Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Where's Harry Potter?

Somewhere in this standard issue HCwDB of Vegas Party Douche and Paid-to-Pose luscious brunette Hottness, I’ve carefully hidden a grinny, creepy Harry Potter.

Look closely.

Can you find him?

Random Joe Voted

Random Joe and His Boy Friday took time off from hitting on the Swedish Au Pairs, Inga and Svenga, to vote in the HCwDB of the Week.

Have you voted yet?

HCwDB of the Week

It’s a short week, but don’t think the upcoming turkey means we don’t have pics to disseminate, congregate and coagulate. One more slot remains open in the HCwDB of the Year. And that slot must be slotted.

Here’s your three:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: The Cosmobag

For embodying the “urbane” playah, The Cosmobag brings greased up Joey Fatone Old Kid on the Couch game to the Weekly.

Cosmobag is underrated poo, subtler perhaps, but still worthy of Weekly mock.

And Samantha brings uber-librarian boobie hottness that makes Koalas dance the famed Bamboo Dance.

It takes a lot to make Koalas dance.

But Samantha’s goods bring it.

And by bring it, I mean make your humble narrator long to dewey her decimals. She is the gnaw-worthy arm tastitude that makes my psyche ache for the impermanence of life.

And I see you too, tonguey blonde badgirl, Karla. You deserve butt powdering with name-brand butt powder. And I will oblige.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Wretch-a-Sketch

Name courtesy of Baron Von Goolo, the Wretch-a-Sketch, aka “Scribbles,” brings some Blink 180poo tattbaggery, and a lovely Chiquita hott, Jezebel, to the Weekly.

And don’t forget Scribble #2.

The scribbler nature of WaS reminds us of one of the most important catagories on the douchestrological charts:

The Travesty Barker. Fake post-emo punk pseudo rebel “badass” crap.

This may not seem like “douche” in the traditional Jerz/Miami mold. But do not be fooled. It is festering unwashed ball taint.

Mmm… Missus Zebra.

How I would love thy bellybutton with extensive “pooch” noises followed by a deep and pensive reclining with a glass of iced lemonade and a collection of essays by Bertrand Russell.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: The Mutaint

Jennifer’s targeted douche tag is one of the rare in-person ‘bag tags submitted by a reader to make it all the way to the Weekly.

Nothing makes me happier than when the ladies write in with their stories of ‘bag mock.

Well, maybe a tall glass of fortified wine after a long day of scratching myself.

But other than that, nothing.

Note the pale/tane discrepancy between Mutaint’s face and arms.

Anyone who thinks this is Halloween dress-up is woefully mistaken. This is real world “game” in action.

Sorry Red Tony, you just didn’t have what it takes to earn a Weekly shot.

So them’s your three, people. I need you. I can’t sit around and eat sugar cereal by my lonesome.

Vote for your pick, as always, in the comments thread.

Guidos in Cabo

Thought it might be time to bring back an oldie but goodie as we head into the Turkey week. One of the rarest of rare captures ever put on hand-held shaky videocam:

That’s right. A ‘bag mating dance captured in the wild.

HCwDB on Second Life

This is a real image from “Second Life,” in which douches can now create tatted up, uber-pumped online alter-egos.

With bling. And Douchebaguette on arm. And underwear poke. And six pound watch.

I suppose when the human body emulates the hyper-spectacle of the brand-name billboard, it’s only a matter of time before the avatars follow.

A virtual echo of a corporeal echo of a virtual spectacle.

Canted Angle Saturday

Sometimes when we meditate and ruminate on the Miami Beach douche/hott permutations, we need new visual angles for contemplation.

Like those taken by an eight foot giant during an earthquake.

While Lizette tries to pass off her doggie poop bag to the groin of a Doggie Poop ‘Bag.

Friday Thoughts and Links

I have many thoughts upon this crisp, Los Angeles Friday.

With the 2009 Douchies coming up fast, the pics are being processed and the awards committee is hard at work. And by awards commitee, I mean me. Sitting around. Scratching myself. Eating bowls of Frosted Flakes and enjoying my 1970s Eliot Gould Netflix festival.

The Douchies begin December 7th.

I tip a half eaten HoHo to all of us bag hunters and huntresses. I sip an Ubiquitous Red Cup filled with Trader Joe’s Blood Orange soda from one of the vintage bottles I keep on my Blood Orange Soda rack. And I burp.

My burps taste like fresh HoHos.

Here’s your links:

Lets get our retro groove on with the uberhott and frequently naked Dolly Read “singing” Sweet Talkin’ Candy Man in the Roger Ebert scripted classic, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. This song is genius. Crying out for an updated indie cover.

Moving up a few decades, how’s about some 1980s retro douche: The William Zabka Trilogy.

And, in our present historical moment, there’s: Michael Bay. Douche.

Reader Matt looks up The Salt Licker’s stomach tatt and discovers it’s the symbol for sulfur.

Speaking of the 80s, This’ll cheer you up.

But also sad news: Ken Ober has passed away. At a ridiculously young age. The hilarious host of the great game show on MTV that inspired much of my early teen years, Remote Control. In memorium: Kenny wasn’t like the other kids.

My contributions to the development of linguistic discourse continue.

Do not click on this link. I’m serious. If you do, I don’t want to hear any whining about it. I must include it because it’s superdouchey, but it’s also psychologically scarring. I take no blame. (although if you can make it to :53, the dance is hilarious. Good luck making it.)

Okay, after that link I owe you.

Here’s your payback: Sky Pear.

Red Tony Prepares for the Weekly

Red Tony thinks he’s going to be up for HCwDB of the Week on Monday.

He’s so excited, he’s serving up Vodka and Red Bulls to get Michaela drunk while he prepares to compete.

Sadly, Red Tony hasn’t heard that he’s not making the cut.

Sorry, R.T. Pumped up Jerzguidery without faux and kissylips just isn’t enough.

Vegas Hal

Vegas Hal isn’t major league douche. Sure he’s got the mini-faux popup head. The douchey tatts. The six pound watch. The white belt.

And, of course, apparently tweezed eyebrows. But it’s not the sneery punch-worthy kind of douche.

If Vegas Hal bats for the hometeam, I’d simply mark him a gaybag and be ready to dismiss him from the debate.

But Vegas Hal’s currying favor with Sexy Sandra suggests faux-gaybaggery, which is, of course, authento-douchery.

I call ‘bag.

And now, I will softly rub my flannel shirts from the early 1990s, hum angsty Stone Temple Pilots songs, and dream of brunette boobie marshmallow peeps.

Friday Haiku

Sneery Goose Runner
Almost pulls “Double Shocker,”
Needs index to hold.

Frosted glass at night
In a Seventies basement
Side boob and lip gloss

— Publius Choadius Naso

Spring Break trip mistake
Got on plane to Russia, oops
Still met bags with booze

— Dr. DB

Latin goblin bags
Vanilla chocolate goose
Hots drink to endure.

— The ‘Baggernaut

Three hotts in a room
Douchebag Pack encircle them
Forsake all hope, run!

— Hector, Tamer of Douches

It’s Los Stooges Tres.
Left to right, there’s Moe, Curly,
and El Carne de Porch.

— “Lesbian Thermos” Ernie Tubesock

El Chupacabra
turns his back on tequilla
por que, amigo?

— Douche Wayne