Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

HCwD of the Week: No Exit

Exremely tight, evenly balanced contest this week. I have “No Exit” winning by just one vote. However I didn’t count the hanging chads that were Yellowtail’s saggy man-boobs. But in the end No Exit’s accessories, bizarre hair and finger rings put him over the top.

However Yellowtail will definitely find a place in the Senior Scrotizens section of the Hall of Scrote.

All three of our finalists won their share of love (and by love I mean “spew”). There were a couple of write-ins for Ben Grimm ‘Bag, so I’ll be including him in the next HCwDotW contest even though that might not be for a few weeks what with the Yearly Scrote-Off coming on Monday.

This week’s dilemma seems to come down to the classic problem of Old-Douche. When grandpa is still out trolling the clubs for young poon, there seems to be an inverse correlary — we begin to gain respek for their ancient douchitude. Like they transform from young balls of scrote into wise Zen-Douche Masters. Even with the cheese odor of Yellowtail, this seemed to flip enough votes to take the cake for No Exit.

Don Juan de la Douche tosses in with the Creature from the Blond Lagoon by factoring in the luscious hotties:

I gotta go with 1, Blondenstein. The hotties are the hottest out of the 3. The girl in the middle is top shelf, and the blondie to the right ain’t no slouch either. Frankenbag doesn’t have much going for douchiness other than his goofy hair. But Frankenbag was there in that picture and I wasn’t. That pisses me off more than the other 2 pics.

douchestar runner sums up this week’s conflicting douche-motions, however D.R. tosses in with the old git:

I was already to go with Yellowtail, hands down–I mean, any ‘bag that has more leathery skin than George Hamilton (and who’s also about as old) and leaves his also leathery shirt WIDE open just can’t be topped, right?

But I have to ask myself–which one of these guys would be more unusual to see in real life? Which one is more delusional? And without hesitation, I say it’s #2. Dudes that look like No Exit are a dime a dozen at the club–his accessories may be ridiculous but his shirt and hair are pretty tame.

But even though Oldie’s power of puke was overwhelming, #3 took the cake. As the ever present anonymous formulas it out:

Let’s do the math: Douche-smirk + ethnically incongruous hair dye job + ((sunglasses x number of hairs cascading over them)/price of the sunglasses) + pucca shell necklace + dogtags + finger acknowledgment to the Big Douchebag in the Sky +(finger accessories x 3) + (open shirt x number of open buttons) + bag headbutt and all multiplied by a Hot Chick factor of 8 = one of the rankest scrotes ever to ooze his way into these hallowed pages. If he were a little greasier and had a more flamboyant shirt, we’d all be lining up to crown him Proto-Bag of the century.

Hard to argue with cold hard math.

Source Douche #06

I hear your thoughts. You’ve been thinking, “DB1, those are some great hotties and some truly freaky scrotes, but where’s the sourse douche? Where’s the primal ‘baggery from which all tertiary douchiness eminates?”

Your wish is my command.

Here’s a little pure uncut 100% Jersey douchebaggery and hotness mixing in just an offensively wrong way.

Feel the douche warmth eminating from the spikey hair and zoot suit. Pity the sexy avacado. She has nowhere to run.

The Amazing Douchini

Not sure if you’ve caught The Amazing Douchini’s act yet down in Vegas. He performs nightly at 7pm, 8:30pm and a raunchy 11pm show at the “Vegas Motel 6” in the Shecky Green Ballroom. Tickets are $19.95 but you get five dollars off if you eat at the “Ribs, ‘Dibs and ‘Nibs Buffet” next door at the Food Fantasmagoria.

Watch The Amazing Douchini astound and delight your friends with his psychic “‘Bling Reader” act, as well as his ability to magically make grease float in mid air. Enjoy his famed red headed assistant, “Zebra,” as she performs the “Linking Hoop Rings” followed by the famous magic levitating 10 Degree Hat illusion.

The Amazing Douchini got his start playing strip clubs in the midwest before moving to Vegas after a failed shotgun wedding in 1989. His dream is to someday see his name in lights like Lance Burton or Penn and Teller. For now he’ll have to settle for the dry eraser placard outside the check-in desk at the Motel 6.

The Beanscrote

Oh dear God. Halloween pic or no, Thug Life just kicked me in the nuts. But like the beauty that is a great HCwD pic, Catwoman brings me back to life. But no, this shirtless freak of nature shreds my will to live like a cheese grater hopped up on crack. Ah, but the Holy Cleavite warms my soul and reassures me like “Goodnight Moon” did when I was five.

It is heaven and it is hell. All mixed up in the blender of scrote that is a HCwD pic.

Enjoy it. Revile it. Let that swirling emotional cocktail fire you up and cool you off. And then punch this skeezy old douchebag in the digital face.

The Pud Wacker in Purple Heaven

Not sure what to make out of this twosome. I could make a broach, or a pteradactyl. Or I could set Gallagher ‘bag’s Oasis on fire. All I know is that the Lilliputans used to build tiny shrines to worship ambiguously Asian hottie’s derriere. And can you blame them? Wars were fought over an ass that fantastic.

Man, this dude is just killing me. Literally killing me. Flop combover, vulcan eyebrows and douche smirk make Homer go something something.

Happy Feet

I don’t know when penguins started cross-species comingling with hotties, but this is definitely leading to global warming. What the hell is Happy Feet doing with his hand? Is that supposed to be a “Westside” hand gesture? Or a sign of douche palsy?

I am pleased to see “Ubiquitous Red Cup” make yet another cameo here on the site.

And when the Council Elders ask me, “DB1, whither six pack abs?” I will simply nod sagely and point at white bikini hotness.

HCwD of the Week: Horror Bag Edition

Here’s a little HCwD of the Week chaser before next week’s uber-bag smackdown, the HCwD of the Year. This week’s collection of scrote falls more along the scarybag lines, those creepy crawly scrotes who are likely to send you crossing the street so as not to come into contact with them. And yet, here they are cuddling up with hotties. Go figure.

Then again, that’s why we’re all here. To figure out just how these noxious poo-vapors-in-solid-form somehow come to inhabit the proximity of sexy balls of spice. Perhaps we may never know. And, like all of humanity, what we don’t know, we mock.

HCwD of the Week #1: Blondenstein

This FrankenBag is all sorts of scary. Then again, so is his hottie who’s curves seem strangely out of order. Or maybe they’re just trying to flee Blondenstein’s mutant presence.

I’m also a little intrigued, what’s Isaac Hayes doing in the background? C’mon Chef, get back on South Park. Scientology sucks and you know it.

HCwD of the Week #2: Yellowtail

Really, what more needs to be said about 70s Record Producer / Porn Producer / Refried Bean?

Blondie is fantastic. Actually, brunette is even more sexy in that “real” way. And by real I mean her nose isn’t a pert little button.

HCwD of the Week #3: No Exit

No Exit may have been yesterday but I can’t tell what day it is anymore so we’ll throw him into this week’s contest. But then that brings up what we’ll do with “The Thing.” He’ll come back too. That pic is too priceless not to preserve in the still theoretical (but hopefully real soon) “Hall o’ Scrote.”

So what say you, people? Who deserves the first entrance into January’s HCwD of the Month contest?

Chin Pube's Wooly Mammoth

Another piece of upchuck that feels like he’s been on the site before, but that last pic has me so rattled I can’t tell if I’m on my sixth HoHo or am chewing on a cat turd.

Wholesome cutie looks vaguely 17, so I’ll confine my comments to chin pube boy. WTF is he wearing?

Forgot to do the HCwDotW yesterday so am gonna try and get it up this afternoon. Any requests?

And on Monday… the HCwD of the Year. Yikes.

Lady and The Thing

Holy sweet balls of flaming cheese, I haven’t felt this dizzy since the 10th Grade nitrous whippit experiments in my friend Evan’s garage. It’s like I’m being simultaneously punched and caressed by a boxer with a soft spongey feather in one hand and a brick in the other.

My brain can’t take this sort of abuse. It’s already mad at me over Saturday’s mohito-thon. Stupid mohitos.

This pic violates the rubrics of muon/lepton hybridity. It shatters the soul and rewrites history by inserting douchebags at key historical moments. The chapter on the assassination of Arch Douche Ferdinand is just wrong.

She is perfection. She is purity. She turns turds into gold. Well, except for the big turd she’s cuddling with.

And on that note, I’m having another mohito. The more braincells I drown in alcohol, the less will be left to contemplate this wrongness.

Def Jim

Holy God damn. That is some serious Willy Wonka I’ve got a golden ticket chocolate perfection. Her Oompa Loompas make me want to go to a world of pure imagination. Uhm… her snozzleberries… okay, I’ll stop.

As to Def Jim, ‘bag hand gesture #64 might send him into the world of scrote, but he’s still feasting on the finest Godiva chocolate in the western hemisphere.

(sigh)

I’m gonna go play my Superfly soundtrack and honor the memory of the late, great, vastly underrated genius, Curtis Mayfield, and forget Hip Hop here exists.