Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

'Baglings

So young.

So wrong.

So white belted.

No Hotties for Old Douche

I know it’s Saturday morning and I’m hung over, but when did Douche Seth Rogan find the million dollar suitcase Javier Bardem left in the car in No Country for Old Men and go on a three state stripper spree?

Yup. It’s a Coen brothers film by way of Judd Apatow and filtered through a Skinemax lens.

Dammit. I need a coffee.

STD #2

In case there was any doubt as to the Stereodouchtonic Twin Douchebags (STDs) deserving to be in the hallowed Hall of Scrote, let this pic of STD #2 serve as Exhibit D.

STD reminds you that it’s Friday, which means it’s time to get out there and get drunk, save a hottie, and wake up in Tijuana next to a donkey named Clover. Or was that just me?

Brunette with the now orange ubiquitous water bottle makes me want to build overpriced condos on some crappy midwestern lake.

The Splotch

Why is it the bottle blonde Little Miss Sunshine is orange, and it looks delicious, but on dudes, it looks like douche?

It’s Friday, so The Splotch goes great with the alcohol I’m about to consume. Sun burned in spots. Mealy green in other spots. Not overtly ‘baggy, but with the spiky hair and douche-face enough to qualify for the site.

But it is Brunette Jeanne Tripplehorn Hott that shakes my martini and honks my hooter. She is delightful. I will buy lots of Peroni now.

Where's Waldouche?

Somewhere, buried deep within this picture of a triumvirate of sexy post-collegiate Sorority Hotts, I’ve carefully hidden a nipple revealing toilet flush.

Hint: He has the shlong-n-balls “Mark of the ‘Bag” on his forehead.

Look carefully.

Can you find him?

'Bag / Not a 'Bag

PIC DELETED

Outside of a quasi zoot-suit and a douche-face pucker, there’s really not enough evidence to firmly convict Steve Douchemi here as a ‘bag.

But we do know that Cornfed is two Iowa stalks of pure goodness. She is not in doubt.

But the dude, I’m not so sure about. So I turn it over to you.

What do you say?

‘Bag? Or not a ‘Bag?

Friday Haiku

Moulin Rouge head grease,
Chickenlips and flaming hair,
Girl Next Door chose poor.

Spankerific Hott
Adjacent douchetrosity
Bone Zone recipe

— scrotebob douchepants

It’s Freaky Friday!
The girl and guy swapped bodies.
Neither adapted.

— duke of douchester

Bowie spins in grave
Ground Control to Major Douche
Take your helmet off

— darksock

Creator Face are you
Ricky Martin you are not
Nor is she that hot

— vaccum cleaner bagg

Let’s Dance wannabe
Just met a girl named BlueJean.
Eurotrash Douchebag.

— clementine of cappadoucha

drama class drop-out
now working make-up counter.
uses what he sells.

— pfah

Stray cat you are not
pumpkin pie hott is so sweet
what’s with that necklace?

— sir lanceadouche

Parker Lewis Likes Strippers

I’m just pleased that Parker Lewis still can’t lose.

Dammit. I’m probably the only one that remembers that show.

The Loaf of Bread in Sunlight

Ever leave a loaf of bread on a windowsill, and after a day of sunlight, it began to sprout weird multicolored fungi?

That’s tongue turd here.

Douche Fungi. I’d roll him up in a carpet and drop him down a flight of stairs until the hair fungus wilted with shame.

I love big cheekbones ambiguously Hispanic lip pout, even if she may be large in the stomach area.

Why? Because she looks vaguely like a space alien. And that’s some freaky deaky extra-terrestrial fantasies right there.

The Unicorn Says

There once was a unicorn on a hill. It stood boldly, its feet planted in plush fields of grass and daisies, with cascades of orange sunlight filtering through the foliage like amber shafts of nutrigrain.

The Unicorn stops. Sniffs the air.

And The Unicorn says, “I smell douche.”

The Unicorn shakes its soft white hair and neighs quietly. Nervously.

Because the Unicorn knows that two leathered up douchebags are pawing a Stripper Hott in a greasy sandwich formation.

And the Unicorn knows that many a woodland creature will suffer as a result.