Douchie Awards
-
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Peariest Pear of 2012: Spinderella Pear
DarkSock here, delivering succulent pear. It’s what I do.
While I may be going a little off the reservation here, because Spinderella Pear technically never appeared on the front page, but rather as a link in the comments threads by Senior Pear Hound Vin Douchal, I don’t care. Because I want to marry this woman’s butt. When Pears look like this they should be laser-measured, like custom truck floor mats, and discussed by learned panels on public access television channels, and bronzed and put in parks for children to frolic under. The White House must acknowledge any petitions presented with more than 25,000 valid signatures.
We can make my dream happen. In my lifetime.
In the event Spinderella is unable to meet her doodies as winner, I’ve designated as Bunner-Up Ms. Betty Buddocks seen being tainted by Benzino in March’s Unholy Pear Fondle:
Bun.
Saturday, December 15, 2012Most Impending Sign of Nuclear Scrotocalypse: Cartoon America
From late July.
‘Nuff smelled.
Friday, December 14, 2012HCwDB Smells Like Poo – 2012 ButtNugget o' the Year
DarkSock here, sniffing the Poo for You. So you don’t have to.
I’m offering up the cascading cornapoopia dribbling down the hirsute cursed legs of the foul beast we shall relegate to the anals of history as Twenty-Aught-Twelve. We wander zombie-like in this Land of the Lost, and these Sleeze-Stacks are the ones who made the loudest “sputta-chutt-chutt” machine-gun staccato whilst escaping the event horizon of the brown-eyed swirl of the societal balloon knot we call DoucheLand:
Runny-Up # 3 – The Squirrel and the Vomit
Ab Reveals? More like Crab Reveals. 10 points to House of Slytherin for Xena of the SkullCrusher Thighs on the left there. *I’d like my c*ckk ring back, dear. It’s not meant to be an earring.*
Runny-Up #2 – The BandHoles:
More like Band On The Runs. Ugh. Taking the term “Shitty Cover Band” far too literally. Next…
Runny-Up #1 – Captain and The Tetanus:
While we are compelled to gawk at the spectacle that is Captain Chesty McRibMeat and daydream about sailing ’round her Golden Globes (to quote Jacques Douchetou, “Those cans are so round she lactates marbles”), alas this runny-up goes to The Tetanus. Because he puts the “ANUS” it “Tetanus”.
Smells like Poo 2012 – Crotchos
Yeah. That’s what I thought. You’d forgotten about this skid-mark on the porcelain bowl of our collective consciousness, didn’t you? Lest there be any doubt or debate…look at this. LOOK AT IT:
The world ends not with a bang…but with a *poot*.
Fart,
D.S.
Friday, December 14, 2012'Bag Most Likely to be a Lesbian in Drag: Bernie
Last year it was Troll Dog. Two years ago, Four Prong.
This year, the Douchie Award goes to Bernie. Who is in way over his/her pay grade far more than gender-bending norms might suggest.
Friday, December 14, 2012HCwDB of the Year: Bracket 3
Bracket #3. You know what to do.
HCwDB of the Year Finalist #1 (Bracket 3): Trent Assholio and Luscious Larissa
Early August’s Monthly winner/loser is all that is crotch-itchy about everything.
Lucious Larissa is one of the hottest hotts competing in the Yearly, and Trent Assholio is every dick you went to high school with Brundleflied into a single mutant lipherpity.
Together, they make poo.
This really is underrated HCwDB.
It’s not that outrageous paid-to-douche asshattery we’re used to.
This is real “lock up your daughter from the semi-normal looking dude who bullshits you into thinking he’s a good guy but is really all about the Mack” puckosity.
As such, it is a worthy entrant in the Yearly.
But enough to make the finals?
Ruh roh. Look who’s up next…
HCwDB of the Year Finalist #2 (Bracket 3): Benzino and The Unholy Pear Fondle
What more can be said about the atrocious blight known as Benzino?
This asstastic mug first showed up fondling Pear back in March in The Unholy Pear Fondle. However we did not realize the full extent of this douchenozzle until we identified him as Benzino mugging Soho Sophia in November.
From there, the run was as toxic as douchebaggery gets. There was:
Benzino’s Mongoresque Stare with Party Hotts
And Benzino and Rich Girl Rachel Hott and Benzino and Rich Girl Rachel Hott’s Rachels.
Mmmm… Rachel Hott’s Rachels.
And of course, for full douche pedigree:
Benzino with Peter Pumpin’head
and
All the true uberdouches know each other.
Yowza. Gotta make Benzino and Pear the odds-on favorite in the semis.
But one more to go:
HCwDB of the Year Finalist #3 (Bracket 3): Jack the Lipper and Pouty Michaela
Our best entrant in the Semis for the Herpster vote, Jack the Lipper is all that is shite-wipe about Silverlake.
And lets not forget Jack, Michaela, and Tom Petty Hott , and Michaela in a bikini gettingmacked by rich-kid Bennington students at a douchey music festival.
That’s a pretty good run of hott/choad.
Disqualified from the Yearly because I can’t figure out how to do three brackets with 10 monthly winners was Yankee McSpankee and Andrea’s Dreas.
Vote, as ever, in the comments thread.
Thursday, December 13, 2012Most Expensive First Date Hott: His-Name-Is-Huang-But-Call-Him-Joe's Roxanne
Long-time ‘bag hunter Tits McGee does an excellent job and hands out the award for the always painful Most Expensive First Date Hott:
————-
2012 Most Expensive First Date Hott is Huang’s Roxanne
You are convinced that you’ve seen her before, in various lounges and parlors but only when you and your friends go out to the nicer neighborhoods. When you see her, she floats across a crowded floor, glowing, diffracting light at a wavelength different than the people around her as they just vibrate into the wallpaper with the beat of the background music.
No one seems to know who she is. You’ve seen her talk to dozens of people though you’ve never heard her voice. Is she an apparition; does she even exist? You fall back into the bassinet of your mind and daydream about her under the blacklight. She must exist, you think to yourself. In essence, she is the most complete depiction of what a meaningful life contains. If existence precedes essence, then she MUST be real… right?
You look up from the back of your eyelids to realize that she has just ordered a drink next to you at the bar. You forget who and where you are. Your identity and self-concept are in tatters. You fail to generate thoughts let alone words, and it is only because of your ingrained male reflex that you offer to buy that drink. She politely thanks you and begins a well-rehearsed recital accounting why she is here and how her weekend plans just fell through.
Every word she speaks fits in its place, every delicate expression she emotes finds warm reception in your ears. It’s as if she is reading your screenplay for a part in the story which she, herself, inspired. Soon enough you secure her number and plans for a rendezvous the next evening. You exit gracefully and immediately begin planning the over-the-top gestures you will make in an attempt to stimulate someone whom you are still not fully certain inhabits your plane.
You pick her up and take her to a place where the two of you can be seen together. Her radiant beauty is actually overshadowed by a trained aloofness, and this begins to bother you. You compensate through a deliberate diminishment of your conversation in the hopes that she will relate to it. The exchange has a regular flow to it; she is polite and sends fitting ripostes with appropriate timing. You have an overwhelming feeling, however, that she will not allow you to determine anything of significance about her. She is taking everything from you and giving nothing in return.
The fog of her spell lifts as she click-clacks her heels in a perfect line to the ladies room, leaving you to question why you’re acting this way. Why are you letting her dictate the pace of this date? You are an amazing person with funny and insightful anecdotes. You come from a good family and have nothing but estimable years ahead of you. Why are you allowing this sick, ill-advised act of self-reassurance to continue?
On the ride home, you discuss the remaining superficial topics and, even though you seem to have similar interests, you realize that this engagement has a rapidly-approaching expiration date. She thanks you for the evening as you exchange niceties at the door. You kiss her on the cheek and say goodbye. You will never see her again. You call her a couple of times, but no one ever answers. This comes as no real surprise, though, because after all, she never existed in the first place.
A significant part of you was lost that night and you will never get it back. She was not an apparition. She was a drug. She was a mistake. She was a test with no lesson. She was the most painful two-and-a-half hours of your life. You fail to explain yourself even to yourself and begin to fall into masochistic deprecation. You poison yourself with consumption and delusion, lying about how you never cared about her that much in the first place.
You’d do it all over again if she asked you to.
First Runner-Up goes to Moaz’s Stacey
Stacy’s youth allows her to feign inexperience in the game, but do not be fooled. Her eyes produce the stare of a professional which has the effect of a laser-induced plasma channel. One look at her and you realize that she will have nothing less than the 2001 Caymus Cabernet, nothing less than the off-menu foie gras cinnamon puff dessert, and nothing less than Italian leather cupping her dainty turd-cutter on the ride home. You will spend nothing less than five years telling your friends how you didn’t mind overdrafting your account to stare into those eyes for an hour.
Second Runner-Up goes to Vinnie’s Monique/Alyssa
Monique is a popular piece. She can be seen plenty of times and goes by multiple names. The hair coloring, anorexic eye-bags and after-market snack trays indicate that, though she does not like very many things about herself, Alyssa is keenly aware that other people very much like parts, er… things about her. She might let you play with the Pointer Sisters, but you’d better OWN the silver mine that bore the spoons in your mouth.
Third Runner-Up goes to Jeff’s Angie
Angie has a lot going for her, especially if you like raven-haired, perky-chested spinners with a face that would not only stop traffic, but make it shift into reverse. Her pensive pose and sarcastic smile tell us that she is all-too-hip to the fact that she has the potential to pull someone with the status of Scrooge McDuck. However, at this time it remains just that: potential. deep down she knows that she would much rather just stay in, order a pizza, pretend to follow the NCAA Tournament, and treat her on again, off again boyfriend to a blowie before bed. Bless you, Angie.
————–
Thursday, December 13, 2012Best Golden Globes: Sonya
From May’s Grinny Vinnie Scores Sonya comes this perfect yet understated collection of perfection.
I’mma hand out a few more of these Golden Globes awards in the next few days, for the run has been gazanglorious.
Yeah.
I said gazanglorious.
Gazanglorious is my favorite Greek novelist. Especially his late 1960s novella, “The Last Temptation of Boobs.”
Boobs.
Thursday, December 13, 2012Herpsteriest Herpster: Braden the Metalworker
While we saw many annoying Herpster douches over the past year, such as Mitch Dillon, Herpster Van, The Tablecloth, The Casios, The Sci-Fi Poobags, the PBR Handlebar, The Pornstache, The Scarfsters, and more PBR Herpsterbaggery, none were more annoying than this handlebar supporting Williamsburg/Silverlake mutant rectal scratch. From September’s thoughts and links, Braden was the worst. Far and away.
Working in his metal shop, Braden likes to cut reclaimed sheet metal into lawn art aardvarks, which he sells on Etsy for $29.99 each (plus shipping and handling).
And Skinny Katharine is a tasty real-world treat that we should all appreciate. With pooch spackle butt pokey prodd.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012Douchiest Pepsi: Alissa's Pepsi Challenge
Affliction taint of barely-legal-hott for the Peptragedy.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012Most Euro Eurobag: Brobot
Our resident drunk nihilist, The Reverend Chad Kroeger, hands out the award:
—————
As I sit here in my deluxe home office in which I do nothing but watch porn, checkout whats on HCwDB, look at escort websites and roll doobies if there is enough room cause of the beer bottles. I grow more irate with time as the Europeans suck the life out of their socialized fish and chips eating citizens and Will and Kate’s f@cking horse faced foetus is the front story of a world crazed with celebrity and excess, I am reminded of Herman Melville who stated in his writings that, “It is the douchebag amongst us who takes delight in the plight of the poor who eat poo and sucheth. They who whine and purr aesthetic while lounging in their testicle baring shorts the very reason why this country was founded by those who were tired of Angela Merkel’s soiled liverwurst-dripping pantywaste and the cornucopia of poseurs in the Europa of Aldous Huxley’s writings.”
A Moby Dick of European stature was very hard to find in this year of austerity and strikes. The economic crises of the Old World (no respect) has led to an exodus of Mulattoes (respect and boner) flocking to North America like so many Hungarian gypsies claiming refugee status in Canada and hiding in boats to cross the mighty St. Lawrence river to the promised land of America. Eurobags are out of cash and they habe no flash my honkies.
British people attended a ridiculous spectacle of Olympic proportions this past summer with those f@cking teeth, f@cking duck I hate those f@ckers. Kenneth Branagh is a world class homo-sucking banger- eating wuss douchebag. Camilla’s face haunts me from a nether world of creepy knights in armour and tales of Belgian soldiers hopped up on poppy dust and dark warm beer-like beverages.
Germany will rise against Holy Israel as these end times approach my brothers. Har’ Mageddeon is near in the festive time of Christian rituals and Yamaha wearing Jews eating their poached and stuffed carp and shit. We will wage war against the Eurobags and win the war against pigs feet and souvlaki platters.
The winner of the coveted and Greek-hating Peloponnesian “Most Euro Eurobag” comes from way back last January on the same day I resumed my studies of higher economics and ‘tang. The one, the only, the ripped jean spectacular of craptastic Polish sausage and schnitzel enema’d European excess and f@cking douchebaggery is The Brobot.
There are no runners up this year. Austerity reminds me of a girl I knew who had herpes of the vag, but she still sucked c@#k with a clean mouth. Oh, to be ten again, Son.
Son
—————–
Well done, Reverend. More Brobot Brobaggery here, here, and here.
