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Wednesday, March 26, 2008
HCwDB of the Week (runner up): Kid Scrote
Well what should’ve been an overwhelming landslide victory for the Yo-Yo ends up being a
disqualification.
Therefore, since Yo and Leopard couldn’t fulfill the duties expected of them as HCwDB of the Week Winners, we hand the crown to the first runner up. Kid Scrote. Yes, it’s a bummer, as the Yo had one of the most convincing victories in awhile. But The ‘Scrote also found his fans. Abdouchah the Butcher makes the case:
I have to give it to Kid Scrote despite the fact that he looks very much like Dave Kusworth, one of my favorite semi-obscure rawk singers. Unfortunately he probably considers LA Guns to be da shizznitt. Also, I think the douche-to-hott ratio is the most extreme in his case. Good luck, Scrote-man. And by good luck I mean your gal causes penile turgidness.
Indeed, Abd the B. And Senor Squash agrees:
Which brings us back to Kid Scrote The Unwashed, and his Significant Bleeth, Haley Pantypudding.
The unholy pairing of the oversized mandana to keep his lice-infested pelt out of his eyes, and her swim attire created by the shaky feeble hands of her saintly Grandma Nell as she quietly fades in her final days at the Trail’s End retirement facility, leaves us with one nagging question:
Whose wet suit hangs in the background and is it used for kinky sex games involving six boxes of out-dated Rice Krispies, a bucket of spoiled kiwi fruit, a trampoline, and twelve liters of imported cat urine?
And if not, why not?
Oh, and boobies.
Kid Scrote, FTW.
Nicely done, SS, I’m not feeling as bad about the disqual any more. Kid Scrote definitely meets the criteria for a win. As Douche and Tonic makes the argument:
Kid Scrote.
Because the pant-shorts stopped being cool about 10 years ago. So did showing your boxers just above your pants. And so did mandanas. And the whole “scruffy dirt-ball with a heart of gold” act.
….I think someone is missing a time machine.
Yup.
While we couldn’t crown our landslide winner, HCwDB Nation turns it’s bemusedly annoyed eyes to you, Kid Scrote. Woo woo woo.
Don’t let us down, and we’ll see your mandana’d douchery in the Monthly.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008No More Yo
Yo-Yo Bag writes in:
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I would like my picture to be taking down immediately. I do not wish this to effect my career opportunities because of the stupidity of some individual who submitted it. Thank you.
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Well, it’s always my policy to picture be taking down when not wished to the effect of.
Revised HCwDB of the Week winner shortly…
Tuesday, March 25, 2008Rehab Comes Through
Oh, Rehab at the Hard Rock. When the DB1 is low on hottie/douchey pics, you are there.
When the submissions aren’t rising to the boobie/scrotey levels of quality control, you are there.
You’re my security blanket and my horrorshow.
But thank you for being you.
And in an unrelated story, it seems The Joey Porsche Crew is off to join the army. The douche army.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008Caption this Pic
Would you like to see what else I’ve popped?
Tuesday, March 25, 2008They Love Lucy
It’s like watching The CW casting call for I Love Lucy: The Next Generation.
Only instead of Lucy/Ricky and that old couple upstairs, we get four club couples of talentless shine. Watch the lack of hilarity ensue!
Coming up on the CW at 9pm, after Hangin’ With a Bunch of Overweight Black Folks and Angry Supernatural Teens With Lots of Pop Culture References.
Man, I love that Tuesday night lineup.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008Ned's Fantasy Camp
When the other five guys from Ned’s insurance office took their vacation in Sarasota, Florida, to play in a week long Fantasy Baseball camp, Ned had other plans.
For Ned had designed his very own “fantasy camp.” It involved Vegas, a couple of bottles of Tequila, and Candi and Amber.
Ned called it “Fantasy Doucheball.” And it’s spreading like wildfire.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008Somewhere in Rural America…
In faux paneled bait shops, on the outskirts of the interstate, near that exit the truckers take, but before you get to the McD’s that employs half the local high school, lies many examples of girl-next-door Dianes getting mugged by emo’d up postmodern tatted up Jacks.
And if that sentence was a mishmash of literary aspiration, mocking critique, run-on habdashery, and John Cougar Mellencamp references, I blame the codine.
Monday, March 24, 2008Frankie the Water Guy
Uhm, Frankie, could you stop slacking off and posing with the guests? Table #10 needs a refill on their waters.
Mmmkay? Thanks.
And in a related story, I’d boobies the boobs while boobsing the boobies, just for the chance to boobs the boobsies while boobsing the boobs.
Boobs.
Monday, March 24, 2008Where's Waldouche: Miami Vice Edition
And while you’re mulling over your vote in the Weekly, somewhere, buried deeply within this lineup of Miami Beach Cheerleader Playthings, I’ve carefully hidden a Fratty Waldouche.
Look closely.
Can you find him?
Hint: He’s the one who’s paying.
Monday, March 24, 2008If Satan Were a Douchebag
He’d be this guy.
Thank you. That’s the clever headlines you get when The DB1 is cracked up on Nyquil and Advil.
In case that coffee wasn’t workin’ for ya on this Monday morning, I thought I’d fire up all our collective consciousness with a jolt of satanic Hard Rock Rehab ubersquatt.
And tasty Spanish Cinnebons. Mmm… cinnebons.
