Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Chronic Scrotatic Syndrome

While we’re tallying up the HCwD of the Year voting, Baron Von Douchausen writes in to bring all of our attention to the horrible and debilitating ‘bag disease, “CSS.”

Please won’t you think of the ‘bag children? Won’t somebody think of the ‘bag children?

I remember just a short time ago (maybe a month) when I was a virgin baghunter. My excitement seemingly knew no bounds. Now, I am sad to say, I’ve been diagnosed with a Chronic Scrotatic Syndrome (CSS). CSS, according to the DSM-IV, manifests itself with alternating fits of uncontrollable anger and unconsolable sadness. Many misdiagnose it as bi-polar disorder.

The only known treatment–there is no known cure (Hoffer, 1999)–is to find a hottie of one’s own and humiliate her publicly with your hand gestures and tongue lolling (Schmidt & Dingle, 2003). It is not necessary to develop a relationship with the hottie (Dingle, 2004).

HCwD of the Year: The 'Bag Smackdown

Well folks, here it is. Since I’m a hung over douchebag with crumbs on his shirt, I only managed to get all the way to a HCwD of the Month contest three of the eight months since I started this site, but in a way that kind of works out since it means we’ll only have three finalists for this coveted and valuable honor.

Yup, it’s that time. The Hot Chicks with Douchebags pic of the Year. It’s your turn to pick the ultimate in douchebaggery/hottie combination. Douchebag nation turns its scrotey eyes to you… woo woo woo…

These three pics managed to beat the odds, to slay the Pats of the world, to defeat the Labor Day ‘Bags to make it all the way to the top (bottom?) of the pile of greased up scrote. Actually there was a fourth HCwD of the Month when after hearing “You’re beautiful, you’re beautiful” one too many times on the radio I made James Blunt an automatic HCwD of the Month winner, an award well deserved. But since voting wasn’t involved, I’m leaving BluntBag out of this contest.

Think. Contemplate the horror of each pic. The greasy douchitude. The sexy hottie. The combination that makes you want to slam your head in a 19th Century drilling press until block letters are stapled on your forehead.

But I’ve rambled enough. In the festive holiday spirit, let us tip our cups of egg nogg to the skeeziest of the scrotes and the sexiest of the hotties.

Three enter. Only one will exit with the crown. Which one will it be?

HCwD of the Month #1: Glinty

The very first winner of the HCwDotM contest and still a fan fave, Glinty’s lazy eye and shiny belt buckle bling still annoy fans by the thousands. His perfect wispy gelled hair and his two utterly fantastic chickas almost render his chin pubes as a form of Shakesperean performance art. You can see those chin pubes performing at the Joseph Papp theater, “Hark! What douchebag through yonder window breaks! It is the East, and Glinty is a giant ball of scrote.”

And the fantastic, enhanced dark haired beauties don’t hurt neither.

HCwD of the Month #2: Socratic Douche

On the other spectrum from chin pubes reading Shakespeare is Socrates and his philosophic douchitude. He thinks, therefore he’s douche.

S.D. is one of those Energizer Bunnies of scrote. Below the radar he just keeps going and going. Virtually ignored when he first appeared on the site, his shiny forehead continues to be an irresistable draw for his ascension up the douchebag ladder. Not to mention his sexy blond little hamantashens. Mmm, I’d dip them in strawberries and whipped cream and gargle them like windex.

HCwD of the Month #3: Dung Beetle

One of those pics who’s douchitude/hotness factors caused some readers of the site to kill themselves, driving down readership badly. (note to self, try not to cause fans to kill themselves)

Dung Beetle burrows to the steaming stench of douchebaggery in all sorts of wrong ways. And featuring perhaps one of the most fantastic beauties this side of a Miss USA coke party, this pic elevates on a number of primary HCwD levels.

It really kind of sucks to have to pick one of these pics for ascension into the hallowed Hall o’ Scrote as our first HCwDotY winner. Maybe we should just give all three a Douchie Award and call it a night.

But no, that would do a disservice to our role in the cosmic plan. So get off yer ass and put down that coffee. It’s Monday morning, and you gotta pick one, and only one, pic to win.

None of this is easy folks. Believe you me, I feel your pain. All three make you want to down shots of cyinide laced apple cider. As always, enter your vote in the comments thread.

Cock a Doodle Douche

I’m sure he’s just a big fan of roosters.

Stage-1 Tonguebags

Here’s an excellent example of lesser stage-1 tonguebags. As many have posited on this site in the past, ascension into the douchebag class takes study, discipline and careful attention to detail.

However early dabbling into the douche arts is usually engaged in merely through facial expression. Through tonguebaggery. Like a gateway drug, once a douche apprentice gains a taste for douchebaggery, he quickly works his way into the douche arts from there.

This is an example of base level douchebag apprentices just starting to get a taste for the dark scrotey powers awaiting them. Soon, excessive chest gel, 10 degree hats and bizarre facial pubes await discovery and mastery. Feel empathy for these munchy doughnut hotties in front. They are unaware as to the dark forces coalescing behind them.

Smoked Ribs and Dog Tag 'Bag

The DB1’s been on the road heading to the east coast for a little Holiday Family Love. Which means cutting back on the Night Train and instead hitting the spiked egg nog.

So in honor of my early jump on the holidays, here’s one of the smokingest ball of smoking smokitude this side of Tennessee smoked ribs. Mmm… ribs…

I wasn’t sure if Chet, the Aryan Douchebag was going to qualify for the site or not until I caught the Dog Tag accessories. And seriously, wtf with dog tags as fashion statement? There are freaking kids in Iraq dying and douchebags decide they’re going to adorn tags used to mark dead bodies as a f-ing fashion statement before hitting the clubs? Man it pisses me off.

Still No Exit

In honor of Sartre ‘Bag’s Existential skeezyness, here’s another pic of this creepy weirdo fondling a hot ball of summer wax.

However, there’s less outward signs of douchebaggery from N.E. in this pic. He almost looks normal.

But do not be fooled. There’s one dead givaway even if you haven’t seen the previous pic: The rolled up sleeves.

Rolling up sleeves was a good look. Back in 1988. Now it’s a sign that scrote is omnipresent. Even as yet another sexy chicka falls under his douche powers.

She’s got sexy eyes. He’s got douchey face. Together they make pain.

Friday Haiku

Sha na na greasebag,
The 50s are over, choad,
Hands off my night nurse.

The Holy Douche Spirit

Once, when I was about twelve, one of my best friends had the wind knocked out of him while we were playing kickball during recess. As he lay on the ground gasping for breath, we stood around unsure what to do.

Finally, he coughed up a bit of phlegm. Not a lot. Just a small wad. And then he was able to breathe better.

Why do I bring this up? Because in an amazing coincedence that rivals Moldy Toast Jesus and Tree Stump Mary, this Jersey Toad resembles the exact formation of that phlegm.

And in an even more unbelievable miracle, his visage has again been spotted, this time in a bowl of pea soup. Witness the miracle of the “Pea Soup Scrote” image here.

It is hard to believe, and were it just the phlegm on my 8th grade kick-ball field, I would chalk it up to coincedence. But two appearances in viscous materials is enough to convince me: This is the Holy Douche Spirit himself.

Inconthievable

Princess Bride Hottie needs saving. Fezzik ‘Bag has kidnapped her and the Dread Pirate Roberts is nowhere in sight.

Someone seriously needs to spear this Rodent of Unusual Size, stat, before I down a few shots of iocane powder laced wine.

Okay, I’m about out of Princess Bride references.

Options for ironic observations in the comments thread: As You Wish, The Six Fingered Douchebag, Inigo MontScrota, etc.

Reader Mail

A reader sent in this pic of his girlfriend trying to lick his douchey neck. Not sure what to say other than I loved his performance as Mowgli in “The Jungle Book.”

And she appears to be a fantastic porcelain doll even if her alien brain eating abilities are somewhat scary.