Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

The Guidics

Ever wonder what would happen if you took a bunch of Nordic Swedish Aryan types and blended them up with some classic Italian guido Jersey scrote, a bottle of L.A. Looks hair gel, and a perky cheerleader named Inga?

No?

Neither have I.

HCwDB of the Week: The Smearkat

In a week in which real Vegas confrontations are taking place over the scrotefame created by being a toxic phlegm on HCwDB, how can a mere HCwDB of the Week vote compete?

Well that’s easy. Boobs.

ron douchegay explains:

my vote is for The Smearkat because those bOObs are fantastically and utterly hyponotizing.. and he deserves fire ants to sting ‘nads mercilessly

Well said, RD. I agree with the many who argue for naturality of boobosity as worthy of extra special attention. And by attention, I mean baby oil. Also, bringing the fire-ants-to-the-nads move is a nice play. scare-a-douche agrees:

The Smearkat looks toxic. An unbottoned shirt with a half-assed tie, enough grease to lubricate the axles of an eighteen wheeler, and he seems to be making kissy faces at someone behind and to the left of the Hott. Oh my the Hott. I want to wear her crotch on my face like a feed bag.

The feedbag-crotch analogy may have lacked the romantic subtlety of, oh, say, Petrarch. But we’ll go with it.

But a solid second were Kelly Hott and The Paw, who could definitely be a dark horse in the running for a year end 2008 Douchie nomination. In which category, you ask? weisenheimer brainstorm suggests a new one:

Kelly FTW. Because I want to see that stretched star shirt again in the monthly.

Best Stretched Star Shirt may indeed be a category in this year’s Douchies. But I could sadly see some write-in votes for Bra in that category.

And eric reminds us of the classic Jersey toxicity of ‘Bagwatch Nights:

1 vote for bagwatch nights. he’s wearing socks and sneakers to the beach so you know he has no plans of getting in the water, couple that with the obtuse and angle that he chose to spread his legs.his inseam is under some intense stretching pressure and he loves it, he thrives on it. his dog-tag is of the douche-degree. the kind that is blank in the middle and lined with shiny metal on the outside, the worst kind. but don’t tell him i said all this..those are his boys in the back

Very well argued, E. And let it bleeth concurs:

i cannot watch the bag, night, day or twilight. black velcro shoes, white parachute shorts, in addition to all the might in his right hand he can muster to suppress the toothless barracuda. i would play beach blanket bingo with the b boys in the backround just to snort the sand off of kari’s pinky toe.

But Smearkat and his perfect hott’s curves were too much. tea-baggen-douche explains:

It has to be the Smearkat. As noted above I concur with all reasons as to why corn-fed-home grown-hella-boobie-hot is positively luscious. Oh and yes he’s a real twat.

And lets go to dew the douche for the final exclamation point:

smearkat, no question. He’s a steaming pile of scrote. He doesn’t deserve to scrub her bathroom floors. Gotta remember the hott factor here, DB1: i’m sure many like myself are enraged at the site of this pic. She and him? I guess there is no God.

And so they take the first of the four slots in the next Monthly. Give them a round of applause. And by round of applause I mean…

Oh screw the analogy. Tatas.

Snoop Dog

Jiu-Jitsu Middle Weight Champion Timothy Lopez writes in with the greatest Dog story of all time, from last weekend in Vegas:

—-
Dear DB1,

– Timothy Lopez
—-

Speechless.

EDIT: Here’s Dog’s “modeling” photos in question. Warning: Not Safe for Humanity, Modernity or Flamable Liquids.

The Stooge

Because nothing quite says “punk” like 80s Adidas gym shorts.

Ask DB1

Soviet Douche writes in:

—-
with all this crap about nick hogan, I’m just thinking, can you please expound on the differences between the douche, and the even lesser life form, the tool who strives to be a douche?

Za Zdarovie,
Soviet Douche
—-

This is a complex question, S.D., because so much of scrotological revelation comes from within. The putz who acquires the douchetributes (bling, tags, tribal tatts, hair spike, etc.) is simply manifesting what was already there to begin with.

Take the Mandankle, pictured here. Or, as some call it, the Mankledana. Innovative douchal maneuver? Absolutely. Part of a larger gesture towards scrotology? Without a doubt.

As such, the Mankledana reveals inner douchosity that was already there (along with tribal tatt, etc.)

Put simply, even the emerging ‘bagling, taking his first tentative steps towards roughly grabbing and headlocking any nearby girls to prove his societal worth, is either douche or is not douche.

There is no liminality. There are only shades of scrotal decay.

Luke Skyvodka

But with the blast shield glasses, how am I supposed to see down the blonde’s dress?

Bro-verkill

I know you’re sick of this tool in action. Enough already with the Bra, you’re thinking.

But was there any chance I wasn’t going to run this pic?

Or the one of Bra!!, moments later, pointing to his guns?

Or the one of Bra!! graduating from Law School?

Or the one of Bra!! celebrating by macking on a hott at a club?

Of course not.

Sick of Bra!!?

Perhaps you are. And to that, I say buck up, ‘bag hunter!! No one said this job would be easy. But to liberate the hotts and stop the scrotes, we must see it through.

And I see you, tiny Brunette. I would rub your kneecaps with castor oil, then read you Goodnight Moon.

EDIT: And one more piece of karmic bra, snapped by reader Scrotebob Douchepants this morning on his way to work.

Herb the Office Boy

I can’t tell if the Fungus has really taken root on this guy or not.

He’s more like Herb. The guy who works the 12am-8am shift scrolling through WNBA tapes in a small windowless closet in the basement of ESPN.

Then one day Herb tires of watching all the on-air personalities scoring that high priced Manhattan leggy stuff, get drunk on six wine coolers, hits the tanning bed, ends up lost somewhere in Stanford at 2am, and convinces a Yale pre-med to pose with him before she runs off to giggle about it with her friends.

Party it up, Herb. That’s what weekends are for.

Twiggy McGee

Yup, Twiggy McGee and Bouncy Pinkhott are the same couple from last Friday’s Rare-Ass Yellow Cup.

They’ve upgraded to stylin’ J.C. Penny action for a big night on the town.

And I’d almost be inclined to give Twiggy a nottadouche pass, even in spite of the frosted flake hair, but then he had to go all chest-shave.

Shaving and displaying the chest in a nightclub is like punching Buddha in the balls.

She has delightful satin curves, and I would address her parents as “Mr. and Mrs. Pinkhott” before jumping her in the car after the Bon Jovi tribute concert ended. Because I’m classy that way.

Caption This Pic

Jenna liked it when Steve shaved his chest hair into the face of a poodle.