Friday, November 30, 2007

    Hondouche


    I just remembered why I don’t like Nascar.

    I used to think it was the inanity of staring at cars all jammed together and going in a circle.  Nothing seemed more inane than staring at circular cars for 9 hours while breathing carbon monoxide.  

    Then I saw the cities where NASCAR events were held.  If I lived there I’d go stare at traffic for entertainment, too.
    Now I think it’s the spiky ginormous hair and the pouty blonde hott with perky pokey hello glitterbra.
    I’d Dale her Earnhardts with a pit stop to grease my breaks before rotating my Danica Patricks.  I don’t know what that means, but I do know that four hundred Lite Beer ads positioned within every corner of my peripheral vision while I stare at a bunch of cars taking a left turn is the anti-boobie.  
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    # posted by douchebag1
    Friday, November 30, 2007

    The Blunder


    Youth is a blunder; Manhood a struggle, Old Age a regret.

    – Benjamin Disraeli

    Where’s a firehose when you need one.

    - DB1

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    # posted by douchebag1
    Friday, November 30, 2007

    Dudes


    Dude #1: Dude.

    Dude #2: Dude.

    Dude #1: Your hair is bangin’, yo.

    Dude #2: I know, right?

    Dude #1: Totally.

    Dude #2: Word. Yours, too. Off the hook, fosho.

    Dude #1: Bra. I know.

    Hott: Can we get out of here? Or do you two want me to leave so you can play with each other’s hair?

    Dude #1: Dude. Is she serious?

    Dude #2: I think so.

    Hott: I’m out.

    Hott gets out of the limo and slams door.

    Dude #1: Whatever.

    Dude #2: Talk to the hand.

    Dude #1: Talk to the hair!!

    Dude #2 (hysterical): Bra!! Genius!!

    Dudes hi-five. Then check their hair in the mirror.

    anddddd… scene.

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    # posted by douchebag1
    Friday, November 30, 2007

    Friday Haiku


    Makeup Emo Smirks,
    His Retro 80s ruse worked.
    Eye shadow worth cost.

    How many emos
    Needed to change a bulb? None!
    He sits in the dark.

    – duke of douchester

    the make-up counter
    at Nordstrom has exploded
    all over his head.

    – pfah

    Flock of Seagulls mop
    Eye banging a dude. Run cutie,
    run so far away

    – marcos douchebagdatis

    Simon Lebon’s son
    Scoring chicks because of dad
    Douchey like the Wolf

    – plinky

    Grab my black shoulder
    I will probe your backside to
    search for dark entry

    – rev. douche

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    # posted by douchebag1
    Friday, November 30, 2007

    The Story


    Somewhere, carved into limestone in an ancient tongue, there is a backstory that explains the events captured in this picture.

    It is a story handed down from father to son. Mother to daughter. Parrot to cheese grater.

    It is a story of family. Friends. Japanese food. Wasabe. Modern art wall frescos. A blonde in a see-through mesh top. A brunette with a sexy shoulder.

    And a steaming scrotebag with disjoined head proudly displaying his abs.

    It is an epic tale that makes no coherent sense whatsoever. Or, to use a modern analogy, anything by John Irving.

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    # posted by douchebag1
    Thursday, November 29, 2007

    Ask DB1: ‘Bag Confrontation


    —–
    Dear DB1,

    I had the displeasure of having an encounter of the douchebag kind while enjoying some Thanksgiving Eve festivities and was hoping you could enlighten me as to how the situation should have more properly been handled.

    I was at a nice, multi-level bar in NYC that had an open area where there were a goodly number of people dancing, most of whom were attractive girls.

    I’d been putting on my drunk whiteboy dance show for about three songs when I suddenly sensed a presence behind me. At the same time, what I can only describe as an Uber Guido danced up to the girl I was with, directly opposite from me, and started dancing right up on her. Her face underwent a cascade of emotions from shock, to dismay, to disgust as she registered the presence of the jackass with the faux-hawk and too-tight shirt with nearly non-existent sleeves to better show his 24″ pythons.

    Somehow misinterpreting her clear disgust as encouragement, the Uber Guido suavely asked, “Hey, wanna party? Yeah! Let’s party!!!” and began increasing the aggressiveness of his dancing style. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed that another, equally offensive Uber Guido was lurking behind me.

    At this point, what is a reasonable guy to do in this situation?

    I have to admit that I took what I felt to be the only reasonable course, which was to swiftly flee the dance area to escort the girl to the bar for another drink, but felt like I should have done something more to further the Cause. Did I let down the anti-douchebag community?

    –Gaius Douchius Caesar
    —–

    Physically confronting the douche can often be harmful, as they’re likely to pummel the average ‘bag hunter. What’s best is to mock them from a safe distance, while stirring your drink with that useless little red straw they always give you.

    However when forced into direct confrontation with a dual douche assault, there is one weapon of choice I prefer to use: The Two Syllable Word. For instance, “Why the deviated cranium, douche-face? Did your mother mate with a split rock?” containes the words “deviated” and “cranium,” which the average ‘bag will not understand.

    Most ‘bags live monosyllabic lives. Simply introduce a number of complex words into your mocking of their grease, and you should quickly triumph. They will grow rapidly confused, and then seek out other Woo-Hotties to bother.

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    # posted by douchebag1
    Thursday, November 29, 2007

    Ben Afflict

    Ah, the Affliction shirt.

    The sideways hand gesture.

    The Steve Zahn douche-face.

    He’s not a huge douche. More like a mid stage-2er. Enough to annoy. More than a ‘bagling. But less than a full fledged scrote.

    I love you, pouty brunette with the green fruffy drink and the pink pyramid. Please come sit at my table and tell me about how you’re temping but you really want to be a makeup artist. I’ll pretend to care and nod frequently.

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    # posted by douchebag1
    Thursday, November 29, 2007

    Magilla Scrotilla


    There’s only one excuse for Chloe Sevigny Hott to be lugging around this Magilla Scrotilla like a simian side purse. He’s in the W.W.E.

    I’ll give a Get of Douche Jail Free card to any professional entertainers whose job it is to look ginormous. No official ‘bag status for, say, Hulk Hogan. So if Magilla’s a famous bulky performer who needs to go around shirtless, he gets a pass.

    Otherwise, shirtless uber-douche. Stamped on his forehead. Preferably in pink. Or teal.

    Oh Chloe. Your cleavite beckons me with the siren call of a thousand drunk bluejays. I don’t know what that means. Boobies.

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    # posted by douchebag1
    Thursday, November 29, 2007

    Little Kenny


    Okay, who let Little Kenny loose in the strip club again?

    Is Little Kenny a ‘bag? Probably not. More likely, the Farmer Ted of his class. Hope you won those floppy disks, Little Kenny.

    And for you connoisseurs, that’s four bottles of choice boobery, vintage 1988 bottling year. 19 Year old Boobie Bottles. Perfect.

    Or at least it will be until they turn 30 and start yelling at me to get a job, stop fondling their shoes and lease them a car.

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    # posted by douchebag1
    Wednesday, November 28, 2007

    TongueHotts and the Youthbag

    To keep with the mutant tongue theme but to knock that last pic one down on the douche-chain, here’s an adorable hott on the left with the longest tongue I’ve seen on display since Katz’s Deli.

    Her little pink tongue is fairytale adorable.

    I’d rub its soft velvet surface with my toes, then curl up in her gums and sleep lightly with sugarplum dreams. Then I’d fondle her boobs with primal grunting.

    He is standard late 30s wanna-be douche. He emulates youthbaggery because he fears his own aging process. Which makes him actual douche.

    Give it up, wannabe Youthbag, and get back to your cubicle at Lehman Brothers before the temp agency finds out.

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    # posted by douchebag1
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