Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Uncanny

un·can·ny

3. Two creepy-ass douchescrotes macking on Ally and Kristen.

Friday Haiku

Surrender Dorothy,
Wizard of Scrozz is lime green,
And Toto’s on his chin.

mandana fruit fly
hott pink boobie tattoo bleeth
watermelon poo

— the ‘baggernaut

Crystal Meth hottness
Douchebaggery is alive
The male purse strap screams

— el doucherino

paris on crack is
caught with green Brundle fly
screw hiaku i’m scared

— douchetoevsky

Douche, jump off a cliff
Smokin’ hott makes, how you say,
Trousal arousal?

— crucial head

Porsche and Friends

How’s about some classic Lawn Giland hott/douche to go with a Thursday evening?

Here’s a pic of 2007 HCwDB of the Year Douchie Winner Joey Porsche kickin’ it by the pool, old-school style.

And while I’m clearing out the virtual attic, take a listen to Dimitri, the scrotiest pickup artist assbag this side of Mystery.

Rare is it that we can smell uberwank through phone voicemails. This is one of those times.

Dimitri, you are a psychotic ass.

Reader Mail

Just Another Bleeth writes in with a ‘bag tag from Vegas:

—-
DB1,

~Just Another Bleeth (hah – yes I rip on myself too)
—-

Nicely done, JAB. Vegas is the Heart of Doucheness, and you and your friends should watch out. And by watch out, I mean pillow fight.

But I can save you.

And by save you, I mean rub Hersheys syrup on your pinkie toes while dressed in a giant Wally Moose costume and humming the theme song to The Young Ones.

Until you tell me that my riff grows tiresome. Which it does. But only when I haven’t had enough Vitamin A.

Name that Scrote

Authentobaggery? Or Fakedouchery?

I honestly can’t tell if these clowns are mugging it up as a joke, or are authentic Jerz poo.

What say you? Real scrote? Or imitation crab?

However I do subscribe to the belief that even ironic-douchery is still authento-scrotewankery. Thus, they still suck.

And Brunette would munch on my clavicle with deep spiritual repose.

Crimson Tide

I quote the great Picasso, who sat at his easel one morning and asked himself this simple question: Orange?

He chose blue.

Tune In, Turn On, Douche Out

It’s like 2008 collided with 1970 to form some bizarro time-travel mix of a hippie commune, an Israeli kibbutz, a nudist colony and a giant vat of Axe body grease.

I half expect Ken Kesey and Tom Wolfe to drive up on a day-glo school bus with Richard Grieco, Brian Bosworth and the Axe Bodyspray girls doing shots of Grey Goose.

It’s socialist collectivism by way of Miami Beach chest shave. Vintage 1920s Lenin manifestos by way of vintage 1980s Donnie Wahlberg free verse.

I don’t know whether to read some Ayn Rand, bomb the Bay of Pigs, or slurp some jello shots while staring at boobies.

Reader Mail: Head Shaving

Bob-O writes in with a concert head shave ‘bag tag:

—-
DB1-

-Bob-O
—

If by “enjoy,” you mean bust out the clippers and shave ancient curses in Gaelic on a nearby flock of sheep, you’d be correct.

But this brings up a good point. An experienced Hott Hunter needs only a 10-15 degree rotation from the back of the head to determine hottness in a young female boobie hottie. So yes, I can tell she’s hott.

The Underoo Cowboy

Granmama always said to make sure you wear clean underwear, as you never know when you’ll get in a douchecident.

Kelly, your only hope is to jump overboard. Maybe a dolphin will save you.

Lao Tzu on Douchism

The great Chinese philosopher and father of Taoism, Lao Tzu once asked us the following:

What is man’s life for? What pleasure is there in it? Is it for beauty and riches? Is it for sound and colour? But there comes a time when beauty and riches no longer answer the needs of the heart, and when a surfeit of sound and colour becomes a weariness to the eyes and a ringing in the ears.

The men of old knew that life comes without warning, and as suddenly goes. They denied none of their natural inclinations, and repressed none of their bodily desires. They never felt the spur of fame. They sauntered through life gathering its pleasures as the impulse moved them. Since they cared nothing for fame after death, they were beyond the law. For name and praise, sooner or later, a long life or short one, they cared not at all.

As I contemplate those words, two thoughts come to me.

One, I want to party with Lao. That dude must be off the hook.

And two, did Lao Tzu anticipate the emergence of douche-scrote in a media saturated global simulacrum? And would Lao approve of the Yin-Yang polarity of authentic meaning found in the illogic of douche-hott dialectic that forces deconstruction by the very nature of its wrongness?

I’d argue that he would.