Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Markie Demonstrates Performative Asswankery is Real Douchescroterty

It’s all ironic Jersey Shore dress-up until you realize the star tatt is forever.

Tasty bleethy Champagne Carly’s kissy lips make the Baby Jesus heimlich a nun then bitch slap a porpoise.

Which is just mean. Because porpoises are mammals. I mean really, Baby Jesus.

Sven Counts to Two

Although, technically, so is Julie.

Using her boobs.

I needed to spell that joke out.

Because it’s early, and your humble narrator is scratchy.

Jan Lärggmän Watches

Even in Minsk, where Hottie/Douchey siblings cohabit in creepy and genetically inappropriate ways, there is Jan Lärggmän.

Who watches without watching.

And knows.

Melanie Meets the Douchehound Gang

The “Case of the Awkward and Inappropriate Grope” just got a little more interesting once the Douchehound Gang became implicated after an ass pear fingerprint dusting.

Yup. No idea what I’m saying. Time for some string cheese.

The Genie Outside of Bottle

Here’s the central concept underlying Orangemen group groping a hottie that we all need to understand.

In the age of Toffler’s Future Shock, language and image have inverted, flipped on their lid, and danced a jig of meaning fragmentation. Put simply, the egg-being is post-born and forever broken. Humpty Dumpty can never cohesively be reconstructed again.

The conceptual structures that maintain institutional power are not visible, as Foucault taught us, but instead teach us self imprisonment through linguistic inscription and repetition.

It is only when the image is fully untethered from structure, when the signifier is fully destabilized in the simulacrum, that true revolutionary dialectics can occur.

This is the revolution of HCwDB, no matter how it becomes codified in subsequent form.

The ‘bags and hotts featured images on this site do not exist.

They are conceptually reinscripted (re)creations of spectral phantasm conjured by each of us, individually, upon the act of witness.

For that ancient question no longer exists. The tree that falls in the woods not only doesn’t make a sound, we no longer need a tree. Nor woods. The sound occurs either way. Fully corporeal fragmentation within unconstituted denature in the realm of the uncanny.

That is the revolutionary shift in conceptual recodification brought about by the untethered nature of collective simulacra in the mass media age.

The body is no longer a body. The corporeal has gone electromagnetic spectral and the genie can only shake her phantasmic bootie to a hiphop techno beat of imagination in the endless, open bottle of (un)containment.

Squat Dumping on a Snail

That reminds me. Did I remember to squat dump a shiny turd uponst a confused snail this morning in the outer gardens by the alpaca processing plant?

I always forget to do that before I leave the grounds.

The Waikiki Leak

PIC DELETED

Somewhere, on an island off the coast of Hawaii, someone’s releasing previously classified urine onto the internets. And it looks like this guy.

More St. Patty’s Day Fallout

While a number of readers submitted pics of drunk wankholes attempting to douche it up for hot chicks this past St. Patrick’s Day, few qualified as true HCwDB, as most were just bridge and tunnel flotsam in mid pukosity.

Which, come to think of it, actually is true HCwDB. But still.

But something about Waiter Juan’s kissy lips, and Irene’s doe-eyed confusion of perfect taut suckle bottom, reminds us why holidays were invented in the first place — state sanctioned mating calls.

Hipster Sammy is Angry About his Cous-Cous

Young Kelly McGillis sees real genius in his flying. And by flying, she means ability to beer burp the theme from “The Jeffersons.”

Minnesota Marnie Loses a Bet

Dieter likes “zee cherry soda und zee American teevee.”