HCwDB of the Month
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Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Honorary Douchebag of the Month: The Orange Twatpancake
If you have to ask why, then you ain’t been paying attention.
Like a rotting pustule on the decaying carcass of white privilege, these racist ghosts of American past will do their best to take the rest of us down as they go screaming into the dustbin of history.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013Honorary Douchebag of the Month: Dr. Drew Pinksy
So after the fifth person to die after appearing on Dr. Drew’s exploitation gawkfest “Celebrity Rehab With Dr. Drew,” I think it’s time we honor this soft-voiced carnival charlatan with the heaping scorn that his fraudulence deserves.
Hucksters. Con men. From magic potions and pills of Ancient Greece to the leeching and bloodletting of a disease riddled rural wastelands throughout the Middle Ages, the need to sell reassurance in bottle or pill form will always be a cash cow. So long as we live in a mortal, dangerous world inhabited by the inevitability and existential crisis of decay, decline, and death, there will be Doctor Drews to sell us the wards and talismans to hide the inevitability that haunts the facts of the universal coil.
And where there’s fear, there’s profit.
Whether in issues of war, religion, patriotism or disease, the stern patriarch who reassures with soothing words of pseudo-wisdom and faux-care will earn his coin through the oldest huskterism outside of the prostitutorial arts.
And who is to say this isn’t an extension of the grand sex-for-food traditions in the rudimentary early culture job markets of yesteryore?
Sex. Death. Fear. Desire. And the profit to be found therein.
Enter Dr. Drew into our televisual carnival.
A small, vain man who began as a hacky sex advice dispensing straight-man on radio during the sleepfest that was the 1990s. Teaching kids about condoms on the radio offered the perfect veneer of cultural value, a way to cash in on the wasted medical degree that the ambitious Drew Pinsky somehow earned.
But talking body fluids wasn’t enough to sustain a role on the pop-culture fisheye. The 1990s gave way to the 2000s. Things began to get real. Dangerous. Dr. Phil and Oprah had the prime slots. Comedians like Jon Stewart were coming at him from the other side.
Pinksy had to up the ante. He had to begin playing the gray haired pop culture superego in the increasingly toxic climate of the 2000s.
And so enter the “rehab.” Our Beyond Thunderdome Truman Show of human misery.
Save the fat people for Biggest Loser and White Trash for the TLC Network. Doctor Drew had something else altogether. He had “authority.” And he was gonna use it.
That basest and choisest of exploitation formats sat waiting for him.
No one else with the courage to go full-rehab. Other reality shows only danced around the edges of the truly destructive and dangerous forces of nature that haunt the human soul. Other reality shows wouldn’t go where the carnival ends and the abyss begins.
Others were not as soulless as the good “Doctor” Drew Pinksy because others could not gloss over the subsequent shrapnel unleashed by exploiting the weakest and most damaged among us.
It was his for the having. The purest uncut 100% authentic freak show to be had under the false rubric of “help” and “advice” that only a medical “professional” could provide.
It was the perfect Coney Island gawkfest. For the truly hurting are the perfect carnival geeks of our time. Those willing to biting the proverbial heads off of our pop-culture chickens.
Doctor Drew could go all the way.
Not just funny train-wreck TV.
Destructive nihilism under the artifice of education.
And so Dr. Drew became our postmodern P.T. Barnum. A gray-haired charlatan cloaked in the papal robes of the only authority figure left in a Perez Hilton universe, the doctor.
Here was our Holy Sober Shaman spewing pat Deepak Chopran fortune cookie wisdoms like a machine-gun gumball machine stocked with the shredded pages of lost 1990s Susan Powter and John Gray business seminar notes.
So what if the body count rises after the gaffer tape is removed and the lights are de-rigged?
So what if the corpses that pile up litter the road of pop culture vanity mirror echo?
The program already aired, bub. No need to pay them any mind any more. What’s off-screen is virtual. Theoretical. Yesterday’s pixels. On to the next 30 minute segment.
And so this vampiric ghoul continues to suckle at the teat of mass culture profit the guise of “helping” and “caring” and wearing tiny glasses that validate his authorial presence.
But his riff is every bit the fraudulence of masquerade costume-ball dress up.
He is the shirtless guy in the horse-head mask that writhes and fist pumps during the second half of a Harlem Shake meme. A meaningless interlocutor. A signifier of some lost and mythic past pretending to stand outside of the very media machine that feeds his egomaniacal soul.
And so Drew Pinsky remains the lowest form of exploitation in our carnival empire because he pretends to be outside of it and above it while milking its most craven inner goo. His is the purest of fraudulence, and the most toxic. As the bodies pile up, it is also the most dangerous game in the reality rubric.
Driving without moral license on the televisual highway is akin to a spiritual D.U.I.
Taking those who need help the most and putting them on T.V. as emotion porn for a nation craving the authentic in the age of overstimulation is the most egregious of sins for any human being who claims to be in the business of healing.
Drew Pinksy is our worst form of snake-oil salesman. In a righteous universe he would not only be shunned, but tarred and feathered, then forced to perform the very kabuki dance of shame that he foisted on so many others under the guise of “helping” them.
Here’s your honorary Douchebag of the Month, assface. You are a fraud.
Monday, December 3, 2012HCwDB of the Month: Mutato the Bug-Eye Freak and Sister Christie
It wasn’t a full month, so no vote, but Mutato’s inflated douche-everything and the perfect shoulder suckle of Sister Christie are a worthy final entrant in our 2012 Douchie Awards, which start in a week.
Get ready.
Bring it.
And if ya wanna write one of the categories and give out an award, drop your humb narrs a line.
Monday, November 5, 2012HCwDB of the Week/Month: Benzio and Soho Sophia
HCwDB of rank putridosity. We’ll see these two, and this butt fondling butt fondle in the Yearly.
Saturday, October 20, 2012HCwDB of the Month: Yankee McSpankee and Andrea's Dreas
Your humb narrs finally got around to tallying up the vote, and the douchey-ass grenade tatt and female grenade globbles barely bested the barely legalities of Alissa and the Pepscrote.
The voters speak:
Tits McGee: Pepscrote is young and still has the potential to grow out of this horrible phase. Yankee is in it to win it for life, and for the month.
IRA Darth Aggie: Alissa and the Pepscrote FTW. DoucheyWallnuts says it well, but let me point out that Alissa and Pepscrote have the greatest ratio of non-bleeth to scrote.
FredN.: While I still think Gayle is one of the hottest real worlders to appear on this site in over a year, I vote for YANKEE MCSPANKEE/ANDREAS as worst pile of asplodin’ poo.
Colossus of Choads: I believe Yankee has what we are looking for. And by looking for, I mean as candidates for fumigation.
stereotype, but…: Even though Guyliner Gary looks like an evil, greasy furbie, and Tri-Vag’s sheer dorkiness begs for mock, it has got to be Yankee M–the signifiers and the look on his face speak for themselves–he is douche and she is bleeth
Douche ex Machina: Yankee McSpankee, OTOH, is. It was the grenade tattoo even more than that Yankees hat that sent me over the edge. YM and Andrea FTW (loss).
Jeet Kune Douche: Let them never breed, so their genetic poison does not infect humanity. It would be a gift to mankind if they were thrown into the primary lava pool of Kilauea. Thus would the world be cleansed, and the sun would shine brighter thereby.
SonnyChibaChoad: Yankee McSpankee and Andrea’s Dreas… Winners all around
Charles Douchewin: I vote for Andrea and McSpankee.
For McSpankee is archetype douche, and undeserving of Andrea or her dreas.
Dr. Bunsen Honeydouche: Yankee McSpankee and Andrea’s Dreas FTW! Why? ‘Cause its 1 (Ed Tardy shirt. Really??), 2 (Grenade tatt. Seriously? No appreciation for the hott), 3 strikes (Yankmees hat, smug look, and facial pube dusting) you’re out at the ol’ ball game.
Vin Douchal: as her Diacos would fly in the wind when she mounts ya. Oh yeah, and Yankee’s a colossal Douchebag
Hermit: I disdain all the douches with near-equal hatred. I too have become a bit jaded, but I gotta‘ go with Yankee McSpankee for sheer boilerplate douchiosity.
Well said, team, and great to hear from a lot of classic ‘bag hunters. Coming in a close second was the barely legal hip poke and douche hair of the Pepsico:
Chris in ‘Baghdad: Alyssa takes the cake, and thus drags the middling ‘Bag Pepscrote across the line. Sez me.
DoucheyWallnuts: Alissa and Pepscrote FTW (loss) and by FTW I mean Alissa and her hip bone gives me a renoB. Andrea and Yankee McSpanky are noteworthy, yet do nothing spectacular, while Alissa’s hip bone is spectacular.
Et tu douche?: Alissa and the Pepscrote get my vote an by my vote I mean her perky nipple calls to me in my dreams.
The Reverend Chad Kroeger: Alissa and Pepscrote for the underage doobies. I mean boobies. And that hip is dang fine too. Guy Fieris.
Well, we know who the pervs in our midst are. Respek. Third and fourth were Guyliner Gary and Goth Gayle and Tri-Vag Dave and Real World Heather.
Los Douches: Guyliner Gary and Goth Gayle, because Gayle just does it for me (my thing is normally for blondes, but Gayle…yummy). Plus Alissa is very, very underage. That gives me the creeps.
FoghornLeghorn: Guyliner Gary and Goth Gayle for the win. McSpankee and Andrea (oh, Andrea) are contenders, but Gayle looks like she’s dirtier.
Leery: A hand grenade tatt is just fucking idiotic; yet guyliner gary deserves a punch in the eye….decisions decisions. Hell, we have not a goth champion for a while….Guyliner Gary it is
But this was boobages and douche tatt’s Month to shine/mock. Not sure they’re gonna be favored for the HCwDB of the Year, but they have earned their place. Lets let talking puppet Troy Tempest take us home:
Yankee McSpankee for the societal loss, because as long as he breathess, precious oxygen is being wasted on his precious bodily fluids. And by precious bodily fluids, I don’t mean spooge, I mean bile because that is what passes for brain fluid in this scuzbag. When he wakes up, flowers die. When he breathes, kitten jump into blenders. When he speaks, whales leap into volcanos. He doesn’t use AX body sprray, he uses VX body spray, and when he sleeps, the world breathes a sigh of relief. He has fangs in his butthole that make holes in his turds, which make them faster to cook for dinner.
Monday, October 15, 2012HCwDB of the Month
Bring it.
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #1: Guyliner Gary and Goth Gayle
We have never properly mocked the emo choadlicks of scortebaguous on this site.
There’s is a Brony subculture of rankling and disturb.
But, really, how different are they than Jerzey Pudwhackery?
Tighty white tee becomes tighty black tee.
Douche tatt is still a douche tatt.
Guyliner Gary reminds us of the toolbaggeries that await even in the seemingly variant of corners.
Goth Gayle has giggle smile. Late night pancakes await.
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #2: Alissa and the Pepscrote
This pic feels like a glimpse into another world.
Back in HCwDB’s halycon days, before the media industry tool my beloved (and coined) “douche” descriptive and began applying it willy nilly to any and all males of annoying persuasion as the means to grab a quick laugh (looking at you, “New Girl”).
The Pepscrote is classic sodabag.
Affliction shirts.
Still out there.
Still Ed Hardy’s retarded brother.
Let us never forget the road of cultural suck that led us to this moment in our collective history.
Alissa is barely legal hip suckle.
Pepscrote uses too much gel.
Together, they are rancid key lime pie.
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #3: Yankee McSpankee and Andrea’s Dreas
Like a broken Jeter ankle, this finalist couple fractures its way into the Monthly.
And while it’s never appropriate to celebrate a sports injury, in the case of the Yankees there is an exception.
For the Yankees sucketh. Goeth Tigers. So it shall be known across the seven lands.
Khaleesi decrees it so.
Andrea’s Dreas swing pendulously with approval and suckle bobble hypnosis.
Her arms are the strength of female wiles.
They crush my spirit and betray my intellect.
As I sell whatever assets I have to have her assets.
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #4: Tri-Vag Dave and Real World Heather
For sheer retardundity, is there anything we’ve seen worse lately than Tri-vag Dave’s tri-vag chinpubery?
I think not.
But Dave’s an everyday pud underneath it all.
Just an average white boy on the road to mediocrity.
Desperately paying $200 for a douche shit and hoping to keep up in a land he doesn’t understand.
Real World Heather doesn’t set the HC quotient on fire, but she is still quality youth smile.
Together, there is much to hate about Long Island.
So them’s your four.
Which of these hottie/douchey couplings deserves entrance in the Monthly?
Vote, as ever in the comments thread.
Thursday, September 13, 2012HCwDB of the Month: Jack the Lipper and Pouty Michaela
In a tight contest between first-generation and second-generation HCwDB, the herspter crisis of Jack the Lipper and sexy poochsuckle Pouty Michaela barely bested the Jersey meatwankery of Arturo and Skinny Kathy.
For theirs was a stench undiminished by space and time. And lets not forget Jack, Michaela, and Tom Petty Hott, and Michaela in a bikini gettingmacked by rich-kid Bennington students at a music festival.
The voters speak:
FredN.: This picture, along with his other photo(s?), made my GERD start to bubble up uncontrollably, my eyes started to water in rage, and my hands are now shaking at the keyboard.
Dude McCrudeshoes: Dirty, skanky gorgeous Michaela for the epic everything. I don’t care who she is with. I would put a snorkel up her ass and breath in through the mouthpiece like it was cool, sweet mountain air.
Vin Douchal: Tickle giggle swirly trace her tattoo to the promised land and diddle until carpel tunnel renders your fingers useless. Take a point blank shot with a taser to the carotid artery then toss on some cool water mid-spasm for added conductivity.
Magnum Douche P.I.: With multiple shots of Jack the Lipper spreading his herpster angst, he is the true winner (loser) in my book.
THEONETRUEDOUCHE: Jack the Lipper and Pouty Michaela. His Pauly Shoreness gives him the edge.
Jacques Doucheteau: Jack the Lipper and Pouty Michaela. His hair has been teased almost as much as he deserves to be. And while Pouty Michaela is the hottest snag in the lineup, I wouldn’t touch that slag hole without a face mask and leather gloves. She looks like the type of girl that pops plan B like multivitamins.
Tits McGee: Michaela’s ‘tude makes me want to teach her things using guttural noises in the dark. The Lipper’s ‘tude makes me want to see if I can Derek Vinyard that douche all over the curb without scratching his lip ring.
Jeet Kune Douche: This herpster self-absorbed snide twinky BITCH deserves a full blast from a flamethrower. Lipper is like all the toxic waste in New Jersey concentrated into a human form.
Duck Duck Douche: if Michaela didn’t transport you to Morningwood Drive, you’re dead.
Dr. Bunsen Honeydouche: He’s like the Dane Cook of herpster wannabes: If I think I’m cool(funny) then so will everyone else. But what he forgets is that no one thinks Dane Cook is funny (or cool) and everyone hates his guts. Pouty Michaela knows that as long as she’s around him she’ll get everything her little heart desire due to his insecurities. They make a perfect match.
Blind Squirrel: I want to attach that lip ring to a heavy chain and then to a trailer hitch. Floor it. Lipper FTW.
Mr. Biggs: Jack the Lipper. Perhaps to the novice he doesn’t seem to have the ostensible douche signifiers. But all you need to do is look at his eyes. For his eyes have all that trademark douchebag seriousness that he is the shit, the cutting edge, the hip. And yet, his eyes are the gateway to communion with Cthulu.
Wheezer: My Monthly vote goes for Jack the Lipper and Pouty Michaela. Jack’s what I referred to before as a “mullet douche,” despite lacking a mullet. His run of choadosity shows he is “business at da club, party at da beach.” What brings about such a full range of douchemotion? Why so serious at Chez Hipsterwank and so loose on South Choadre Island? I’m sure he has a boatload of pics waiting to tell more of the story he’s still trying to write at Starbucks on weekends.
IRA Darth Aggie: Pouty Michaela FTW. And by win, I mean Jack the Lipper . Which really means LOSS and LOSER. Which is precisely what happens when you date a hipster douchebag, Michaela.
Troy Tempest: She’s got the skeezy magic skank thing going, and he’s an atrocity in a world of holocausts. Frankly Michaela makes me ill. I’d give her a 4. She’s got a serious bleething in place. And JAck? He’s no worse than Methholio.
Guid is Good: I have seen the future and it is Jack the Lipper and Pouty Michaela. The Lipper’s smug sense of false superiority, once the domain of Arturo-types, now belongs to the ironically neck-tatted herpsters. It is progress – but not as we know it.
Morbo: He’s the guy who sends the table’s bill through the stratosphere by ordering expensive menu items, then tries to divvy up the check equally — even though he’s got a trust fund and a sweet do-nothing, six-figure gig at his dad’s record company.
Well said, Morbo. But Jerzwankery, evven in our diminishing Jersey Shore world, still found mock:
DixieRecht: Look at her fake rack, her bad tatts, and you want to run. Then you see it. The high class stero system at her feet. Wait. Didn’t you get that boom box for a birthday present in 1987? He must be the chump that bought it at mom’s garage sale. Then the dumbells in the picture’s botto right
Tattsiana Groinshavia: Arturo and Skinny Kathy FTW/L! For epitomising ‘baggery c.2008 with a twist of keyhole felching. Was Skinny once the Donkey’s piece of Ass? That is, before the Donk was inexplicably incarcerated for crimes against taste and decorum… And drugs.
stephanie: Arturo resembles the hot dog left on the grill that no one wants. The dirty ass door has a higher IQ than Arturo.
icame isaw idouched: Pumpedup pile of poo Arturo FTW.
Pumped up poo, indeed. The suprisingly low vote count for Methholio and Rachel surprised me, they’re a stain that’s worth a second mock. Hipster Skeet and Meg came in fourth, respectively, but this was an HCwDB 1.0 v 2.0 battle of the stains. Lets let FoghornLeghorn take us home:
Jack the Lipper and Pouty Michaela for the win. Don’t let his pale-a$$ed, lack of physique fool you. True enough, Arturo could break him like a toothpick, but even Jack’s friends say he reeks of douche. Besides, Skinny Kathy looks like a trailer park partier compared to Pouty Michaela.
Zyzz rolls over in his grave looking at Jack.
Well done to a quality thread mock. And your humb narrs for Trader Joe’s Puffs.
Monday, September 10, 2012HCwDB of the Month
Okay ‘bag hunters and huntresses, time to get a real honest to goodness old school vote going on all up in this place. This is practically an all Herspter with hot chick finals, going up against one classic Jersey meathead and hott, which tells you about our cultural transition from Jersey Shore to Douchella archetype.
Bring it.
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #1: Arturo, Skinny Kathy, and a Dirty-Ass Door
From ‘Sock Week, here’s the first in our lineup.
And a worthy Jerzian puddle of poo it is.
This is classic orange ‘roided ‘tude smells like Trenton douchewankering.
Arturo is a meatball in every sense of the world.
Lets not forget Jesus Bling, faux tanning, tatts, and lovely lady lumps, together in cohabit.
That’s just not appropriate for cultural ascension.
Turtles do not approve.
Skinny Kathy gives seductive look.
The door is dirty.
Together, something smells like Bodyspray in Denmark.
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #2: Hipster SKeet and Meg
This is real world HCwDB.
Nothing cartoonish.
Just what appears to be an average bartrocity.
Chin pubes and punchface making on a real world sexy cute.
Together, they at first appear harmless.
But upon closer inspection, the pollutants rise to the surface.
And seriously, who names their kid Skeet? That’s worse than naming your child “Dylan” or “Mika.” There’s just no excuse for names like that.
None.
But enough to win the Monthly? Two more to go.
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #3: Methholio and Rachel
Yeesh.
Guess this week is skeevers macking on purity milkshake boobie suckle hottie thigh week. Which was also the name of my band in high school.
What an awful reality to wake up to on a Monday.
Hers is a pooch I would belly.
His is a punch I would face.
They are the inverse of 1980s Reeses Peanut Butter Cup commercials. They do not taste great together.
But there’s one more entrant to go.
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #4: Jack the Lipper and Pouty Michaela
Lip fung hoopsterism and doucheface plus sexy skeevy hott.
Classic rockerback HCwDB.
Faux rock-star douche jackets punch the Baby Vishnu in the elephant trunk.
Michaela even showed up later in a bikini getting bothered by rich-kid Bennington students at a music festival.
At least I think that’s Michaela. Sluttyhott vibe is the same.
And lets not forget the followup atrocity, Jack, Michaela, and Tom Petty Hott.
So them’s your four.
Voting is on.
Which of these four HCwDB atrocities deserves to win the HCwDB of the Month?
Vote, as tradition dictates, in the comments thread.
Monday, August 6, 2012HCwDB of the Month: Trent Assholio and Luscious Larissa
Since I’m way behind on Monthlys, and far too lazy to take the time to actually hold an election around here, I’mma go with what’s deserving of HCwDB Monthly status.
And what is deserving is the purity of punchface that Trent Assholio invokes, in congress with the perfect shapely suckle taut poke grab fondle gnaw that is Luscious Larissa.
Yeah, it could’ve gone to Infectious Rick and Connie Thong Pear. They were a close second. The Craptastropher and Debutante Amy were also in the mix. But then I realized something.
Trent Assholio is all that douchebaggery imbibes. Luscious Larissa deserve booble fondle.
Together, they produce a crisis of meaning in the scrambling of signifier.
As Foucault taught us, individuals intuit and respond to systemic power control in what appears to be the agency of free choice.
There is no free choice.
We are all controlled. By Larissa Pear.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012Kisseus Vomitorious and Margaret Make Their Bid for the Yearly
And by bid, I mean credit card living, frequent name changes, and a bottle of Jager.
