Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

FireDouche II

The Douche is On Fire gets a closer look.

What do you see, DIOF? Does it make your pants go happy pants? Does it make your frosted hair tips vibrate with follicular excitement?

Oh sexy hottie. Push FireDouche away from the Cleavite. Please. For all of our sakes. Douse him with a fire hose.

Then cuddle up with me, my blankie and a vibrating plastic frog I named “Sally.” We will read 15th century poetry and sail on until dawn.

Where's Waldouche: Sleeper Edition

I’m back from San Diego and before I drift off into slumber with dreams of tiny Purg Hotties jumping over stuffed Pumpys, I thought we’d play another round of Where’s Waldouche.

Somewhere in this collection of juicy plantains and a Bijou Philips hottie, I’ve carefully hidden a sleepy eyed lurkerdouche.

Look closely.

Can you find him?

The Choadmonster

Day 2 for the DB1’s trip to Comic-Con, or as I like to call it “Hot San Diego State Chicks Dressed as Wonder Woman Paid to Pose with Nerdbags.” But the panels are great, “The Mist” looks fantastic, and the 5 dollar pretzel hot dogs are tasty. I even considered asking Lou Ferrigno if he considers himself the prototype for the modern day Muscle Douche, but thought better of it. He’s bulgy.

Speaking of comic supervillians, I was wondering what The Choadmonster had been up to since his series on the Sci-Fi channel was canceled. Good to see him in this pic gettin’ his ‘bag hand gestures on. His mastery of the douche-face remains potent, even if he will end up selling his signature for 20 bucks a pop at Comic-Con 2011. Regardless, his triumvirate of lamp chop goodness definitely rivals the pieces of cheesecake handing out promo flyers down in the dealer hall. Hang in there Choadmonster. There’s always The Surreal Life.

Field of Wheat

Hot, douche, hot, hot, wheatstalks.

Mac

The tight 1980s satin ballsack shorts are, how you say, douche.

Yes, the DB1 is at Comic-Con, where NerdBags abound and b-movie hotties sell their wares for 10 dollars a signature. I’m sitting on the floor posting this from the second floor convention hall. It is a freakshow.

Then again, so’s this nipple protruding rugby playing vaguely AussieBag smelling room temperature lemon scented douchebag. And if that’s a run-on sentence, you should hear the Warner Brothers panel talk about “The Invasion.”

As to leggy gazelle hotties, I would pay 35 bucks for Stan Winston’s signature just for the chance to fondle an animatronic version of their teddy bears.

Friday Haiku

Mirror creates self,
Zen reflection opens eye,
Douche lies within mind.

Ubiquitous tats,
Camo and dog tags in tact,
He makes douche not war.

-Lord Baggatron

‘Bag with concave chest
Smoochy bleeth is barely dressed
Red string says, pull me

— ed

Black “Douchestrong” bracelet.
Rosie Perez Bleeth wants him.
Where is the justice?

– boatbutter

Side boob twins kiss kiss
Siamese scrotes smirk blasé
Douchest show on earth

– little douche kook

Gunty douche looks bound.
Try a brand muffin and prunes.
Nice camo “Mom Pants”.

— doucheo bagsuo

DB1 off to Comic-Con

The DB1 is driving off to attend Comic-Con in San Diego shortly, so updates will be sporadic for the next few hours. I plan to snap pics and will report on any HCwDB couplings from the convention.

What does that have to do with a skeezy aviator douche pawing an auburn corndog? Not much. Except his douchitude approaches a cartoon realism almost graphic novel in its intensity.

She has small, but deliciously perky, boobages. I would thwack! her blam!, and then consider if I was tired of getting sand kicked in my face.

Wild Guido Kingdom

While much has been written and hypothesized about regarding Douchebagus Guidosus attempting to mate in the wild, rarely has this elaborate ritual been witnessed first hand.

Now, for one of the first times in public, HCwDB presents rare authentic footage captured in the wild of this elaborate hottie/douchey mating dance.

Be warned. This is not for the faint of heart, nor the unbandanad of head. It is, however, vital that we study and parse the intricate and fascinating mating habits of the douchebag in his native habitat. In this case, The Douchebags of Cabo San Lucas.

Sloth Jr. II

I would set sail into the Pacific on a small Hong Kong junk-boat with only my cunning and sixteen packets of cheetos to survive just for the chance to fondle Princess Hottie’s bandana with a tub of jello and a vat of bacon grease. Because I like to get freaky like that.

Sloth Jr.’s next-generation douchebaggery reaches new heights with the chin fungus outline.

Please do not go out and kick nine year old British orphan girls after viewing this pic. If there’s anything I’d hate to be responsible for, it’s causing a mass systemic kicking of nine year old British orphan girls. Because they just want some more porridge. It’s not their fault Sloth Jr. is a raging hemorrhoidic douchebag.

Sloth Jr.

Holy Great Greek Camel Spew.

It’s bad enough the love child of Kiefer Sutherland and Sloth from “The Goonies” decided to grow up into a club going uber-douche. Toss in a raven silk haired Princess of Hott, presumably impressed by Sloth Jr.’s rock and roll hand gestures, and I want to subject myself to 7th Heaven repeats as a form of karmic self punishment for our collective societal decay.

Note to the ladies: The lip ring has gotta go. No need to telegraph to the world that your horrific choice in men results in you dating the biggest scroadbags this side of a suburban New Jersey Bally’s Total Fitness boxing class.