Thursday, September 13, 2012
Someone's Dad Is The Most Embarrassing Dad On Earth
You know how, at one point or another, everyone thinks their dad is the most embarrassing dad on earth?
Turns out you were wrong.
It’s this guy.
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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Not a dad, still lives in dad’s basement.
Shlep Largeman approves
Is the “Dad” in the middle wearing a G-string under his swimmy trunks? Also isn’t it a little early in the day to be posting Dude on Dude action? I mean I’m all for the guys from Deliverance having a Vegas vacay, but I don’t need to see a dry anus hump to believe it happened.
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Guy in the glasses for best reaction.
Jeremiah J. Largeman couldn’t resist getting in on the frivolity. Mountain living takes it’s toll so what better way to get back into the mainstream then to head to Vegas and get in on some pool side pear photo shot.
It’s times like these I wish I lived in Europe, where the exposed haunches of a butterface ain’t no big thang. Definitely not photo op worthy.
Well,what kind of douchbag invites his Dad to his party in the first place? Now, that’s really uber douche.
Hey, if my dad could score some talent like that, I’d take him to Vegas. Well, him and his retirement savings. Damn, that is some doubley-delicious pear.
Yep. There needs to be *some* level of Old Guy Mackin’ Strong Leniency.
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I mean, those are damn fine real life pears.
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Just sayin’.
DH, I agree. But does it count if the pears are on the clock?
You would take your Dad to Vegas with you? You can’t find your own girls? Woah. Pathetic. THAT’S douchebag.
Dammit…I had to zoom in. Beware of the tattooed blob frame right in the black, pink and silver spandex harness. She may be JJ Largeman’s sis, J-Whale Largeman.
I would love to give those girls a brown and yellow shower, clean them off with Granny Clampett’s lye soap and suck those pears to the starfish and and tongue past their glorious sphincters dreaming of a prime Ellie May, on acid. On acid I says. Son. And drunk so I
He entered mid-life crisis fifteen years ago and never came out, another few years and he’ll be partying with a wheel chair bound, oxygen tank sucking Sir Ivan. There isn’t enough Viagra and self tanner in the world to fill the hole in his soul.
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Sven Largeman raises the hammer of Thor!
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Those pears beg to spanked til bright pink and flapjacked relentlessly.
which one is the dad? bearded white whale or dude from Viagra commercial
Red Largeman is thrilled to be here today. I just noticed him, ten minutes after ~glancing~ at the pears. mm hmm, pears.
You can’t *prove* that they’re PTP.
Sorry, I’ve been on the horn with legislative and regulatory scum lawyers a lot lately.
It’s Rehab. They’re either PTP or PTF.
@Douchble Helix 2:57p, “Old Guy Mackin’ Leniency”? Old people get cut enough slack. They get to say whatever they want, they get to ride around on those Rascals and pay no mind to anything in their path and they get to drive even when then they back over kids in a school zone. Now we’re gonna give them leniency to mack on hookers and strippers? I enjoy watching an old dude go through a midlife crisis as much as the next guy, but sometimes we just have to step in and save them from themselves.
Flounder McScrote thinks, “Brah, I needs ta amp up mah tatt game to keep up wit’ mah cuz Droopy, yo! SHOUT OUT, HOME SLICE!”
A third-generation run of a (ahem) “classic” television show brings in some very distant cousins. Once again, it’s “them rascally Douche boys” getting into all kinds of mischief, but this time, they’ve got…..ummmmm, Moe(?) Douche and…..wow…..old neighbor, ummmmm, I guess that’s Choady “The Chubby Toad” something-or-other.
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I think those waitresses serve cheap swill at the Whore’s Nest.
Bath salts Patrick Duffy??
My Dad was never embarrassing. However, he is, and always has been, extremely terrifying. I will never cross this man. Never. Part of me hopes that now is just the time (Me: 27, Him: 50) where I could handle him in a fight. But the noninsane part of me knows that this is only a pipe dream. Well into his sixties my father will be able to rip my face off. God. If I sucker punched my father in the throat, he wouldn’t even make a sound; he would calmly grab my torso and start cracking ribs, one by one, until a collapsed into a pile of human putty. No. He wouldn’t kill me. he would just calmly stand there as I paid my appropriate asshole tax.
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Now, “What,” you may ask, “does this have to do with the rather tanned Oldbag – who may, or may not, have a high-hipped Stripper G-String tattooed onto his torso?”
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Well, everything. And probably absolutely nothing because I spend a vast majority of my time drunkly playing Whack-a-Mole a Chucky Cheese whilest yelling incoherent demands at the god-damn-animatronic-banjo-playing-bears who never have the common courtesy to play Outkast’s, “Southerplayalisticcadillacmuzic.” Just that damn Twang, over, and over, and over.
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But I digress. This so called “Fatherbag,” instead of rightfully instilling fear and cowardice into his sons and daughters, has taught only texting shorthand and the propper spacing of butt cheeks on the tanning bed. This is why you see infants with fauxhawks. This Mother F’er right here. The crumbling of our society began not with the launch of this site some, shit, I don’t know, seven or eights years ago. No, it started when this complete twat decided to take a vacation to Saint Barts instead of spending the week berrating his children for talking over the Ohio State game. Douchey America was born when thousands of parents in the eighties decided it was ok to support their child’s desire to express themselves (whatever the hell that means) instead of telling them to shut the hell up and mow the lawn.
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You know why Douches always have that smug look of entitlement? Because they aren’t afraid. No one – i.e. Their God Damn Fathers – smacked ’em in the mouthes when they were acting like asshats. And if you aren’t taught as a youngster that retardedness is punishable by the swift knuckles of justice, then you probably are on a fast track to Scrotehood. This photo right here is the Darwinic Origin of “Smarmlippery.”
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Dear Oldbag, You destroyed America’s youth. We hate you. Sincerely, Everyone.
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Also, where the hell is that damn Banjo Bear with my meatball pizza?
It’s gonna be interesting to see how the fatherbags who are right now in their 40’s and 50s like to party 20 years from now when hey’re in their 60’s and 70’s.
Though I hope they’re all dead.
Sgt. Scrote Stain, FTW.
On the bright side …
Pear.
Tattooed fob watch chain on the Dadbag is a nice change from the Jebus bling.
Seamus O’Largeman says thanks to the EU for the subsidised Guinness pies. They were delicious.
Welcome back, SSS! Straight to the Comment of the Week™ for you!
Actually, I think the most embarrassing Dad is Jimmy Hoffa. That tough guy union cunt couldn’t even fight off a couple of wise guys who came to knock him off in the middle of the night. Hoffa went down like Plinky’s Mom on a PR busboy who promised to get her extra chicken wings at the all you can eat buffet in exchange for a blowy. A blowy, I says.
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It’s too bad Hoffa, Sr couldn’t have been taken out before he oozed his load into Mrs Hoffa’s cooze so we could have been spared the further embarrassment in the form of Jimmy Hoffa, Jr who followed in his half a fag Father’s footsteps and is a leech union leader hisself. There’s always hope that Junior will wind up in an industrial trash compactor just like his cooked Kraut old man.
Oh, man!!! It’s like the dias at the Friar’s-‘Bag Hunter Roast!!!
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I’m dying here!!!
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Geraldos.
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What? Too soon?
Sergeant Scrote Stain for comment of the week. A better summation of the state of Douche American has never been uttered. A tip of the trucker cap to you, good sir.
Jesus, I’m just hoping to grease the wa,y in case I get caught on camera with the too-youngs.
II’d proffer a rat’s ass if this mean’s we get less pear on Friday, Boss.
I’d be a helluva lot more embarrassed if the red-beard on the left was the dad instead of the gray-hair next to him.
It’s poor manners to point anyway, when he’s supposed to be grabbing. That’s cause alone for embarrassment.
@ Wheezer, et all
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I’ve been around. Trolling. Oogling. Staring at pear and side boob. But god damns, it’s hard to add an original thought to this hot, steamy PudMess. You see douche after douche, and after a while, they just all blend into one.
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The only thing that ever comes to mind is from the timeless classic, “Princess Bride.” When the Princess to be is dreaming and walking down the isle and the old woman acosts her…
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“BBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”
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That’s all I really have to say anymore. But I still enjoy the comments from the newbs and regs and Hall Members alike. Keep on, keepin’ on… I do miss Friday Haiku; my ass just gets to work to late. That shit’s stil from 7-8:30am, correct?
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If not, I’ll be all up on that shizz… For like two months. And then I’ll drift into another several month haze of black tar heroine. ‘Cause that shit be good.
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Keep doin’ your thang fellow baghunters.
Redbeard with no eyebrows is rocking some serious pasty Scottish Canadian heritage there. And I ain’t talking about his beer belly or forest of armpit skin tags neither. Live golden now, pony boy. Pretty soon that gut crease is going to extend 360 degrees and you’ll be wearing diabetes socks with sandals.
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Who the hell is the dude in the pink thong? And why is an Anthony Bordain lookalike pointing at his ass. That’s fucking gross, dude.
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Good to see you again SSS. Stay frosty out there.
Does no one appreciate photo bomber Timmy and his look of bemused disdain? He wins the daily Internet for his facial commentary.
Hike faster, I hear banjo music.
@ Sergeant Scrote Stain
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You nailed the analysis but got the decade wrong. It started in the 60’s when people were told to “question everything” and not to trust anyone under 30. Less asshattery and more hard work makes for a better person. “Finding yourself”, EST seminars and sit like that only lead to his father being a fuck-up which he will/already has passed onto his son. And so it comes full circle.
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social retardism
@ Doc Bunsen,
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I dig your phrase “Less asshattery and more hard work makes for a better person”.
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Note to Dbags: If you get this as a tattoo, do it backwards, so it shows up in cellphone self portraits.
^ @ Charles Douchewin
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It was usually rephrased in my family as “If you don’t like what I’m telling you about how you’re fucking up, then get the fuck out of this house and see how the real world will treat you” but that seemed a bit too long.
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I got told this numerous time when in my early teens and it has made me the cuddly little teddy bear that I am today. I’m not joking. At all. No lie.
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Scared straight
It was, “Don’t trust anyone over 30.” Kids.
It’s 2:44am and from behind the front door of the drunken neighbour comes half cackling half maniacal laughter. Not sure whether the reason I’m awake is insomnia, early evening weight training, hunger, or the fact that I originally slept early, but it don’t matter anyway.
I too vote Sergeant Scrote Stain for comment of the week. And I too noticed groovy mums back in the 80s. Along with douche dads, it’s a trend that will continue until the heat death of the universe and one of the most repulsive consequences of capitalism. Behaviour that says “fuck everyone else, I’m partying like it’s 1999!” (although respect for Prince). Of course I wanted to nail said groovy mums, but voicing such adolescent lust wasn’t going to endear me with their offspring aka my buddies. What’s the world coming to? Maybe the drunken hyena has answers. Maybe i’ll start lifting weight again in about an hour’s time to counteract the desire to crush douche skulls. Decisions-desicions. . .
Yeah I have to respectfully disagree with this whole “beat your children for progress” movement. It reminds me of when Homer starts playing classical piano after a good crack of the whip.
This guy was probably beaten as a kid himself, for all you know. And now that he’s loose and independent, he just has no idea how to restrain himself. Just like all kids I knew who had overly strict households and were then unleashed on the college campus.
Of course, look at what he’s next to. Frankly, I hardly blame him. And heck, she doesn’t look embarrassed. Maybe there’s your problem right there.
My wife works with reprobate children who were excluded from school because of their constant anti-social behaviour. Common amongst their back stories isn’t a tale of strict parenting. In fact it’s quite the opposite in that the parents did nothing to foster a pragmatic attitude of progress achieved through applied knowledge, information and education. Instead the parents decided that teaching relative discipline, accountability and responsibility were too hard and simply tried in vain to be on the same superficial level as their children every waking hour of the day and night. The inherent laziness in this type of parenting and the associated consequences are usually horrific. Every time I see a young child with a rat’s tail hair style I know with the utmost certainty what both his parents and home life are about: generational welfare.
Being old is *not* auto.
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Being a ‘bag is auto.
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I honor the old fucks, and plan on being one.
^ @DH
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Freudian slip with the under/over 30 quote. My bad.
Not talking about complete lack of discipline. I’m talking about beating up kids. My parents never hit me, aside from one shoe incident with my mom after I terrorized my little brother. And I don’t even remember any pain, I just laugh at the memory that she was pretty pissed.
My dad did tell me when I was 10 that I’d be responsible for my own decisions in life, and that if I made the wrong ones I’d be a bum on skid row. Best thing a dad could tell his son.