Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

J.P: Never Forget

And while Joey Porsche and his trip to “Acapulo” will never be the same now that his MySpace has been set to private, we here at HCwDB, and by we I mean me, will never forget.

Never forget.

Bag Badtz Maru

Well I’ve got one more Peaches, and it looks like people are appreciating his Blue Steel gaze and guns as much as I am, so I’ll save him for a rainy day.

Instead I’ll post Karl.

You know people like Karl. Works in accounting. Obsessed with x-rated anime and manga comics. Still hasn’t quite figured out how to hold a wine glass without betraying deep rooted sexual frustration.

Good on you, Karl. You’ve found a lithe Asian pixie that I would celebrate by singing the theme song from the 1970s Leiji Matsumoto anime “Space Battleship Yamato” while lustily drooling on her Bad Badtz Maru t-shirt. Because every asian hottie has a Bad Badtz Maru t-shirt.

As well they should.

Bad Badtz Maru kicks Hello Kitty’s ass.

JetBag

Well my JetBlue Burbank to JFK flight delayed for an hour, then rerouted for a three hour layover in Atlantic City due to thunderstorms. Which wouldn’t have been so bad if we actually could’ve gotten out of the plane and gone to Atlantic City. Instead we sat around eating crappy-ass potato chips. Finally flew into JFK only to sit for another hour. Add more time waiting for my bags, and by bags I mean douchebags, and it’s 4:49am and the DB1 is pissed.

The only cure for this state of uber-douchosity, not to mention the appearance of The Possum in the comments thread, is a little more Peaches.

Yeah, I know, I’m overdoing it with this guy. But something about that mug just screams “punch me with a plastic waterslide device.” I’m not sure why.

But the DB1 is tired. And NYC awaits.

The Possum

For drooling all over flaxen haired Mia Farrow hottie with your giant chain, your striped hair, your douche-rings and your douche-face, I dub thee “The Possum.”

Not just because you look like a possum. But because your persona au douchitude makes me want to play dead and hope you go away.

Although something tells me when I’m done playing dead and dare to open an eye and peek, you’ll still be there. You’ll always be there.

PhotoDouche

Nothing earns Dog Tags like the daring and bravery of one willing to go into the clubs and snap pics of hotties. It’ dangerous in there.

You’re a brave man, PhotoDouche. Try not to get hit by any flying martini glasses.

YellowBag

Sorry YellowBag. Unless you pick up a giant bottle of Grey Goose and make the Douche-Smirk, you’re only a stage-1 Club Choad. Although the greased forehead is glorious.

As is that perky little vanilla minx by your side, I would love her 70s earrings by rubbing them under my armpits while drinking a YooHoo and doing the white man’s overbite to 50-Cent’s “In the Club.”

Whether those hinterlands are real or plastique, I know only that they transfix the mortal gaze, and as such, are glorious.

BondBag

And while the DB1 smokes a virtual cigarette after the Weekly, Here’s Bondbag. James Bondbag.

HCwDB of the Week: Meet Joe Douche

In tough and at times acrimonious voting this week, Joe Douche ended up taking the prize by virtue of a spiked follicle over the dancing clubbaggery of Mega Man. Sun Douche came in a distant third, with most people rejecting the JoeyPorsche wannabe from failing to live up to the Porsche Experience. feh23 breaks down why Joe Douche takes this week’s crown:

Two words, Joe Douche. He obviously stinks of balls, and is doing that creepy, uber macho “I’m not really strangling you…but I am” neck grab thing. Plus a ‘bag hand gensture?! And giantass wrist bling? Who could ask for more?!!! It’s like he got his PhD in Scientific Doucherry.

Well said, feh. That about sums up any classic ‘bag. Once again, the notion of DJ/club performativity renders true ‘Bag status suspect in the minds of many ‘bag slayers. Otto Graf von Douchemark explain why Mega Man can’t ascend to the upper tier of douchosity:

Mega is just trying too hard. He is lacking that complete ignorance of his own douchiness. He is half-aware that he looks like an idiot. Bags must not reflect on themselves! the intention behind their appearance has to be genuine, they have to be completely unaware of their douchiness.

Very true, OGvD. True douchebaggery must contain a level of clueless lack of self awareness. However Mega Man found some love, and by love I mean slamming my sack with a metal wrench. douchistani sums up the power of late 80s NES Arcade Superheroes:

Is there even a doubt about it? I guess David Carradine-bag and Joey Porsche did what they could, but Mega Man takes the cake. Did he have Wolverine do his ultra douche beard for him? Or did Gillette just introduce Mach Douche and I missed out on the big release party?

Heh, “Mach Douche”. Nicely done, douchistani. Yet Joe Douche’s powerful dual headlock + ‘bag hand gesture, as well as the double hottie combo, was too much to overcome. As turdsandwich sums up the choice, he casts in for not meeting Joe Douche:

I’m going to go out on a limb here and vote for Joe Douche. While Mega Man and SunDouche are both rediculously Choady and oozing with all that is douchey, J.D. is the only of of the three that I think I would push into a wood chipper. I think Mega Man could be shut down with a combo barrage of verbal abuse and laughing and SunDouche has the deer in the headlights look that tells you that nobody is really home upstairs. J.D. on the other hand is puking douche smuggness that makes me want to punch babies.

Now now, punching babies level douchebaggery is a rare level indeed. While JoeDouche transcends, I’m not sure he takes us to Ab Lobster levels. walker, texas douchebag also lays the smackdown on Joe D:

Shiney greaseface, Trump-trumping contemporary comb-over, learing doucheface, man-blouse, dual clutch chicka stranglehold, radioactive spray-on tan-glow and horizontal “V” hand sign more than qualifies him for a special kind of douchery. Add in the over-the-hill factor, and there really is no contest.

Or, as graham campbell eloquently and succinctly summarizes:

Joe Douche. I loathe both other gentlemen, but only the photo of Joe wants me to go back in time an undetermined amount of years and punch Mamma Joe Douche in the babymaker.

Well said, G.C. Very well said.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, prevent the dog barking with a juicy bone. Joe Douche is HCwDB of the Week Winner.

Stereodouchtonic

::cough cough:: gasp ::

The waft of rank double-douchebaggery rises in stereodouchtonic surround sound stench. A double odor of malfeasance. A twin pummeling of my psyche with the Power of ‘Bag. I’d save the hottie with my written love, but I’m gasping from the stench…

must fight… odor…

must…

fight…

gachhhhhh….

Peaches II

New douche-shirt.

Same douche-face.

Peaches reminds us that the rage of the hottie/douchey pic does not always need excessive bling, popped collar or overly frosted hair. Sometimes, the douche-face plus a few gestures is enough to set off douchebaggery alarms from Vegas to Trenton.