Sunday, June 5, 2011
Jedibags
Lets face it. Biggs was a huge douche too.
Hot Chicks With Douche Bags
PICTURES OF HOT CHICKS WITH TOTAL AND COMPLETE DOUCHEBAGS. WITH COMMENTARY.
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Hall of Mock
- Pfah
- DarkSock
- Baron Von Goolo
- Troy Tempest
- Steve L
- Wheezer
- Medusa Oblongata
- creature
- Crucial Head
- Mr. White
- Archidoucheis
- Mr. Biggs
- Vin Douchal
- Sergeant Scrote Stain
- boatbutter
- Captain Bringdown
- Whoop-di-douche
- Jacques Doucheteau
- massengill
- Dr. Bunsen Honeydouche
- Mr. Scrotato Head
- Deltus
- The Reverend Chad Kroeger
- mr.reeve
- Wedgie
- Et Tu Douche?
- Eliza Douchcoo
- dbBen
- soy bomb
- DoucheyWallnuts
- I R A Darth Aggie
- jonezy
- Hermit
- Chris in ‘Baghdad
- Douchble Helix
- the douche is alright
- Choad the Douche Sprocket
- Stephanie
- The Dude
- Dude McCrudeshoes
- Sir David Douchenborough
- Il Douché
- Bag A
- douche equis
- Capt. James T. Douche
- Charles Nelson Douchely
- THEONETRUEDOUCHE
- Merle Baggard
- ehcuodouche
- Franklyn DealorNo Doucheifelt
- Charles Douchewin
- FredN.
- Ol' Dirty Douchebag
- In memoriam: bcs
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The douche is strong with this one. Trust me, I’m a Sith.
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Son.
Still delirious, to the point of almost hallucinating, from lack of sleep I want to mock on this but alas I’ve got to give them a sorta notta. No Hott’s to worry about so let them go with there Geek baggery selves.
Hooray! Something funny that isn’t the Sunday Frolic!!!
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All it took was a 2 week walk-about.
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ps Using the word ‘walk-about’ is autodouche.
I Can’t Believe Its Not a Frolic Video.
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This was clever. That’s all I got.
@Douchble Helix, so what should we say? I’m going on vacation? I’m taking a week off? I’m taking a break? Those seem to obvious. Walkabout takes it to the next level…of douchery. BRB, I’m going to ask the sanitation specialist if he will take an additional bag of refuse out to the refuse container area for me.
Denim cutoff shorts is autodouche, and extremely gay. Unless this video was made in the 70s, which I doubt.
@Nancy – I’m still not sure I understand what ‘walkabout’ means, and if DB1 really did go to Europe or whatever. He’s a bright boy, he’s had a book published. He doesn’t need me to ghost write for him.
I thought denim siths died in the 80’s…
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The farce is strong in this one.
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It reminds me of Brak, from Space Ghost Coast To Coast, and how he got his light saber taken away.
This is the Jedi A-Holes dad ( the asian kid was adopted) :
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@ Vin Douchal, BA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!!
Amongst other definitions the term walkabout has historically been used to describe a nomadic style of wandering in the outback undertaken by Australian Aboriginal persons. While perhaps seen as a purposeless stroll in the sun by non-aboriginal persons, the walkabout is said to promote an important aspect of personal spiritual development and overall wellbeing.
Ho-Hos and Night Train for a fortnight. ‘Nuff said.
Except: son.
Depending upon the type of spirits I’m drinking, my personal spiritual development can best be described as “staggerabouts” or “crawlabouts.”
I do the occasional “hurlapon”.
Depending upon the amount of recreational drugs I used to do, my personal spiritual development could best be described as…. Oh that’s right I lost those years I actually call it “quicksanditis”
@Douchble Helix 10:24a, don’t forget about his TV show and this website which is always getting looted by the industry for it’s comedy gold. Quick story: The other day I was at the store and I overheard another guy call another guy a douchebag because he was wearing excessive jewelry and an Ed Hardy hat. Well I was livid. Not only did the one guy not reference DB1 AT ALL during this exchange, he also forgot to mention the douche’s sculpted facial hair.
I did the occasional “Talkyourearoff”
I’ve been on a non-stop roustabout since 2002.
I was so fucked up once, I wasn’t sure of my whereabouts.
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Actually, more than once.
Re: my previous quick story from above. When I say I was livid, I mean I was beside myself with rage.
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I got so drunk once, I threw up on my own couch. Crazy shit I tell you.
I bandied-about once wasn’t sure then or even now what it means so I quit.
I think I gaddedabout once or twice in the past it not as fulfilling as I thoughts it would be.
I had Take-Out once. Okay maybe more than once.
I once shouted it out loud inside of Cobo Hall back in the late 70’s watching some theatrically dressed band.
Jedi A-Hole, as seen as above, looks like he just sharted himself and is psyched about it.
A buddy and I were riding our motorcycles in the fine community of Leesville, Louisiana and decided to stop for a few drinks at a redneck bar. (Yep, believe it or not, there are redneck bars in Leesville, Louisiana.)
It was about four in the afternoon and probably ninety degrees, with the obligatory ninety percent humidity. We got in the air conditioning, and being young and stupid, I quickly downed four or five shots of Tequila. Feeling OK, we decided to pay up and get back on the road.
I drank them so fast I didn’t even feel drunk, but when I got outside in the heat, I noticed a strange phenomenon, the parking lot actually rose up and hit me in the face. I knew it was impossible, so I attempted to continue, and lo and behold, the fuckin’ parking lot rose up and hit me in the face again, this time even harder!
I lay there for several confused minutes before I finally figured out what was going on, and crawled under a picnic table until I could stand up and continue.
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Fuckin’ Jose Cuervo is a motherfucker.
@Et Tu 4:01p, he’s gonna be pissed if he ruins those boss cut offs.
@Hermit, one time I had too much to drink and I decided to tempt the fates and add a bowl of Honey Smacks on top of half a bottle of Raspberry vodka. Well I saw those Honey Smacks again. Because I threw them up. Near my couch.
I’m not sure, but I think DarkSock vomited in a horse, once.
Raspberry Vodka is illegal in fourteen states.
Honey Smacks are illegal in twelve states and two Canadian provinces.
@Hermit, yeah I was engaging in some pretty high risk behavior. I didn’t even clean it up until the next day. The NEXT day.
@ Nancy,
Cut off shorts are hard to come by and sharting is a risk I just wouldn’t take.
Sharting is frowned upon in Guam
One time I asked an employee at In N’ Out if they carried sourkraut. Okay, only half that sentence is true.
@Et Tu 4:31p where is it encouraged?
@Nancy
Not certain but my sources tell me American Samoa & the District of Columbia
@Et Tu, thank you, now I know where NOT to buy used chairs from.
^I’m thinking is whole thread is going to be epic, Samuri Scrote-style.
Once I was so drunk I had an old next door neighbor over for supper and drinks. He said something off color to the misses so as usual I went into my basement and grabbed my heavy Estwing framing hammer thinking this guy was a devil now and told him to get his evil presence away from my family (because I knew he was Satan in disguise).
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So I chase him out and whack him with said hammer a few times in front of witnesses and passed out.
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About ten o’clock that night I hear a ruckus in the kitchen. I stagger off the couch bleary eyed and smelling of the type of alcoholism that only occurs when business failure, vodka, and new fatherhood create an abyss of self pity.
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Fucking three big cops and the Child Protective Services talking to a young Mrs. Kroeger. What the fuck are you assholes doing here, I didn’t let you in, get he fuck out. Are you Mr. Kroeger? Ya! Well your gate and patio door were open and there was a complaint of violence and that your ladies may be in danger and we have a bench warrant for your arrest for failing to appear in court. Do you have to handcuff me in front of my baby? No Sir, we’ll do it outside in front of your neighbours.
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So I spent a long weekend in maximum security prison until the Mrs. could bail me out. My first stop was the liquor store. That event may explain some of the psychiatric problems I have had. I still hate cops and orange jumpsuits. But I was cool with the niggas cause I snuck in a pack of smokes.
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The funny part of this tragic tale of emotional woe and alcoholic rage is that those fuckers walked right past a crop a 80 primo clones ready to be started in the basement, and a grove of eight foot high plants and didn’t see a thing.
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Satan was the one who called the cops. I never let him know I knew. The day we moved I went to which him farewell. He was on a week long bender during which he mentioned the bag of cash and pound of hash he had. I poured him an eye opener for when he would wake later in the day, knowing he would not remember much of the week. I had an extra 10K and a few ounces of hash for the trip. Son.
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Autobiographical fact. I was a real nut.
@RevChad, sounds like your old neighbor got pretty hammered that night.
“Like an old neighbour, Estwing is there.”
I was without sleep for days and tripping, and saw Satan eating a cheeseburger a Wendy’s once. I didn’t see any hammer marks, but that was probably before Rev Chad rebuked him.
@RevChad, please tell me you told him to “Stop.” Followed by “Hammertime”.
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@Hermit I saw Satan when I was on walkabout.
That is some funny shit Hermit. Don’t ever let THEY give you drugs man. Stick with the natural grown or fermented so they don’t get into your gear.
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The previous story is 99% true. I really took 11K and several ounces of hash from his stash as punitive damages. He never missed it.
And don’t eat German sprouts. Son. and Nancy.
Sunday evening confessionals are great!!!
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Having drank the night before copious amounts of Wray & Nephew’s 126 proof Over-proof Rum and puffed way too much of the local “Lamb’s Bread” I woke up face first, on a lounge chair, by the hotel pool, mid-morning in a blacked out, semi-catatonic state whilst in Negril back in the 80’s. Funny thing is nobody bothered to wake me. I guess it’s just normal to see people passed out at 10 in the morning when your on your way to the breakfast buffet.
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True story!
Hmmmmm Hash!!!! yummy yummy Hash!!!!, I’m a fan of Lebanese Blonde & Maroc Zero-Zero. Gots good and puffed up with some tribal mountain folks in in the hills above Chefchaouen, Morocco.
One more Sunday evening confessional before I try and fail to fall asleep.
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I once I fucked this white girl who had a pink range who drove fast in the slow lane. She had a neck tattoo and all her clothes were new.
Satan whispers messages through the dryer vent. He tries to be real sneaky, but don’t do everything he tells you.
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throw out that old cottage cheese from the fridge
remember to buy printer cartridges
brush your teeth
don’t forget to walk the dog
maim and brutally kill your neighbors
pay the phone bill
eat more salad
@Et Tu, 7:44pm sweet fucking dreams, jerk.
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@Hermit, check I don’t have any old cottage cheese so that eliminates that one and the rest are good to go.
I dropped acid once in 1989 and chased one of my roommates around the front yard at 9:00 pm during a thundering cloud burst with a column that another fellow tripper and room-mate had torn off the porch earlier that afternoon. It was a painted 4″ steel pipe; the house was a sort of a mid-Mississippi idiot savant rendition of der stijl and I was rather fond of that column (both of them, actually; I credit the remaining Mies Van der Rohe-esque thin column with actually holding up the cantilevered portico, but I digress…) but the liberated pipe in my hand was surely an instrument of murderous intent until me and my victim both fell victim to the ludicrous appearance of the St. Augustine grass blades dancing between the pounding raindrops to the music of the naked porch yellow bug light; howling like jackals with pants pissed in the warm July Jackson rain until the JPD stormtroopers clad in yellow sombreros and hungry nightsticks made us go back inside. There, after a bottle of 151 and half a liter of Jose, the argument (about what, I cannot say) resumed instantly like a lit fart and I threw my roommate bodily from the living room, through the 1/2″ shitty post-war sheet rock, perfectly through the sub-standard 24″ stud spacing, into my heart-of-pine-floored master bedroom.
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Well, then the hyena howls of laughter truly began. We made peace and the 5 of us made our way across North State Street to W.C. Don’s ( a legendary dive once voted by Rolling Stone Magazine as one of the top ten “dives” in the USA; stands for “We Couldn’t Decide On a Name”; many great bands have shown up there, shrugged, said we’re firing our management, and played anyway…) only to find the then-owner Terry upset because the band that night (Fetchin’ Bones, touring behind their criminally under-appreciated album Monster, with the single “Love Crushin'”…but again I digress; they obviously saw the dive and kept on drivin’ to Birmingham or wherever…) didn’t show. So my roommate, with sheet rock dust still on his shoulders, said “WE’RE YOUR BAND!!!”, and my 2 non-musical roomies fetched his short-scale $80 Memphis Bass and Peavey Black Widow combo (proudly made in Meridian, MS, mind you…) and my little Marshall 20 watt combo and Carvin with Bigsy Tremolo, and SEPTIC FROG was born from the twin twats of liquor and acid…some dude I’d never seen before flailed up in high tops and leather jacket, announced himself as our Lead Singer named “Dancin’ Manson”, and we were off to the races. Big D and I ripped through our rehearsed bass n’ guitar riffs while this kid scatted some wild shit on top of it; we played (I was told) for a couple of hours, pausing only for me to piss (onstage) and also when I fell off of my amp (which I was using as a stool, unable to stand) on 3 occasions, once to be fair because some tool hefted a cue ball from one of the two pool tables into my temple because we were playing too loud.
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I cracked the Carvin’s hollow body on the last spill off the stage…came to find out it was worth a LOT more than the $175 I paid the transmission mechanic who was holding it in lien against the musician who failed to pay him for the work on an El Camino…but I digress…
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I woke the next morning to a scene not unlike the “Hangover” movie’s morning after, except in a rental property…I limped my way over to the convenience store that was basically in front of W.C. Don’s to get a Gatorade and BC Powder for my aching head only to find Terry wanting us back that night. To which I said “Fuck You, I think I am dying”.
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Terry showed me later than night where the words “SEPTIC FROG RULES” were written in the sole unisex plywood toilet in the corner; then he threatened to make us paint over it because he thought WE wrote that shit.
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One of us probably did.
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How the fuck would I know?
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But because of dropping acid, and hard liquor, I played on the same stage as REM, Ian Hunter, Big Star, Widespread Panic, Dash Rip Rock, the Flaming Lips, and Galactic once played.
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Never done acid since.
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But I keep thinkin’ about it…
Jedis who didn’t make the cut to the Dark side
^I feel that story DS. My only problem is that I hate The Flaming Lips because they were at a painful CSNY concert at Stowe with a rabbit named Bunny and Mrs. Kroeger. Maybe that was Phish. Son.
^REM? Somebody slept on the stage. Son.
Who you calling a douche?
I’ve taken enough acid to make Timothy Leary and Ken Kesey proud. However, about every other time, it was a “bad trip.”
One time I might spend the whole night laughing until the sun came up and your jaws hurt from the sustained laughter.
The next time I’d spend hours huddled under a pile of laundry, swearing that those people murmuring in the next room were plotting to do me harm. I’d promise myself that if I get out of this alive, I’d never to do acid again.
But, I always did.
While tripping, things like eating or having sex seemed like complete absurdity. Food felt like rubber in your mouth, and while attempting sex, something like a button would distract you for hours.
Liquor or weed have no effect whatsoever while tripping. That shit completely takes over, and there’s no stopping it once you drop that hit.
You couldn’t pay me to take that shit now.
My advice, stick to the mushrooms, the chemical acid is too intense.
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And don’t ever look into a mirror while tripping.
Carvins are fucking great guitars, not as great as that story though.
Did acid at a Pink Floyd show circa 92, Giants Stadium, summer, outdoors, light rain fell as airplanes flew by…..Gilmour’s guitar tones cut through the air like Hermit can slice into a newbie.
Did acid once and almost killed ourselves boating to Fire Island at night in a small Whaler too….
“And don’t ever look into a mirror while tripping.” AGREED 1000%
“And don’t ever look into a mirror while tripping.”
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Y’all better listen to Uncle Hermit.
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Eye contact with one’s tripping reflection = permafrost madness.
I have a mirror and I’m about to trip on some Tylenol PM and Pixie Sticks. Please advise.
The reason I stopped tripping was I was afraid I’d wind up cooking all my brain cells and have permanent facial paralysis looking like Slo-Kev
It is somewhat lamentable not having such spectacular stories to recount. I have experienced long stretches of sleep deprivation, but all that has produced for me is becoming increasingly paranoid that what I was growing in my petri plates would rise up and overthrow me.
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I really have no excuse either. I have access to a lab for chrissakes.
I still like listening to “Roundabout” by Yes. Great bass line that just thumps on my Polk Audio Monitor 10A’s.