Monday, February 25, 2008

HCwDB of the Week: Bob Edition

This was one of the toughest Weeklies in awhile to cull down to three finalists, as there were a number of sneaky time-delayed wretchedness bubbling up in some of the pics I had to choose from.

But sort, I must. Like Solomon, Judge Brandeis or the chick on Project: Runway, I must decide. Drop my hammer. Toss my Night Train.

So without further ado, I dedicate this Weekly to my hangover. Here’s to you, alcoholic induced corporeal dehydration. I name you Bob.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: The Torch

The Torch wasn’t properly celebrated the first time around.

And by celebrated, I mean clever metaphors for hair on fire.

Maybe Spanish Paprika Hott was too old to incite blood lust.

Maybe Torch has too much of a Gaybag vibe to inpire the proper mocking. And just to reiterate the rules of HCwDB hunting, Gaybags are usually eliminated for their lack of threat to the hott.

But I’m not sold on the Gaybag excuse.

Torch has that hint of “metro” that suggests it’s all part of his larger hair spiked plan. Maybe I’m being too generous. Or maybe I smell like a Caribbean whore house at 4am. Either way, Torch and Paprika get their shot in the Weekly.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Grenade Tosser

A second pic that incites more amusement than rage, which is definitely a negative.

But the power of early college hott with swollen hills that speak of well fed future generations certainly carry some weight.

And I mean that literally. Like 6 pounds each.

Grenade has black fingernails, a pink shirt with a grenade on it, and a punchable mug.

He’s earned his shot in the Weekly.

Finally as part of my empassioned defense, I close with these two words:

Boob. ies.

Latin for marry me, treat me like crap, cheat on me with the mailman, take the car, the house and the chihuahua, just leave me your bathrobe with which I can make soup and drink your essence while crying into my bowl of Lucky Charms.

Mmm… meaty suckable forearm.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Rosencrap and Gildenhott

Some say douche, it is a turbag, who smells, like week old fish…

Some say hott, it is exotic. With slopen nose, and really great boobs…

Yeesh.

I just cribbed a Bette Midler song.

I feel dirty.

Hold me.

No, not you, Rosencrap.

Rose girl with the perfect hips.

Yes you.

Come to me.

Love me.

Lick me like a lollipop.

Tell me I’m your viking captain and spank me with a rope of licorice.

(ahem)

Okay, them’s your three. All three will be crushed by either Millennium ‘Bag or Deathtongue in the monthly. But lets serve up that slaughter in style.

Honorable mention to House, The ‘Stralian Autopsy, and The Night Oranger, who just missed the cut.

Like Bill Murray, when he begged Anita not to leave in Stripes, don’t go, the plants’ll die.

Yes they will, Bill Murray. Drink that coffee straight from the pot, and vote, as always, in the comments thread.

# posted by douchebag1

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