoo, exploiter of the actual Ed Hardy and frequent target of mock on this website, Christian Audigier passed away yesterday at the age of 57.

I certainly do not mean to make light of the premature death of a choad style icon and spreader of cloth herpes simply because his life’s work made the world a douchier place.  By all accounts he was a good person.

Actually I have no idea if he was a good person or not. I haven’t read any accounts either way. I’m simply here to note that his product was really, really douchey.  Like source level toxicbag rot.  To those he leaves behind, I offer only condolences. To those who wore his choadlicious shirts, I will continue to mock your sorry asses with the wit and brevity of a crack addled ferret on no-doze.

At least when I bother updating this bloggy relic of a lost internet age. A memory of the Jurassic Web, I suppose. A place that sits encased in pixelated amber, refusing to give way to a streaming/app infested Facebookian controlled world. But one that wakes up when seismic shifts in the Douche Force occur.

And one occurred yesterday.

RIP Christian Audigier. I will remember you as you wanted to be remembered. Pimping overpriced, garish crap.

# posted by admin
Thursday, June 25, 2015

Someone Named Ariana Grande Wants You to Stop Judging Her For Dating Douchebags

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A few weeks ago someone named Ariana Grande, who may or may not be a Starbucks promotion coupon code, complained that people need to stop judging celebrities based on who they’ve dated.

Apparently this ambulatory entertainment product has spent the past few years coupling with a series of pre-packaged plastic drone boy toy veneers shrink wrapped for mass consumption. And now she doesn’t like it when the internet gets mean. In a rant in some form of social media, this person of whom I have no idea (Disney princess? Heir to Kombucha Tea fortune?) complained thusly:

———
“I can’t wait to live in a world where people are not valued by who they’re dating / married to / attached to… but by their value as an individual… I have clearly not been having the boy questions in my interviews lately because I have come to the realization that I have SO. MUCH. MORE. to talk about… I’m saying this after literally eight years of feeling like I constantly had to have a boy by my side. After being on my own now for a few months I am realizing that that’s just not the case.”
———

There’s some other stuff in there about activism and gender roles, but I’m too lazy to retype it.

That being said, allow me to retort. Because we here at Hot Chicks with Douchebags like to stay up on current events in our quarterly half-assed posts.

Reducing public gossip/criticism to a reductive form of gender politics offers a slap in the face to the very real problem of systemic bias within the language and codes of patriarchal traditions.  It is the pseudo-intellectual whine of privilege. It does damage to the real cause it claims to support.

When a young performer chooses to enter the Foucauldian panopticon of new media ludicrousness, they make an implicit contract to perform as a dancing/dating/drinking/partying rhesus monkey grinding the organ grinder for the hordes of the unwashed.

This is not to excuse the venom and personal attacks that dominate the bottom-scraping chum tank of reprehensibility that defines the New Media wasteland.

It is only to observe that criticism comes with the perks of fame and fortune, as Gandhi once said. Every celebrity has learned this painful lesson since Clara Bow sucker punched Hedda Hopper at Hearst’s Brown Derby blowout back in the 20’s.

So let it be venti. So let it be done.

# posted by douchebag1
Sunday, June 14, 2015

Choadal/Hott Summer Fest 2015

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Lest you thought the hottie/douchey cohabit wasn’t still discombobulating like a hidden pustule underneath the skin of cultural coherency, let this little pile of trixie upchuck harden your arteries like Peter Scolari’s scoliosis.

Yes, your humble narrator still gets the occasional submission from the long time ‘bag hunter.

And while I realize this site has stopped it’s daily mock and exists as a tribute and a relic to an increasingly forgotten Wild Wild West internet that historians will someday struggle to account for and articulate, I still like to pop in and say hi. If you’re still coming back after all these years, I salute you fellow hunters and huntresses. You are not forgotten.

The mock will continue in new form, mayhap.

But I will still point out the choadal taint here and there. As per my prerogative.

# posted by douchebag1
Thursday, June 4, 2015

#TBT: Bra!!

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Because at some point, way back in 2008, a day by the pool was only complete with more Pepsi, Broheim.

Let Bra!!’s monosyllabic albeit joyous grunts of neologic joy as he experiences life’s simple, youthful, caffeinated pleasures be a lesson to all of us.

Tasty cola products make everything better.

# posted by douchebag1
Friday, May 22, 2015

#TBT: The Millennium ‘Bag

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That moment back when an actual human being of biological origins and organic sinew decided to turn himself into an orange/crimson/umber robotic posthuman plastics.

That moment when a Euro weenus shavde teeny Q-Bert patterns in his head for the purposes of cuddling up with Ulle in a Scandanavian tapas bar with tasty pickle chips.

It happened.

We were witness.

And a tiny chihuahua in Albuquerque got the runs.

How could a tiny chihuahua in Albuquerque get the runs simply because a sheeny human chrome-chomp preened himself into a Christmas ornament? A little known scientific hypothesis known as ‘Charos Theory” can answer that for you.

# posted by douchebag1
Sunday, April 19, 2015

Hot Chicks with Douchebags After Douchebags

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A little over a year ago I ended this blog as a daily force for douche mock.  

After eight years of glorious dissection of the choady/cutie dialectics, I felt I had said all there is to say about hottie/douchey cohabit.

My rants had been forced to give way to little more than idle chit-chat in a post-douchebag world.

The word itself, “douchebag,” that I had so carefully and lovingly developed to mean something specific (a preening tool using spectacle to try to attract a mate), gave way to overuse and linguistic slippage. A million HCwDB-inspired ‘douchebag’ memes were started (aka stolen) by a million wannabe mockers. The word lost all importance. Enough to make Chomsky blush.

As Ed Hardy and douche face and stupid selfies faded, as cheesy facial fung and orange spray tans and ninny hair receded like Antarctic snow, the douche blended and molded into hipster wash. The obvious mock was no more.

But I still wonder what if.

I sit and pensively sip my Mr. Pibb. I perch on the veranda overlooking my alpaca sex farm. And I ruminate on the increasing importance of culture mock in a post-individual blend of Reddit/Nerdist blandness, sameness and genericism.

Where are the next generation of cultural critics and woodland creature fetishists to rage against the pop culture vortex of industrial acquiescence?

Can we find these voices any more in the age when Buzzfeed listicles substitute for thought? Where fake-nerd comic book men-in-tights CGI spectacles substitute for character, narrative, and plot? When Jimmy Fallon dances in pre-packaged viral bits set to random 1980s one hit wonders because he knows aging Xers will circulate any form of 1980s nostalgia? When all our male movie stars are 30-something Germanic Aryan Teutons named “Chris” or “Chad” and all our female movie stars refuse to let me powder their knee muffins with talcum and spittle?

I do not have the answer to these questions.

I only know that douchemockery must continue in some form. If for no other reason than to critique and overturn the assumptions that cultural dictates are inherent rather than learned.

My rumination and isolation, like Yoda by way of Siddhartha, continues.

But more to come.

# posted by douchebag1
Friday, March 27, 2015

Dr. Chinfungenstein Pays A House Call

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Long time ‘bag hunters, hark! Pay heed.

Dr. Chinfungenstein has achieved an impressive ratio of maximum doucheface with minimal effort.

This outstanding achievement in scrote-face while lakebagging with Kelly can be appreciated as the following equation:

df*.9/e*.1=s(cr)o-te/4

Off the charts doucheosity, folks. Enough to make me break my hiatus to mock with pensive aplomb.

For rare is the punchable wankiposity so repositorially rank with so slight a visible effort. Dr. Chinfungenstein is preturnatural. Perhaps the Orson Welles of douche face.

# posted by douchebag1
Sunday, March 8, 2015

Your Sunday Douchekiss

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As Party Girl Ryan kisses His ‘roided beef-cheek with the tenderest of shallow affections, Beefer Sutherland is currently having the following thought:

A) “Unhhgghhhh.”

B) “Mmmm… grahhhhhwwwoooo.”

C) “Fwee…. fwee… fwee… fwee…”

D) “Eternal inflation, string theory and even Hugh Everett’s ‘many worlds’ interpretation of quantum mechanics all suggest a vast number of universes, and conditions have to be bolted onto each of the theories to get the number of universes down to one. Therefore Jager is the shit.”

Answer now!

# posted by douchebag1
Saturday, February 28, 2015

Shmecky Von Dillpickle Headlocks Clementine

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I often reflect on the many permutations of douchemock and hottlust that have burrowed like so many rivulets through the sediment of pop culture timeshock. When HCwDB began the mock, it was a serious time. Then it was a playful time. And the mock was enjoyed by all.

Now it is a serious time again.

 

Humorless.

Angrier.

Gender wars and dating battles taken from playful banter to dark resentment.

I’m not sure what to make of the ratcheting up of tension and loss of humor in today’s confused, decadent and most certainly decoherent anti-humor post-humor thunderdome.

But alls I do know is that Shmecky Von Dillpickle is a shmegtaint. And everyone should take a breath, stop getting so pissed off, and allow ourselves to unite in the principle that all of us, each and every one, can agree that Shmecky’s headlock of Clementine is the pestilent hair taint upon a mongerel’s tick bitten posterior.

For if we cannot agree to that, I put it to you Greg, what can we agree upon?

# posted by admin
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