Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Checklist

Lets see.

Classic hottie? Check.

Classic stage-2 douchebag? Check.

Fondling my inner thigh in ways that aren’t quite obscene but you wouldn’t do in public? Check.

Must be Wednesday.

Amen

Oh yeah.

Come on people! Can I get an Amen?

And by Amen, I mean “yech.”

Jolie Hottie, you must run. Now.

Those are not adoptable Vietnamese babies. They are grown douchebags.

Velveeta Bag

A reader posed a query in yesterday’s comments thread wondering if there ever comes a point when in the presence of such a fine perfect backside that auto-douchebaggery commences.

The answer is yes.

We all have what I like to term “The ‘Bag Within.” The only question is to what extent will we indulge this inner ‘bag in the hopes of acquiring a female with great tracks of land, finely buffed sandstones and an ocean view. Or did I just describe a summer condo in Cape Cod.

Regardless, the question then becomes this: When in the presence of such fineness, is momentary auto-‘baggitude justifiable under the circumstances?

I posit this question without answering it, as I think it’s is an important discourse to consider as we move forward.

None of this, however, has anything to do with this pic. Velveeta Bag is just funny. Not ha ha funny. Just funny funny.

HCwDB of the Week: The Rooster

Lords of Pumpy, Tats of Xenu, Wisps of White Chocolate, Spirit of Douche Lee… guide us. Guides us on this journey into the dark realms of douchosity from whence the Rooster crowed.

Holy Hens of Hotness, that was an epic close vote for this week’s HCwDB of the Week. But in the end, this cock was too much to block.

So give it up for The Rooster and one of the hottie faves on the site, the Holy Blue Triangle. The combo of greasy hair, smug douchey expression, hint of Jesus bling and popped collar was enough to send a majority of ‘bag hunters running for the Pepto. And enough to anoint this pic our winner of the week and entrance into next month’s monthly smack-down.

It was a tight vote, but the Rooster pulled it out. Why? Mathematics, of course. As hans lippendoosh brings the science:

A Giant Rooster is a douche of 0.4 to 10 times the mass of Richard Grieco which has exhausted the supply of grease in its core and switched to fusing L.A. Looks Hair Gel in a shell outside the core. Since the inert greasy core has no source of energy of its own, it contracts and heats up, and its gravity compresses the L.A. Looks in the layer immediately above it, thus causing it to fuse faster. This in turn causes the douchebag to become more luminous (from 1,000 to 10,000 times brighter) and expand; the degree of luminosity outstrips the increase in expansion, thus causing the effective scrotal emission to increase.

In douchebags massive enough to ignite Aqua Net fusion, an analogous process occurs when central vodka-cranberry supply is exhausted and the scrote switches to fusing Axe body spray in an energy field, although with the additional complication that in many cases Drakkar Noir fusion will continue in a field at lesser depth — this puts the douche onto the asymptotic giant branch and are called ‘Scrotal Supergiants.'[1][2] The increase in surface scrotal emission shifts the douche’s visible Grieco output to the Scro-Hawk — hence Giant Rooster Douche.

Nicely done H.L. Nicely done.

Fall Out Bag came close to taking the whole thing and also received his due. And by due I mean something that rhymes with stew. Like spew. As matt puts it:

I vote for fall out bag, solely for the fact that his woman is possibly one of the hottest on this site ever. And he’s a pretty big f’n bag.

Short and to the point, matt. I like how you think. However, el douchablo goes in for Euro T.B., who showed surprising resilience and nearly pulled out the win. As E.D. writes:

Although the other contestants are really strong, the girls for me are out of the equasion. The Hot, as it turned out is nothing bu boobs, and even those are fake. And while Blue triangle is still visiting me in my dreams, she already had a lot of spotlight on this site.

So when it comes down to the douches, the rooster is just plain stupid. He makes me shake my head, but the presence of the blue triangle makes this pic watchable. Fall Out Boy is as generic as a douche can get. He followed the manual but didn’t bring anything new to the table. And ETB sported a gay attire, looks like a juvy retard kid that you need to slap some sense into. He inspires rage in me. So I vote for him.

el douchablo is correct to factor in the gut rage element. A true HCwDB should inspire a number of immediate, primal and conflicting emotions in the viewer all at once. Rage. Laughter. Arousal. Depression. Hunger for a bowl of Lucky Charms.

But as nad puts it so eloquently:

please, dear god!

i just experienced that when i looked at Rooster.

We all did, nad. We all did.

Excellent analysis, deductive reasoning and critical thought on display once again in the comments thread. Many new avenues of sociological exploration on the hottie/douchey wrongness are opening up for us to explore as we move forward.

But for now, tip your red cups to The Rooster, who makes it into the next level of douche wrongness. And go get yourself a bowl of Lucky Charms. You earned it.

Goodnight Moon

Goodnight Moon

Goodnight cow jumping over the moon

Goodnight bling

And the red cup balloon

Goodnight ‘bag

Goodnight Tag

Goodnight kittens

And goodnight mittens

Goodnight scrotes

And goodnight choates

Goodnight little house

And goodnight mouse

Goodnight comb

And goodnight brush

And goodnight to the douchebags

whispering “hush.”

Brown Satin 'Baglings

Far far away, in the distant tropical land of Bagswana, brown satin ‘baglings run free in their natural habitats, frolicking and mating as they have for thousands of days.

But poachers have been moving in. Prized for their slick neck-scarves, double sideways peace signs and foppishly curly hair, brown satin ‘baglings are facing a massive upheaval within their temperate climate zones. Forced to move to the fringes of urban areas due to incroaching non-‘bag gentrifications, ‘baglings are venturing farther and father outside their normal mating lands. Bars, even sporting events have spotted isolated ‘baglings engaging in the ritual Tag bodyshot application and offering to “Buy a honey a shot.” Some ‘baglings have even been spotted trolling the cereal aisle at the local supermarkets. It is a desperate situation.

Don’t let this happen. Preserving natural habitats for brown satin ‘baglings is something we must do if we are to ensure the survival of this rare and greasy species.

Give what you can to National Douchographic’s Endangered ‘Baglings Fund. Because the natural wonder of these creatures is something none of us can afford to lose.

On second thought, yes. Yes it is.

HippieBag

Speaking of woefully underrepresented ‘bag subgenres on the site, the HippieBag has been sorely neglected of late. The Hippebag is one of the rarer douchebag strategies, as the scruff look has grown increasingly unpopular with the hotties. Instead, the cuties have been flocking to the greased up metro uber-douches. Trading in the scruff for grease, as the case may be.

But in some circles the unshaved HipBag look is still a go-to oblique strategy to gain the attentions of the dual-hotness, as pictured here.

HippieBags invoke the tropes of Spin Doctors cassette tape playing mid 1990s hackey-sack ultimate frisbee summers in the hopes that a couple of sexually frustrated Sarah Lawrence girls might want to do lemon drop shots, make out with each other and strip to a Phish bootleg. Because nothing’s hotter than out of tune endless jazz jams sunk by off-key Vermont musicians.

It’s a rarity, but it does happen.

Prince Baggian

I guess I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least make passing mention of Prince William getting caught yesterday busting two solid stage-3 ‘Bagger moves, including the classic Pumpy boob grab.

Note the combo boob grab and collar pop for the ole’ Prince of England, heir to the something or other.

Even more importantly, note that half the ‘bags featured on this site get hotter chicks. That should be our new advertising slogan:

Come visit the United States! Our Douchebags Pull Hotter Tail than the Prince of England.

Yeah. I need some breakfast.

If interested, Here’s the article in the Sun.

The Troll Bag

PIC DELETED
We don’t feature a lot of pics of the trolling middle aged wanna-be ‘bag desperate to occupy space near a hottie for a few minutes to fuel a month or two of rub-out fantasies. But here’s a classic example. Enjoy that moment, Trolly. It’s all you’re gonna get from this angelic New England debutante type.

Trolly looks like one of those Wall St. Journal editorial writer hack types. Some bloated, vastly overpaid middle-aged putz who angrily thunders away by day about moral values only to pack up a bottle of Oxy Contin, anal beads and a twelve-pack of Viagara and catch the red-eye to Thailand for a four day weekend. You know those types. Pissed off they squandered their youth editing copy for the travel section of the Omaha World-Herald, only to take out their later life frustrations on the rest of us.

I’d keep ranting but I want to suckle hottie’s neck like a hungry aardvark looking for termites.

Where's Waldouche: Fro 'Bag Edition

Okay kids, time for another episode of the game that’s sweeping the Nation, “Where’s Waldouche?”

Somewhere, hidden among these six rolling hills of prime-time a-list derriere I’ve placed Waldouche.

But watch out!! He’s in disguise this time!!

Yes Waldouche has on a wig and sunglasses making him extra hard to spot.

Look closely.

Can you find him?