Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

CAPTION THIS PIC (special "it gets the hose" edition)

Bob’s dockside gerbil-style vodka dispenser was an instant hit with his bar customers.

THE DARK SOCK RISES

It’s your favorite substitute preacher, DarkSock, here for another week at the helm while DB1 takes a week off. He said something about “High Colonic”, which I presume is a sacred Jewish holiday or something.

Speaking of deep cleansing…the theme of this week’s foray into madness will be Back To The Basics; purity of purpose. And that purpose is to mock the douchebag peacocks that fondle and soil the sacred giggle-woo-hottie. I think the accompanying picture here reminds us of why this site endures, much like a herpes rash. Take a gooood long look at this Trust-Fund-Lush-turned-Wall-Street-Pension-Gambler smirking at you from behind the silicone hills of Gold Digger Valley. Then write something angry in the comments section.

The brave new world of serious scholarly posts begins next, Dear Reader. Stay tuned.

Riff Raff's "Music Video" has 2 Million YouTube Views

In case you thought douche mocking was over, just remember this clown is still out there. Still cashing in.

And that’s why we still mock.

A carton of chocolate milk to the first person to make it all the way through this cultural atrocity of peen leakage.

Wallnuts After Dark: More American Idol: Madonna Mia, What's With Mariahs's Jugs and the Other Chick's Wigs?

I was readin’ on the computer that the American Idol as been gettin bad ratins this year and that they’s even gettin’ beat by that show about them country hicks that make the fake ducks outta wood that hunters use and that people use for decorations. And shit.

I been watchin’ that Idol show and I think I got it figured out in that more people get turned off by that one chick’s wigs and what comes outta her pie hole then wanna watch the show to see Mariah’s Puppies. Mariah’s Puppies, I says.

They could fix that ratins problem by callin’ the show, “Mariah’s Jugs,” and proppin’ up them pups good and proper for alls to see. See, people will watch singers, cute girls and all a that, but a real crowd will form to see a famous dame’s Nuhood’s. Look that one up in your Funk and Wagnalls. Funk and Wagnalls, I says.

Now on the other hand they gotta shut that other broad up. She’s a real dolore nel culo. Plus I never trust a dame who’s hair color changes every day. Na mean?

Back in the day the Gambinos, who was controlled by the Meyer Lansky operation, woulda paid a visit to the involved parties and took care a business. Like when Jack Paar was the host a the Tonight Show. He was a real intellectual type but was as boring as a Sunday Sermon and who the Fucc wants to watch that?

So one a the Lansky machers calls Carlo Gambino and before you can say Pasta con Sarde, Parr is out and Carson is in. Pasta con Sarde, I says.

Now I been outta the game for a bisel time (look it up, goyishers), but I’m pretty sure there’s a similar concern amongst certain family types for which a change would behoove them. Behoove, I says.

So if Idol wants to turn things around they should get rid a that one dame with the wigs and annoying voice and make the show all about Mariah’s ninns.

Friday Thoughts and Links

Ah, those wonderful halcyon days of hormone-enhanced hyper-cartoon love.

This luxurious scene of love bongo reminds me of an E.E. Cummings poem. Only instead of references to emotional catharsis and the problematic nature of the heart, there’s lots of ass ‘roids.

So it’s another week here at the HCwDB homestead. Your friend in good times and bad.

LA is strangely quiet these days.

I blame the seismic shift in technology from TV model to internet DIY aesthetics.

Where will we land when the cable companies become as obsolete as CD-Roms? A brave new world with douchebags of hipster mock.

But with hyper-link boobies.

Speaking of hyper-link boobies, here’s yer links:

If you’re as into reliving your early youth in the early 1980s as I am, this book might just be textual nirvana.

Douchebags Gone Asshole.

Where’s Waldouche: Literal Edition

“I Went to the Playboy Mansion and it was Pretty Depressing.” Another great essay from Vice, one of the best sites on the internets.

The Jews hate the Herpsters. Because we have good taste.

Actually, according to this poll, everyone hates the herpsters.

In the news: Missing Orange Woman.

I can’t tell if this is offensive or genius. I’m going with genius.

Nuff with that. Here’s your Pear:

Bracelet Pear

Soft. Spongey. Like sponge bread dipped in milk chewsuckle.

Friday Haiku

“Sorry, we don’t stock

Tuxedos for Gorillas…”

Wears shirt to wedding

Anthony never

got off that inflatable

sumo wrasslin’ suit.

— Douche Wayne

Bridal registry

For these two is at Walgreen’s

Pharmacy counter

— DoucheyWallnuts

Peter Pumpin’s arms

now too short to wipe his ass

Scent of poo lingers

— Magnum Douche P.I.

The reception was

Elegantly catered by

Twin Labs and MetRx

— Capt. James T. Douche

They spent beaucoup bucks

on getting Nipsey Russell

to officiate.

— Douche Wayne

Their genitals shrink

Whilst other body parts grow

Naked, horror show

— DoucheyWallnuts

I now pronounce you…

Umm… Err… I now pronounce you…

Congrats both of you (nervous laughter)

— Capt. James T. Douche

The clink of empty

Synthol vials was heard from

Behind their Hyundai

— Capt. James T. Douche

Don’t worry Peter

Your new wife understands the

pain of losing balls.

— Shaft Junk

Her penis don’t move

Since the gyroscope was put

In her Monkey hole.

— The Reverend Chad Kroeger

Aoki Kurosawa The Aging Japanese Music Video and Fashion Shoot Director Makes $40,000 a Day, Thinks He's a 25 Year Old Black Man Named Wyzza

So it goes in the high-gloss high-stakes world of fashion shoots, overpaid models, and ad agency fixation on east-Asian aesthetics because Barney in accounts is obsessed with Takashi Miike films.

Bad Fro Days

We’ve all had ’em, Kenny the Engineer and Part Time Roadie for rising hip-hop supergroup “B12 In Yo’ Azz” (they’re big in Belgium and France).

So hells, I’m inclined to give you a nottadouche and a goinpeace.

Stephanie, I’d like to see you behind the amp highrise in section 12. We have business to discuss.

And by business, I mean my pouring crumbled saltines and melted pop rocks into your sensible-but-stylish Sketchers, swirling them with purple drink, and then guzzling the whole thing while moaning in post-priapic pre-orgasmic ecstasy like a confused wildebeest that lost its bearings during northern hunt.

The Rusty Swab

‘Beware the swirling sleeve tatts of The Rusty Swab,’ whispered the seagull to the ancient mariner who bid adieu to his granddaughter Sophie at a wizened old port in Westchester.

And the rest was what Aristotle called tragedy and Marx called farce.

No not that Marx.

The other one.

Riff Raff Still Ironically Sucks

Probably one of the worst cultural arbiters of irono-douche culture, Southern Clown Riff Raff continues to push his zero minutes of fame by clinging desperately onto the post Spring Breakers James Franco package fondle.

So it turns out this festering ass pimple of pusuous leakage is playing a “gig” in LA in June. Should I go? Might be worth a field report from the heart of postmodern douchery for HCwDB.