Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Pink Neo

Note to early budding douchebags: If you want to pose looking bad-ass while holding a gun, a pink silk shirt may not be the best fashion statement to accent that stance. Nor is looking like the mutant offspring of Judd Nelson and Neo from the Matrix.

Hottie may feature one of the most profound bodies we’ve seen in recent weeks on the site. When I say profound, I mean that it’s a body that inspires great art. Poetry. Wars. The DB1’s alcoholism.

Yes indeed, my friends. You don’t need me to tell you that she’s a tall drink of Hott Water. I would go ice fishing in northern Greenland clad only as Mayor McCheese if it meant I could play Boggle with her grandmother at the retirement home during visiting hours.

The Sun Sets on Lockjaw

Ladies and gentlemen, ‘bags and hotties, I have sad news to report.

Lockjaw is no more. He has ceased to be. He has unlocked his mortal coil on HCwDB and cast his spirit into the ether.

The ‘Jaw writes in:

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I thought I’d confirm my identity through MS. Although I can appreciate your entrepreneurial spirit (actually think your site is hysterical), I’ve been dealing with nothing but problems from every woman in these photos, especially several whom I’ve dated. Please take me off the site indefinitely. Thanks, (Lockjaw).
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And lo, the Caananites and Bagganites revolted. And there was much consternation and gnashing of teeth among the peoples of the twelve tribes of douchebagalem.

Cans of Tag Bodyshots were sprayed into the air in protest. Izods were rended in fits of mourning. Collars were ceremonially de-popped to 1/2 mast.

For a period of dark and douchuous torment had striken Douchebag Nation.

The Lockjaw was no more.

So the DB1 does what he has to. He posts a pick of Gummy with Donkey Douche. The Weekly will continue. If LockJaw wins, 2nd place will assume the responsibilities of the Weekly victor.

Boobies Spake Zarathustra

In attempting to parse the formal linguistic as well as semiotic discourses that we, as a culture, privilege as the basic notions of our understandings of “the real,” both as construct and intertext, we must first beboobies our understanding of the larger notions of primal psychoanalytic beboob beboobies.

For only in returning to our base deconboobied instinctual boboosities, can we truly articulate the tropes of boobies that beboobies the boobies.

Only then, will we truly beboobies the boobies in terms of both Freudian and Lacanian boobies.

Boobies.

Oh, and douchebag.

Gummy

I’m not sure if Gummy is one of the Twin Bags Posse or not. I’ve seen him on the site before, but since I’m too lazy to go back and locate this choad, I’ll just reanoint him Gummy. In fact we may have featured both of these two before. Either way, he’s still scrote and she’s still ice cream.

I’m not sure how Gummy got his douche gesturing hands on the Future Ex-Mistress of the DB1. But he better let go. Or I’ll, uhm, yell at his pixelated manifestation.

She is right up my bowling alley. I would 7-10 her splits, then go drink a White Russian with The Dude.

Lockjaw Hottie says "Grab This"

Unfortunately the hottie from two of the Lockjaw pics just wrote in and asked me to take them down. And while I pleaded with her better sense to let the world continue to appreciate the hott, the DB1 was shot down.

So instead, here’s Maria Menounos with Big Bird douching out by performing ‘Big Headbutt #01 as well as ‘Big Hand Gesture #45.

The Jewish Gangsta says

The Jewish Gangsta says, “Don’t forget to vote in the HCwDB of the Week contest!”

Hava Nadouchebag, flaming champagne uberscrote. And as to your shiksa hotties, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, maybe, yes, yes.

HCwDB of the Week

Last week’s holiday shortened selection of ‘bags was a light sampler of choadmunchery. A finger food selection of scrotundae. An appetizers only cross section of aardvark yuke. And since The STDs had their shot in the previous week’s Finals, there will be no return finals for their freakish wrongness. One chance only. Instead I’m going with three new slices of ennui as your choices.

The DB1 is well rested after his jaunt through the rainy New England countryside. He returns refreshed and renewed, determined as ever to refer to himself in the third person while hunting ‘bags and the hotties who designate to commingle near them.

And while no New England hotties were saved from the scrote during my jaunt through Red Sox Nation, the land of Paul Revere and Ric Ocasek offered good times. So, without further ado, I dedicate the weekly to Sam Adams beer, and let the mocking/judging/lusting begin anew:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: The Lockjaw
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He’s no Peaches.

We know that.

But Lockjaw has a power of overwhelming clueless douchitude that sneaks up and then smacks you in the face like a pissed off Tommy Hilfiger. He has what I like to call surreptitious scrote. Annoying at first. Clearly, he’s no Douche Master, like the overpowering point/stare transcendence of the Peach Pit. And then it happens. His overpowering douchitude is as undeniable as his waxed chest/bling. His cross-section of hotties only furthers the overwhelming stench of uber-douche. It is odorific.

Hottie may have a large proboscis but I would still drink it down with oreo cookies and a nice riesling. While there were many Lockjaw pics to choose from, this first one was douchey/hottie enough on its own to make the Finalist grade. She is girl next door sexy. I would fondle her dark tresses until she called the fire department on my alcoholic ass.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Finger

The Finger grows on you. Like the flesh eating virus on Jim Henson. It’s that fungal disease sprouting from his douchey inflated melon that does it.

At first this pic didn’t truly cause the stomach churning rage mixed with sexual lust that is the hallmark of any choice HCwDB pic. But then it punched me in the gut. And knocked me in the face. I wanted to shave that ‘fro with a rusty pliers. I wanted to stick my tongue down Bunny’s sexy ears like the alien slug in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Kahn.

Yeah, I’m down to making Star Trek references. That’s what a loop Bunny has knocked me through. A Playmate infected by the Grieco Virus is a moment of poetic tragedy. It requires due attention. And so due attention shall be paid. Here in the finals.

Here’s back atcha, Finger. Lick my Razr, you douched out asswank. Yeah, I’m pissed. Okay, moving on before I start drinking at 7am on a Monday.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: King Douchuous

Granted it’s premature to label anyone a King of Douchitude, but for the scrote who wears the crown of spiked hair, it’s the only label that sticks. For King Scrotebaguous, the scrum of some of the hottest everglade melting ice queens to grace the site in recent weeks is enough to elevate this pic into the Finals simply on the power of the Hott. Toss in those jeans, that bling and that douche-face, and we have a worthy contender indeed.

Rarely does a weekend pic make the finals. But in the case of King D, the power of the absurd level of hotness mixed in with bizarre facial pubes and the spikiest hair explosion since Red Cactus, earns him a well deserved place in the Finals.

I would drop leopard print hottie and the most divine bumper since The Bumper herself into a blender, add frozen yogurt, bananas, cranberry juice and a shot of vitabek, and make Boobie Smoothies.

So them’s your choices. Lockjaw is the early favorite, but The King and The Finger are both worthy challengers.

I put it to you, Greg. Which of these three is worthy as a Weekly winner? Which combines that perfect mix of overpowering poo-smell with the angelic hotness of a Hottie (or four) that needs saving?

It’s up to you. Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

King Douchuous IV

Cactus hair and bling are impressive enough. But for King Douchuous the IV to perform the rare double ‘bag hand gesture #209 in the presence of four hotties, well, we’re witnessing douchebag royalty, my friends.

However, reader lemontart brought up an important point in one of the comments threads. On our journey of ‘bag slaying and hottie rescuing, there are important steps along our spiritual path that we must retain, lest we fall into douchebaggery ourselves.

In viewing the stupifying wrongness of the King perform his scrotey charms on a four pack of Hott, it’s as good a time as any to remind us that douchebaggery is simply about some douched up dude looking like a jackass to impress the Cleavite. It’s important to remember that when we mock the scrote, we mock only the affected performativity, the level of douchosity as demonstrated by gesture, ‘bag accoutrement, and of course, the power of the douche-face. Ethnic or religious jokes, aside from being lame, do a grave injustice to our Zen practice of understanding the ‘Bag Within us all. The common unifier of all men seeking a hottie (or four) — the allure of douchosity and the need to resist.

So that being said, King Douchuous, you’re a flaming scrotejam. And I’d like to lunch on your hotties with the cheese processed goodness of a lunchables munchables package. Especially Rumpus De Perfection on the left. Holy sweet jebus I’d castrate wolves for the chance to sniff her childhood teddybear.

Woodsy

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Help Woodsy spread the word.

Plant a Choad today.

Laughing Princess

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Oh laughing princess, why do you darken my soul with such ranked spew? Why do you traumatize my inner Jonathan Livingston Seagull with such smelly poo-rific douchebaggery?

I ask you to answer these queries Laughing Princess, not simply for me and my alcohol fueled fixation on your boobies. But for the orphans.

Please. Set Fratbag’s eyebrows on fire with a 7-11 microwave burrito.

I implore you. Not for me, Laughing Princess. For the orphans.