Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Pizza 'Bag

A guy walks into a bar.

The bartender says, “Hey, wanna see a picture of a total and complete douchebag oozing scrote over a group of cute little college cuties?”

The guy says, “Sure!”

The bartender pulls out this pic.

And they both spontaneously burst into flames and die.

Hey, so I’m not the best joke teller. Maybe it’s in the delivery.

May your Christmas weekends be ‘bag free and full of pure, uncut hotness. And may you avoid creepy stalkerbags like that weird dude in the back left of the pic. I don’t even want to know what kind of toys are in that kid’s closet.

Hot Dog: The Douchebags

All we need to make this pic a complete journey into the darkest depths of the douche ski patrol is dancing monkeys flinging poo. Or perhaps we already have that in this pic. I started to count the wrong, but once I hit the combo revelation of that rarest of species, the fantastus assicus attempting to grapple with that most common of fungii, the scumbagus douchebagus, my head Buckaroo Bonzaid into the 8th dimension with headache inducing speed.

It’s bad enough broken wristed ski-bag is attempting to fondle that tall stalk of corn. But toss in a pucca shell tonguebag more interested in a flashing digital camera than the round perfection below him, and you have the perfect pic to cause the entire HCwD fanbase to collectively slam their heads into their monitors on a Friday afternoon.

Please, do not go Peter Gibbons on this PC Load Letter. It’s not worth it.

Santa 'Bagging

With Christmas rapidly approaching, I thought I would share a heartwarming tale of attempted douchebaggery brought to us by our very own Douchestar Runner, who put on the Santa outfit as his means of engaging a stage-1 ‘bag strategy to meet the hotties. Gotta give him points for originality. Not too many ‘bags running around using the highly unusual “Santa Strategy.” Especially Presbyterian Ministers on the make.

As DR recounts the tale:

Friday night my roommate and I have his brother and our mutual friend from high school over at our place for good old boozing. My roomie’s bro arrives carrying two Santa costumes because he and his brother are going to an event called “SantaCon” (which is held in Manhattan every year) the next morning. It’s an all day affair where several hundred Santas roam all over Manhattan getting drunk and causing all kinds of debauchery. My buddy from high school–who happens to be a Presbyterian minister–shows up, and with very little convincing he and roomie’s bro start getting into the Santa suits because we are going to hit the local bar. My roommate and I tell them–“c’mon, Santa ALWAYS gets laid!”

Nice try, DR. Santa’Bagging is only a stage-1 ‘bag strategy. Looks like tribal tats, gel and bling beat a Santa suit any day of the week.

Friday Haiku

Silky, preening knob,
Shaved chest, existential quake,
‘Bag headlock, doves cry.

Popeye

There’s been a noted lack of popped collars on the site lately and I am to correct that with this pic. Which is kind of like turning on a light by setting off a neutron bomb. This exploding light-blue ball of popped “L.A. Looks” Tag body O.D.ing poppy seed is a nice way to wake myself up on a Friday by punching myself in the conceptual nutsack.

This little chicklet has taken her first step down the dark road of ‘baggery with her sadly cute attempt at a tonguebag pose and fondling of Popeye’s poppedness. Like a toddler taking her first tentative steps, she is dipping her toe in the douche pool. We are witnessing one of the earliest stages of a Grieco infection right here.

I’m thinking we need a Jerry Lewis telethon.

Train Wreck

‘Bag Rule #06: If you’re wearing a conductor hat and Liberace garage sale sunglasses, your ur-douche power is beyond source douche to an almost Grieco level of luminosity.

Observe this douche sun-God’s unholy power taking out two hotties and rendering them instant stage-4 Bleethers. Very sad.

This turd reminds me of a Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em robot, scrote style. I want to click-punch his head until it pops up.

As to the long lost hotties, they may have gone down the dark road of douchitude, but man alive I’d munch on that yellow bikini-top with a nice strawberry topping.

Dancing Socrates?

Is that the legendary grease-head, Socrates, dancing in the “Douche is in the Heart” pic? Doc seems to think so. I’m not sure, but it could very well be.

Chaser

And here’s one more chaser pic in the afterglow of the HCwDotY. Nothing too amazing about this pic other than the fact this bulky chinbag’s forehead is apparently the size of Trenton.

And that cleavite. That oh so fantastic cleavite. I would live in the jungles of Antwerp subsisting on rice cakes and grasshoppers just to juggle her socks for an hour outside the Tastee-Freeze.

Douche is in the Heart

While we’re all celebrating Glinty’s win, lets get down to the early 90s club hit by Deeeee-Scrote, “Douche is in the heart.”

The puke that you
send up my throat
Keep me filled with
Satisfaction when we’re done
Satisfaction of what’s to come
(I) I couldn’t ask for a douchebag

No I couldn’t ask for a douchebag,

Your bling I do deeply dig
No walls only the wigg(a)
My scrotey bitch, my succotash wish
(Sing it baby)
(I) I couldn’t ask for a douchebag,
(Uh-huh uh-huh)
(I-I-I-I-I I)
No I couldn’t ask for a douchebag,

Douche is in the heart
Ah-ah-ah-ah
Douche is in the heart
Ah-ah-ah-ah
Douche is in the heart
Douche is in the heartttt,
Ah-ah-ah

The depth the forehead grease,
Move us to the nth release,
We goin’ through to Jersey,
Hears a who-ooh
(I) I couldn’t ask for a douchebag
(I-I-I-I-I I)
No couldn’t ask for a douchebag,
DJ Scrote (scrote) popped a collar,
I’ve been told the douchebag hollars,
He’s not vicious or malicious
Just de-lovely and a total and complete ball of f-ing scrote,
No (I) I couldn’t ask for a douchebag,

(Sing it)

Douche is in the heart
Ah-ah-ah-ah
(Ne-na-na-na-na)
Douche is in the heart
(Ne-na-na-na-na)
Douche is in the heart
(Ne-na-na-na-na)
Douche is in the heart-ah-ah-ah

Douche is in the heart
Ah-ah-ah-ah (yeah)
Douche is in the heart
Ah-ah-ah
Douche is in the heart
Douche is in the heart
Ah-ah-ah

HCwD of the Year: Glinty

In the end it was fairly close, but Glinty pulled it out like the champion West Coast greaseball he is. Although Socratic Douche did put up a tough fight to come in second, with Dung Beetle still receiving enough votes to finish a solid third.

But the overwhelming grease/hot combo of Glinty remains a fan fave. There were just too many attributes for Glinty to be denied. The bling. The shirt with the stupid douche “humor” partially blocked by a gorgeous, exposed beauty. However, the greased up forehead and chin pubes are what I think carried him through the finals to a convincing victory for the coveted first annual HCwDotY Award.

I’d inform Glinty himself, but I’m not sure he’s actually human. Staring at this pic makes me think he might be like Orange ‘Bag, an apparition or a shell that you simply move into a storage bin when the clubs close.

So lets all clink our bling and give HCwD props to Glinty for beating out the rest and taking the coveted top spot. He is “Classic HCwD” on so many levels. He is archetype. While there are more gut wrenching douchebag freaks and sexy-ass hotties from the past year (I’m still recovering from the perfection of Barbarino ‘Bag’s hottie), there is no doubt that this pic contains too many douchey/hottie qualities to ignore its greatness.

As Mitch Meats breaks it down for us:

Winner and still champeen: Gliny Blinglescrote, I want to douse your soul patch in turpentine then immolate your @#$@ing oily head. I want to draw and quarter your nutsack with very powerful and slow moving tortoises. I want to put you in a blender, make a dirty douchetini, and throw you off the Statue of Liberty. There are so many thousands of ways that I can imagine killing you this morning. For that, and the combined strength of your über-delicious rays of sunshine, you completely deserve the title of Douchebag of the Year. Now get the @#$@ out of my sight.

Well said, M.M. And nice job finding the umlout key. I still haven’t been able to crack that Germanic nut.

I’m also pleased to see i bling key in on an important ‘bag factor that we sometimes overlook — the attitude problem. There’s no doubt that Dung Beetle’s sneer (and his hottie’s perfection) are the reasons he’s made it this far in the first place.

But the sneering Dung Beetle has the crucial douchebag arrogance that raises him above the other two. He’s wearing all black, has the stupid sunglasses indoors and a death grip on his hottie. He’s mocking us in this photo, knowing we will likely never have the opportunity to give him the throat-punch he so richly deserves.

Nice work, I.B. Another interesting hypothetical is brought to us by Douche, PhB(ag), who ruminates on the differences between genetic douchosity and douche-as-persona:

A philosophical question. What is more douche? To be as one is, like a shiny mountain, Phidias’ Zeus in silver track pants, an eternal Jersey guido douchebag? Or to change with the seasons, shedding the glinty belt buckle and fake tan like a diseased maple dropping its wormy rotting leaves only to blossom into a new and more horrible form the coming spring?

I believe the latter is more reprehensible. Vote Glinty, as I do.

Pandora brings an important female perspective as she uses the “least likely to touch” barometer to make her vote before casting in with S.D.:

Needless to say, all three douches here are very HCwDBofY worthy … yet the one I would be most unwilling to let touch me is the Socratic Douche. Not only does he look like he just rolled out of a tanning booth and into a lard bath, he is wearing the classic douche tank top and bling. While not sporting the grillz of White Chocolate, I bet he’s saving up his money from his full time job at Burger King to buy a pair. I would like to buy lighters for each of his blondes so that they may be able to burn the layer of skin off that touched him.

Nicely reasoned, Pandora. In fact there was some excellent work done by all the ‘bags, ‘bag slayers and hotties in the comments thread including an excellent poem by Undouchesided, I refer all to the comments thread for a more detailed analytical deduction of some of the larger moral, intellectual, philosophical, ethical and puke/boner factors that we’re exploring.

Great work all, lets tip our red cups of Night Train to Glinty. For he and his hotties personify all that is uber hottie/scrote in today’s douchey world. All that makes us hopeful, and all that makes us want to kill ourselves with an ice-pick through the eye.