Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

“Challo!!!”

“Chaddayou?”

The Holy Breasteses of Avalon

As the Oracle of Soapy Bathroom Imagination once foretold: Uponst discovery of the Holy Breasteses of Avalon, the Gnomish Asspuckers will gather. And must be fought off with a stone and a slashing of credit rating, or the storm clouds will gather stronger evermore.

Heed the Oracle of Soapy Bathroom Imagination.

For without such warnings, fantasies give way to realities of stupid chin fung and loud, garish techno.

Ask DB1: Pumping Orange?

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Hey db1,

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Excellent question, D of A. The Performative Leniency Rule, as it’s currently interpreted by the Ancient Mystics of Uttar Pradesh, relates to an element of theatricality understood in the construction of the douchal persona as it relates to character work and fictive settings.

For example: Wrestling. The W.W.E. is scripted melodrama, albeit within culturally acceptable crypto-gay undertones. The W.W.E requires characters to perform as “douchebags,” so to call them douchebags is simply wrong. They are paid to perform as actors. While the damage they do via steroids, etc, is mockable, their actions as “douchebags” are not. It is performance.

Similarly in music, the personas of stage performance often require elaborate and theatrical dress. Thus calling Keith Richards douchey for wearing crap in his hair, when it’s part of his mythos, is similarly misguided.

Bodybuilding, lacking any coherent form of narrative, is about pure spectacle. The nature of douche culture, the spectacle of the cartoonish in the age of media overstimulation, thereby allows bodybuilding douchery to emerge as legitimate mock, even under the rubric of organized sport.

And besides. They’re too orange/burnt umber not to laugh at.

That being said, the Mark Mark lookin’ dude pictured here is a classic example that not all bodybuilders are douchey. In fact, I’d probably give him a nottadouche, and then be terrified to flirt with Stephanie lest he kick my ass when he got back from the bathroom.

So all pumped up inflatathons are not autobag. So let it be written. So let it be done.

Happy Mitch Is In Over His Head

Happy Mitch did what he was told.

He bought the most garish Ed Hardy crapfests he could find.

He put ’em on.

He grew out what facial fung he could (none).

He tilted the Hardy Hat to a properly douchebaguous 30DHT.

Now Happy Mitch finds himself dancing to Dangermouse with Quality Suckle Spank Pooch Amelia and the poor dude is lost.

Sorry Happy Mitch. You seem like a nice guy. But Suckle Spank Pooch Amelia’s butt requires quality pooch suckle. And you have chosen the Hardy Path. So you are not worthy.

Beachclowns Discover The Pear

Next up: Beachclowns discover The Boobs.

It’s like a Summer ‘Bagling How-To Guide that mediates between discovering puberty and buying stupid hats.

Thankfully, they’ve pre-coded their backs with I.D. tattoos, so assimilation can proceed more effectively when Soylent Green production ramps up in the Fall.

Mashmouth Hits on Margarita

Say what you will about Mashmouth’s idiotic tatts, his stupid chin fung, and his zonked everything, but give him props for the Mondrian inspired neo-plasticism styled swimming trunks.

Margarita has the sexy but far more common Tijuana Eye of Alcoholic Coitus. Still, I appreciate and salute it with my momentary attention and fleeting affectations. I mean affections. Nah, I mean affectations.

Ask DB1: Spiked = Autobag?

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Dear DB1,

Follically yours,
Choad the Douche Sprocket
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Spiked douche hair = autobag status. No exceptions.

So let it be written. So let it be done.

Billy Von Buren Fist Pumps His Lack of Future

Just think, by his mid 40s, that tatt of Italy will slowly morph into the shape of Weimar republic Germany, thereby justifying Alfred Wegener’s theories of tectonic shift.

As well as The “Fegelein theories” currently taking place in Hitler’s bunker.

Speaking of tectonic shift, Future SUV Driving Long Island Mom Sandra lets out a rebel yell. She wants more, more, more. BMWs.

Fey Allan and Brenda Call for World Peace

Little known trivia: “Pink Stars on a Speedo” was also the working title for the Plastic Ono Band.

Okay okay, Brenda could stand to lose a few. But Zafig should not always be an automatic disqualification. And besides, it’s early. When it’s early, and the DB1 can’t find his socks, Brenda’ll do.

When Kelly and Ashley Hit the Weehawken Shore

Gigglefests ensued when the Tommy Bros invited them to “totally party until the wee” at the Snappy Snack Shack Clambake ™.

And another Camus novel was born.