Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Scoliosis Joel

Everywhere Scoliosis Joel walks, a midget trumpet player follows behind him, playing “Barrrrruhhhmp bump bump…. Barrruhhhmp bump bump…” in time with his footsteps.

Or, at least, that’s the world I want to live in.

Margarita’s mother played a Bond girl in “You Only Live Twice,” but her modeling career hasn’t gone so well since she moved here from Antverp.

Sadly, she finds herself clinging to fresh squeezed vegetable juice elixirs and men with bad credit rating.

But she’ll keep trying. She’s sure the payoff is just around the corner.

What Happens in Palisades Park Stays in Palisades Park

Even Angie’s had enough of overdeveloped abs + groin shave reveal.

That’s gotta count for something.

Well, that and a token’ll get you to the West Village on the Path Train. Which, lets face it, is where Tommy’d rather be anyway.

Pinky Tuskadoucho

If there’s one way to demonstrate masculinity to a gaggle of bikini hotts, it ain’t pink hat tilt, and it ain’t pink wristdanna.

It’s pink dog-tags.

HCwDB of the Week: The Smarm Candy and Patty

Last week was a seriously competitive douche-off of hott and choad steam. We had the Fry Guys, Toolbags on Sale, the legal threats of Champagne Katie, and the odious Vegaswankery of General Lickarthur and Shane Choking a Bitch.

But no pic more encpasulated the tragedy of quality suckle thigh getting macked on by Members Only ferret turd than the Smarm Candy’s fondling of Patricia.

Our last Weekly winner (loser) before next week’s voting-enhanced Monthly smackdown, this hottie/douchey sleazery is a potent reminder that in our post Jersey Shore era of irony, the real douches still lurk.

To be mocked.

And wear fauxhawk.

Your Sunday Hot Chick Infused Annoying Hipster Video

Since normally I post Sunday HCwDB Movies of douchebags frolicing in parking lots with nary a semi-hot chick in sight, today I thought we’d mix it up.

There are no traditional douchebags in this video.

Just lovely lovely ladies set to a strangely enjoyable, if trippy, indie track. And whales. And a thirsty old guy.

And, if you look really closely, an annoying hipster Melvin.

But in the spirit of forgiveness, we’ll give him a quasi notta and enjoy the Pear.

Friday Thoughts and Links

Ed Hardy.

Still out there.

Still the clearest marker of douchechoad shoescrape this side of tiger blood.

Here’s your links:

Your HCwDB DVD Pick of the Week: “Hey pissant! You forgot your jukebox!”

For your bored weekend reading: The writers at Cracked do a pretty good takedown of movies and shows that were made up on the fly. The protagonists are Cylons for the loss.

Hiphop poet and voice of a generation, Skweezy Jibbs is on vacation in Florida.

A 5 Second Film that sums up the odious Pauly D.

The Germans love Das Boot Beer.

Lets never forget the early templates for modern protobaggery mock began, in all places, in a Disney Film.

HCwDB celebrated on the message boards of racist Aryan website “Stormfront.” Too bad they don’t know that I’m a gay Mexican black Muslim Jewish woman.

Someone peed in that horse once.

If you caught that fake trailer for “Hobo with a Shotgun,” the dude ended up making an actual movie. With Rutger Hauer.

Speaking of Aryans, don’t mess with angry Teutons in Helsinki.

Okay, you don’t want raging Nordic blood, you want pear. How’s about some:

Johansson Pear. She might not be able to act, but Pear.

Nah. That’s just celebupear. You want anonypear. Well here ya go:

Lounge Pear.

Lay back and repose. For the weekend is nigh.

The Burpbag Squeezes

Every Pool Has One.

One of the easiest tags to identify, the Burpbag can be observed in some form of physical expression of bodily function.

Either popping a squat, regurgitating or doing his taxes in pantomimic form.

Reese Booberspoon may have dominatrix features, but her enhanced curves call to me like a sirenical breastal Greek myth.

And so I pooch with pensive aplomb and without will to resist.

I Don’t Care About Stupidhat

While it’s true that some part of my primal cortex hopes a dumpster truck runs over Stupidhat and dumps his lifeless douche-corpse in a chavez ravine, alls I can bestow is one three word sentence uponst the holies of perfect taut sucklagable female curvosity and angelic boobage that is beheld in the perfect form of Cindy-Anne:

I wouldst gnaw.

Friday Haiku

“Why’s it smell rank?,” said,
Brad’s talking belly button,
But no one noticed.

Wrong ones are topless;
removal of bikinis
results in…..”paint lines”?

— Wheezer

Brad’s love life on hold,
Suffers from rare STD.
Intestinal crabs.

— Rockabilly Johnny and the Electric Foreskin Benders

Painted Goddesses
Next to Painted Fools and Trolls
No one is WINNING.

— jonezy

Those two black chest lines
Aren’t really fake suspenders
Just giant skid marks

— saulgoode42

I’ll have white Russian
Use extra boobie milk please
But no body paint

— Dude McCrudeshoes

Big Al’s Body Shop:
After we lube your rear end,
We’ll paint your bumpers!

— Hermit

Bullet Barry Fondles the Suzy Pear

The increasing trend for bagwear to feature bullets, bloody gunshots, or various other overpriced, silkscreened examples of violent conflict, is simply 2011’s answer to the previous iteration we knew as “Unearned Dog Tags.”

Suzy Pear has dressed up for a night on the town. She deserves better than to have her firm glutes grabbed by a pudwack whose closest brush with armed conflict was the time his Mexican gardener, Gomez, shouted at him to move his car so he could leaf-blow the driveway.

Mmm… Suzy Pear. I forgive you. Now come to me. Let me blow spit bubbles softly towards your lower calf area while you yawn and watch Oprah.