HCwDB

    Friday, December 23, 2016

    Your Christmas/Hannukah HCwDB Trump Cleanse

    Yeeeeeech.

    It’s like a fourth grade purple nurple delivered by Timmy Flynn to poor Gavin MacGarninkle mated with a greased up Arizona cactus and then that hybrid being vomited up a Poltergeist II tequila worm, only to see that purple cactus worm vomit hybridity coalesce into human form just to pinch Victoria’s tooter.

    Happy Holidays!!

    # posted by admin
    Wednesday, December 7, 2016

    The Shunning of the Trump Voter

    crazy-trump-supporter
    You. Yes, you.

    You voted for Trump?

    You are a human Zika virus. A walking Walking Dead walker with the rotting, fetid stench of seasons five through seven seeping through every cell of your corporeal body. Every pixel of your online presence. You are to be psychologically and conceptually quarantined. Forever.

    I curse you with every elemental fiber of my being. I expunge you with every ounce of my soul, my shmeg, and my spirit. Let you be forever damned as the rank choadscrote that you chose to become due to your own misguided volition.

    You deserve no forgiveness.

    You deserve no retrial.

    You are hereby cast out.

    You are not a part of the legitimate discourse of a civil society. And you are certainly not invited to my next birthday party. And that party will be awesome. It will contain real people. It will have cheese dip. And premium gouda. And tasty Hostess treats. Yes, even Chocodiles. And people with actual souls. People with consciousness. From Socrates to Billy Ocean. The collective progress of Humankind. Of which you are no longer a member. Sorry, toad pimple. You forever vanquished your right to lay claim to the progression narrative of the human race.

    You are douche.

    But not just any douche. We need an invented moniker for the hypertext vortex of ferret pus suckage that you embody in the apex of wretchedness that your life choices reached. You are not merely standard issue douche. Nor are you an amusingly eccentric scrotey nitwank. You fall neither hither nor thither on the spectrum of ‘bag.

    You are a new form of pimple lick. A collage assemblage of various marsupial poo, each a differing shade of fecal brown. The collective effect is one of patchwork shite. To name you a single feces is to do a disservice to the many sphincters and colons that collectively excreted the various elements that make up your kaleidoscopic dung discharge.

    As such, we are at an impasse. For there are not enough neologisms to express my contempt for your retched life choices that you exemplify, occupy, taint, or otherwise smear with the vile spittle that pours forth like mildewy Mountain Dew from your scaly manure-built form.

    You have an excuse for your actions, I’m sure. You hated Hillary. You just wanted a tax break. You wanted a certain kind of Supreme Court justice or just thought it would be hi-larious to mix it up by voting for an orange simian rhesus hemorrhoid.

    Unacceptable.

    Shove it up your ass like a week old slurpee stained dumpster outside a 7-11 in Sheboygan. Even if that 7-11 was once a White Castle. And even if the memories of those savory square burgers still haunts its myopic walls. The dumpster don’t lie. Once you pulled the lever for a preening con-man sexual abuser, you exemplified the narcissistic diuretic spew of that most craven core embodiment of American Douchebaggery.

    For what is a douchebag if not you? Douches ignore the larger world in favor of the narcissistic self. ‘Bags discard consciousness, thought, communication, and honesty in service of core lizard-brain pleasures rooted in cartoonish fantasy. The fist pump and the hair gel are nothing more than extensions of amoral self-worship. And so is the Trump vote.

    And therefore ipso facto cognito ergo leggo, so the mucky muck are you. You sorry, pathetic milk teat on the taint of a toad.

    Douche.

    You.

    I’m talking to you.

    You never shaved your chest but voted for Trump? You are douche. You never chugged a Bud Light Lime while calling a girl “bro” but voted for Trump? Douche.

    I hereby micturate on your rug for all eternity. Because you live in the age of infinite, accessible information laying at your fingertips. And yet you chose ignorance and hysteria over consciousness and thought. Enlightenment beckoned. And you chose the Great Orange Darkness.

    There is only one course of action left.

    “Hot Chicks with Douchebags” calls for a complete and total shunning of all Trump voters from every aspect of respectable life. You aren’t just to be mocked for eternity. You are to be held in utter fucking contempt by all that value anything beyond the navel gaze. All that value the notion of humanity above primal animal urges and violent impulses of the jungle.

    To the millions of us on the side of righteousness, I call on you to join me. Participate in this collective shunning of those that deserve nothing but shun. De-friend any Trumpdouches in your midst. If they’re family? Cut them off. Scientology style.

    Gone. Dismissed. Forever.

    They do not deserve reasoning. They do not deserve negotiation. They do not deserve even a rabbit fart iota of respek.

    Christian Audigier and Ed Hardy are dead now. But the legacy of their wretched narcissism lives on.

    In the Trumpdouche. The faux tribal tattoo on the bicep of humanity. They deserve to be scrubbed off and flushed down the toilet as soon as possible. As soon as the rest of us can gather enough Lysol to scrub your toxicity away. Forever.

    This is our next challenge. Our calling. This is a war. Choose your side. And do not go weak kneed simply because a meat-sack in human form resembles an actual human when justifying their Faustian bargain.

    View them for what they are. Condemn them for failing to be what could so easily have been theirs. A world of knowledge. Intelligence. Humanity.

    They rejected the modern world. We reject them.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Tuesday, September 27, 2016

    Game Review: Tony Hawk’s Bro-Skater 5

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    Because we here at HCwDB are nothing but timely with our three-times-a-year updates, here’s our review of the recent Playstation game Tony Hawk’s Bro Skater 5:

    ——
    Tony Hawk’s Bro Skater 5 occasionally flirts with the joy of choadwankery and attitude that made the original four douche classics, but the gel quickly comes off.

    There are a disappointing number of design and technical problems that range from inappropriate burping to flat-out untreatable STDs, making this attempt at returning the series to glory a non-starter.

    Developer AsswanksOfFlorida started with a good idea: paring Tony Hawk’s Bro Skater back down to the basics of inappropriate thigh fondle of Kelly-Anne in presence of a professional photographer. You won’t be hopping off your Red Cup, exploring open clubs, or standing on a weird piece of body grease. Instead, Bro Skater 5 leaves you to test your ability to chain together monosyllabic grunts, overpriced shots, and large hair spike, much like classic Hawk. It almost works. At times, I found myself getting back into that familiar choadal rhythm that made me fall in love with the original ‘baggery. I had moments of zen that balanced the combination of learning the ab crunches, memorizing your ambiguously illegal forms of sexual harassment, and the risk-reward of when to fistpump to Bieber.

    But any of that nostalgia was quickly erased by Bro Skater 5’s frustrating job prospects, bland personality, and over-reliance on a trust fund. For example, the one major addition to your arsenal is a physically impossible grope move that sends your ‘bagger rocketing down to the hotts at the press of a button. The problem here is that grope is mapped to the same button as grind, and it can’t be changed. I can’t count the number of times I intended on continuing a grope with a grind, only to accidentally slam down to the ground and end the being prosecuted for roofies. Frustrating moments pulled me out of my groove far too often.

    But the most glaring thing that consistently thwarted my attempts to enjoy Bro Skater 5 were the rampant performance issues. It’s appallingly rife with alcoholism, bouts of inchoate rage, and a deep rooted hatred for one’s father, which are particularly noticeable in a game that’s primarily about how the human douchebag interacts with the hotts when traveling at high speeds. Far too often, I witnessed my character pass through academia instead of slamming into it, fly straight up into the air as though he’d stepped on a French midget named Herve, or fall on the ground for no apparent reason.

    ** 1/2
    ———–

    # posted by admin
    Tuesday, July 26, 2016

    Politics Got You Down? Shmegma McWankpuddle and Clarissa Might Have Your Cure

    15016

    Depressed?

    Horrified at a world in which Bowie and Prince are gone yet Neil Young still lives?

    You are not alone.

    Take solace, my friends.

    For this strange odyssey we call 2016 can at least be ameliorated by the shared experience. The abject horror of witnessing Malthusian dystopian decay, in real time no less, requires some theraputic conceptual release, does it not?

    And so here it is. My humble offering of digital solace.

    A moment that bridges the divide. An experience writ communal through the bonds of empathy, communication, and tasty snack cake products made by underpaid and unamused assembly line workers.

    Perhaps it is merely a temporary salve meant to obfuscate the stark, naked truth of impermanence within this mortal coil. But it at least provides at least a temporary solution to the inevitable tragedy paradox, the byproduct of the merging of consciousness with mortality.

    And so I give you Shmegma McWankpuddle commingling holistically with Pert Clarissa. For within this toxic cohabit, each of us can experience a communal revulsion. Her soft talcum booty sullied by tatted up upchuckery. Together, it becomes a collective illogic beyond comprehension. But our shared witness of this impossibility offers at least momentary alleviation from a world of insanity and illogic. For if you and I can both comprehend this neon titty twister of inanity then surely there is shared experience in this dark journey of life.

    Let that collective revulsion be your soothing balm in a hottie/douchey world gone increasingly cray cray. It may not be much when dudebros roam the earth with giant beards and youthful communication is primarily done through the semiotics of emojis. But at least it’s something.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Friday, December 19, 2014

    HCwDB Holiday Gift Guide for 2014!

    dick on the shelfDarkSock here, with a timely article for the Faithful Reader.

    The final hours are drawing nigh for you procrastinating shoppers, but worry not – we’ve worked tirelessly to compile excellent last-minute gift ideas for your kids, whether they’re yours or abducted.

    Shall we?

     

    Number 1:  “Baby’s First Baby”:

    babys first baby

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Because your kid’s not getting cast for “15 and Pregnant” unless you start ’em early…

    Number 2: “Breast Milk Baby”:

    breast-milk-baby

     

     

     

     

     

    This reminds me of the Irish Potato Famine of 1845.  Because, y’know, lack-taters…

    Number 3: “Pee-n-Poo Plushies”:

    pee n poo dolls

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    What do you get that 7 year old you just can’t seem to potty train? Why, it’s alimentary, my Dear Watson!

    Number 4: “Real Human Teeth Dolls”:

    real teeth dolls

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Just because Gramma’s gone doesn’t mean parts of her can’t stay with your tikes…in their nightmares…

    Number 5: “Road Kill Kitty Stocking Treats”:

    road kill kitty

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Help Little Timmy relive the pain of ol’ drunk Uncle John-Earl backing over his beloved Fluffy as he made another beer run last Thanksgiving morning.

    “But Darksock”, you wheedle, “what about our kids entering the magic of puberty?”  I gotcha covered.

    Number 6: “You Can Shave The Baby”:

    you can shave the baby

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Cuz it ain’t gonna shave itself…

    Number 7: “Testicle & Prostate Plushies”:

    testicle_and_prostate

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Or as Hannibal Lecter calls them, “The Sweet Meats”.

    Number 8: “Frat Party Barbie Playset”:

    douche on the shelf

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Consider this popular expansion pack to Frat Party Barbie also:

    pregnant_barbie

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    and of course the surprise free bonus -“Venereals Plushies”:

    venereals

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Although sometimes we fail to remember that the most special gifts are not those solid tangible objects we can hold in our hands, but rather something more ethereal…such as a wi-fi connected laptop behind Junior’s constantly locked bedroom door.

    Elf on the Net

    # posted by admin
    Monday, October 20, 2014

    Gawker Flies Its Freakademic Flag, Tries to Summarize ‘Douchebag’

    bag 211

    Some pseudo-intellectual warghlebarghle ‘culture’ critic named Michael Mark Cohen over at Gawker has attempted to write the history of ‘douchebag’ in popular use.

    His conclusion? The term ‘douchebag’ has become a variation of a socially acceptable ethnic insult. To call someone a douchebag is, according to this pop culture Nostradamus, a coded way to racialize whiteness.

    Allow me to retort.

    A douchebag says no.

    Critiquing the term douchebag on ethnic terms ignores the far more obvious and self-evident gender binary taking place. The perjorative context of ‘douchebag’ lies entirely in its critique of masculine ego by referencing a feminine hygiene product. To try to relocate this obvious gender interplay as a template for racial power embedded in media artifacts is to overdetermine meaning based on pre-established crotch fondle.

    Let me repeat. No.

    Douchebag is not a code for whiteness. It has never been used that way. If you want to project some idiotic screed on racial hierarchies and linguistic subtext onto a concept you don’t understand, I suggest entering the rarified air of Lena Dunham think pieces and Miley Cyrus twerking deconstructions. I hear Commentary and Dissent have merged to form low paying clickbait troll spew.

    Ascribing douchemock to race to heat up the outrage machine and you’re just phishing for pixel chum. And no, I’m not referring to a 1990s noodle jazz fusion band that never should have left Vermont. I’m referring to an outdated mode of ethnicity studies that can’t account for convergence culture.

    How do I know what ‘douchebag’ means? Because I’m the guy that redefined it back in 2006. Back then it meant either a feminine hygiene product or a rarely used insult akin to asshole. In its redefinition, douchebaggery became a term used to describe a certain type of preening hyper-masculinity. The point at which human males (and certain females) transformed into Michaelbay-ian cyborgian explosions of cartoonish idiocy and narrative incoherence. All in an effort to get the ladies by turning their bodies into neon day-glo advertisements and pop culture tinsel.

    I needed a word to describe male spectacle in the age of over-saturated media stimulation. And I found it.

    But there was barely a tip of the hat to the importance of HCwDB in Gawker’s rambling unthinkpiece. If you’re gonna break down the ‘bag and you don’t credit Hot Chicks with Douchebags, you’re talking out of your proverbial Foucauldian peeper steeper.

    The facts is the facts. The HCwDB community is what introduced ‘douche’ analysis to contemporary discourse. Not just me. All the regs in the comments threads over the years. We parsed douchebaggery in all its hottie/douchey dialectical formulations.

    Heck, I even wrote a book on the subject. So I know of what I speak. At least when it comes to frivolous colloquialisms written as satirical mock.

    So put down that Fanon and Chomsky, digi-media whore, and come back to the realities of the pop culture pizza. Sometimes a slice of mushroom and roasted red peppers is just a slice of mushroom and roasted red peppers. Especially when it tans and shaves and rubs its pecs with various sundry bodylotions in the hope of attracting a party chick woo hottie.

    Them’s the post-structural Derridian deconstruction. Put that in Freud’s cigar and smoke it.

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

    TL;DR EDIT: For those of you coming to Hot Chicks with Douchebags for the first time via that Gawker article, Gawker is the sucky. You can read the real history of the sordid, complex introduction of douchebaggery as mock in the history of Hot Chicks with Douchebags, my last daily post on this site, written last February.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Monday, July 7, 2014

    Douchebags are Apparently Back

    I’m not okay with this.

    Not.

    Okay.

    With this.

    Unironic braggadocio with stupid hat and doucheface. Performed by shamelessly moronic hip hop suburban choadwanks.  Flashin’ Benjamins, luxury (rented) cars, and lots of paid-to-boobs as proof of alpha male package.

    The stupid. It burns.

    Yet The Huffington Post just called this the proverbial jam of the summer.

    Not okay.

    Reeks like foot fung. Like donkey dung. Like the absolute worst of the mid 2000s.

    I’m not saying HCwDB is back. I’m focused on my Podcast these days.

    But after we’d accomplished so much over the years, I am not okay with this. A pile of rank taintstain. A pustulous music ‘video.’ It is a step back into a fetid pile of sheep piddle.  It rankles the cockles of my benevolent soul.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Wednesday, May 21, 2014

    Captain Toxicnip and Sarah Get Ready for the Podcast!

    sdfsdfsdf

    Recording equipment? Check.

    Various sundry personalities in the greater Los Angeles area willing to banter on microphone for extended periods of verbal intercourse? Check.

    Yes it is on. Like Captain ToxicNip’s scary nipular Proboscis. It has perked.

    Your humble narrator will be launching a new weekly podcast!

    All things hottie/douchey history will be discussed, along with riffs, rants, babbles, and spew both psuedo-intellectual and very very stupid.

    If you’ve dug what I did with HCwDB for so many years, I hope you’ll check it out.

    More news shortly…

    Breaking…

    Breaking bad…

    Breaky breaky heart…

    Breaker Morant…

    Moonbreaker…

    I must break you.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Friday, April 25, 2014

    HCwDB and New Frontiers

    sdfsdf
    While it’s true, the HCwDB Experience as we knew it has come to its preordained conclusion (respek), new frontiers await.

    I have just finished moving the site to a new (cheaper) server, so you might need to delete cookies to log in or something. But all should be copacetic again around here.

    However! Hark! Alack!

    For all those who enjoy the hottie/douchey Socratic debates, your nethers shall tingle again. Like some bad retro-metal band called Tingle Nethers. New underling fondlers shall arise that resemble old, leathery choadscrunchies.

    Or perhaps as glorious as Simian McBarnicle and Nadia’s (pictured here) working class Russian dating life.

    Because, in Soviet Union, rednecks might be you!

    Wait. I think I mixed up that punchline. Because I get my one-joke comedian catchphrases mixed up all the time.

    But enough of my babble.

    If you’ve enjoyed my mock and rage in all its many forms, your humb narrs is putting together a podcast for your listening enjoyment. I should have it up and running in a month or so, and will announce all in due time.

    In the meantime, you may continue to peruse the archives. Or join the time traveling ways of DarkSock, who continues to bring the mock like a postmodern Marty McFly back in 2005.

    Either way, HCwDB will continue onward and upward. Or upward. And Squidward. And always, always with glorious alpaca fondle.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Monday, February 24, 2014

    All Good Mock Must Come to an End

    DB2080-739387

    It’s time.

    The hottie/douchey mock has been an embedded and integral part of my life for eight years now.

    We have explored the vacuity of club culture in every permutation we could find. It has been an incredible journey. But it is time for me to stop. At least as a daily blog.

    That being said, nothing’s ever really over in internet land. HCwDB will carry on. But in a different way now. Perhaps as an archive of the past eight years of hottie/douchey poo stain on our culture. Perhaps on message boards. Or in occasional updates.

    But today marks the end of the HCwDB experiment in its initial run.

    And who better to send us off then the first breakout hottie/douchey doucherstars of this site, the late, great, majesty of inflation and boob grab that is Pumpy? Like many of purest of uberbags, Pumpy burned as bright as he did briefly. The Pumpster left us far too soon, but is forever in our hearts and boob fondles.

    There is so much I want to reflect on. Please indulge me. While it is impossible to tell the full journey of HCwDB in all of its multifaceted complexity, I do want to hit some of the high (and low) notes.

    Or, if you’d like to hear me tell it in my own words, listen to the podcast I did a few weeks ago in New York (dated 2/17/14). It covers a lot of the behind the scenes drama of the rise of HCwDB.

    What started as a goofy blog idea for a few friends almost exactly eight years ago quickly turned into a viral phenomenon and then, improbably, a career.

    Here are some of my thoughts on the run:

    The Early Years
    TheShocker

    It all began in the dark days of 2006.

    One day I saw a ridiculously hot girl walking around with an orange tanned chest shaved Ed Hardy wearing fauxhawk and stupid bling sporting tattooed assmunch.

    Something had to be done.

    Someone had to speak up.

    A voice of protest shouting at the canker sore lip herp spreading across the humorless land of Pickup Artist cacaphony and really stupid manscaping.

    DB12007WC2I had no clue what I was doing. Daily picture blogs didn’t even exist. My free blogger software forced me to upload my images to imageshack and cut and paste them in.

    Although the pics have been lost to imageshack hosted time, here’s what my first few weeks of posts looked like. The writing? Not so impressive.

    But mock I must. And so I did.

    I set a few rules.

    No real names of people in the pics. Takedown requests would be honored. PG-13 language if possible.

    And, of course, self-deprecation at the heart of all mock.

    I felt these rules were fair enough to allow pointed hottie/douchey commentary to take place.

    I was pleased and amazed to find that others wanted to join me in mocking douchebags and lusting hotts in all its primal monkey-poo lizard brain herd wrongness.

    I began to receive a few emails. Then more. Then, eventually, thousands over the years. Some hilarious. Some dangerous. Some bizarre. Some intelligent. Some depressing. Many threatening legal action. Some quite poignant. Some angry. Some very silly.

    Of course, as I kept trying to tell everyone, I’m the biggest douchebag of all.

    Gradually the site began to ingratiate itself in the interweb consciousness.

    Gainin’ Steam
    7
    Around 2007, the site began to take off.

    Rolling Stone plugged the site in its “best of the web” column. I did my first radio interview on a British radio show called The Ugly Phil show. You can listen to the interview here (the music is also what inspired me to name my MTV show). You can tell how nervous and amazed I am that anyone is talking about HCwDB.

    Yahoo made HCwDB a pick of the week. Thrillist featured me as well. Here was my somewhat incredulous post from the day that I realized HCwDB was starting to explode.

    I began to hear from a number of military personnel serving overseas in Iraq and Afghanistan.

    One pilot in Afghanistan emailed me privately for months promising to send me a t-shirt of his unit when he got back home. Then one day I stopped hearing from him. I have no idea if he even made it home. I was just humbled and honored to know that HCwDB was able to brighten up their dreary days in those hellholes.

    I realized that mocking the silliness of youth culture had an element of profundity to it.

    People needed to laugh.

    And who better to laugh at then douchebags?

    I was interviewed on the enormously popular Los Angeles morning drive radio show, The Kevin and Bean Show. The site crashed from all the hits.

    I learned that HCwDB was being hosted on a shared server. I learned what a server was. And then quickly upgraded.
    I did more interviews. This included Playboy Radio. You can listen to the interview on Playboy Radio here (starts 34 minutes in).

    In May, Simon & Schuster bought my book pitch. Here’s Gawker’s snarky post from that day.

    I began work on my book, one that I remain quite proud of. Especially when I got to see it given so many times, interestingly enough, as wedding gifts.

    And that, I thought, was that. What more could a blogger hope for than to write a book?

    Much more, as it turned out.

    HCwDB Comes of Age
    GoldenGlobesDouchie3
    2008 was when the site really exploded.

    And by exploded, I mean oiled up cans in proxy with spiked up choddlescrote.

    HCwDB got even more press. The book sparked a debate in Las Vegas.

    I had the uberhott Elizabeth Banks talk up the site on The Tonight Show and Jerry O’Connell plug it on an embedded late night show that has since disappeared into the ether. I did many radio interviews. I even turned down a bunch of TV because I was lazy and a bit shy.

    My book came out in July.

    I did signings in New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. I had the pleasure of meeting dozens of readers in each of those cities. Suddenly the abstraction of writing HCwDB had become real. I signed everything from books to Ubiquitous Red Cups.

    Then I got sued. A few times. But luckily there’s this thing called The Constitution. Both cases were thrown out of court for sheer ridiculousness.

    I got agents. I wrote up a reality show pitch. I pitched it. I sold it to MTV. Another network that wanted the show but didn’t get it went ahead and made it anyway. I remain unamused.

    But I had my show and I was thrilled. I got to create, cast, executive produce and write voiceover for what was the best HCwDB show I could have hoped for, Is She Really Going Out With Him?. MTV let me run with it for three seasons and call a bunch of serious scrotes out. A pleasure indeed.

    The show was a solid hit on MTV. The book got optioned by New Line. I wrote two drafts of a script for the studio. Sadly, the movie never got greenlit. But other than that bump in HCwDB’s conquering of the world, it has been a lifechanging pleasure to mock douches and lust hotts for your daily entertainment.

    The Golden Years
    Crosshair

    For the next few years, the mock was choice. Submissions were high. The comments threads were bumpin’. I was pleased to see the douche mock expanding even further into all corners of the pop culture consciousness.

    But even with the success of the TV show and book, the core of HCwDB has always the website. And we have mocked some very toxic hottie/douchey examples over the years. Sometimes readers met up with each other.

    I encourage you to peruse the archives located in the left hand column. Or just check out the Hall of Scrote and Hall of Mock. You can read of Douchie Awards in years past.

    Sleepy Jerkenstein and Cindy still roil my nethers.

    The classic ‘bagitude of the now antiquated Joey Porsche.

    The face most deserving of a fish slap that still haunts my nightmares in Fish Slap.

    The vile arrogance of The Ab Lobster.

    The endless party of King Douchuous the IV.

    The ridiculousness of Kisseus Vomitorious.

    The arrest, release, relapse, and updates of Hall of Scrote Chicagoan Donkey Douche have embodied the HCwDB ethos for years. Or just read The Donkster in his own words.

    So many epic scrote/hotts. So little time.

    I must acknowledge the epic douchery of The Gator, the lumpyness of Smoot, the stupid chicken frying poetry of Stackhouse the Poet, the party spikes of Four Prong, the ass-bite of Benzino, the sad desperation of Mack the Nozzle, and the ridic face carve of Brothabag Leon, just off the top of my head. But there were so many other profound scrotal sores over the years. How could I sum them all up in one post?

    At the heart of it all, The Unholy Grieco sits. The Unholy Source Douche and I even interacted on Facebook once. Now I just sorta feel bad for the guy.

    And lets not forget the sheer, unadulterated joy of classic bro Bra!! Has anyone ever enjoyed a tasty cola beverage in presence of a hot chick more than Bra!!? We can all learn a Zen lesson in life enjoyment from our favorite party pud.

    The great Vin Douchal even composed an ode to Bra!! among many other HCwDB song classics.

    Or this friggin’ guy. I didn’t even remember him until going through the archives. But what a piddling example of hottie/douchey wrongness. Yech.

    The epic hottness of Halo Angel, Brunette Rhea, Arielle, Anya, Holly, Francine, just to name a few, still dazzle with the purity of suckle thigh. And the lawsuits of uberhott Champagne Katie and Billy Dee Willhelm still amuse. And then my own personal adventures in singledom with the lovely Veronica.

    Many a fine moment was had by your humble narrator during this crazy run.

    A Look Back
    DeathtongueBut, if I had to pic, no pic featured on the site better encapsulated the travesty of hottie/douche cohabit than early 2008’s Deathtongue and Quartasian Mia Sara Hott (pictured here).

    We’ve seen far douchier douches.

    And at least equivalent hott hotts.

    But no festering nuclear dump of a combination quite captured the essence of wrongness like these two.

    The spikey hair. The stupid shirt. The aggressive, arrogant posturing machismo captured in mid-lick.

    And the innocent Mayan Eye of Coitus expressed by Quartasian Mia Sara Hott in (im)perfect counterbalance.

    Festering stew. So wrong.

    And of couse let us not forget Deathtongue and Quartasian Mia Sara Hott ii.

    QMSH even won Hottest Hott of the Year at the 2008 Douchie Awards.

    So many amazing/horrifying HCwDB couples over the years. I can’t even begin to cover all the adventures we’ve had together on this site.

    I even managed to get in a few quality rants on subjects like Spring Breakers, New York in the 1980s, the death of Al Goldstein, or just a general hate of douche culture. There were my thoughts on Lorde and The Boston Bomber Rolling Stone cover. The rank atrociousness of people likethe late, unlamented Andrew Breitbart, Donald Trump, Brett Favre, Mel Gibson and Dr. Drew.

    I journeyed to Lane Meyer’s house to search for his two dollars.

    I had quality righteous spew directed at peak Douche John Meyer and again.

    We witnessed Poo. Lots and lots of poop. Prompa Poop.

    Or, uhm,…. Moobs.

    And then there was the Pear. Lots and lots of Pear.

    Let us also remember the genius of the tribute HCwDB videos. In addition to Vin Douchal’s epic compositions there was Foglizard’s Douchebags.

    And this little piece of brilliance from back in 2009, created by HCwDB’s own Mr. Scrotato Head:

    HCwDB in the News
    ImpendingSignOfTheApocalypse_CartoonAmerica
    Then there was the flipside. The dozens of imitators, ripoff sites porny vidoes, countdown videos, music videos, parody videos, animated videos, gym videos, and comedians cashing in on the HCwDB experience as much as they could. Without even the courtesy of a link to my site or mentioning of my book.

    All of those pretenders and thieves can suck it! HCwDB will always be where douche mock first originated. To those in Hollywood, if you have to steal other people’s ideas to entertain, kill yourself (to paraphase the great Bill Hicks). This is the real deal. It always will be.

    On a related note, I always enjoyed this Adam Carolla rant set to HCwDB pics. That’s what led to my appearance on the Adam Carolla podcast. Also worth a listen if interested.

    Now, eight years later, our victories our many. Today we see rejection of overpriced t-shirts, stupid bling, and peacocking spectacle that once ruined our cornflakes and micturated on our collective rugs.

    Looking back I feel privileged to have been able to chart a nation’s cultural transformation.

    And what can I say about the cadre of brilliant regulars who brought daily poo-fling in the comments threads? You guys kept me going years past the point when I probably should have shut things down around here.

    The “Hall of Mock” in the left hand column is our Hall of Fame and honors some of the top regulars. But lets be sure to toast each and every one of you with a cup of Night Train fortified wine. I even thank those not on the plaques who submitted pics or just chimed in every so often. I read almost all the comments threads. It was always a joy.

    I’d be remiss if I didn’t give a special belly fondle to the great DarkSock. A supreme mockist who filled in for me on numerous walkabouts and brings a keen mind and boat crashing punk rock anarchy to all that he touches.

    And then, last August, BabyChick1 (BC1) arrived.

    Suddenly mocking douches and lusting their hotts suddenly didn’t come as organically as it once did. Not to mention that I need to save up my creative energy for new projects like a tantric version of Sting in mid-coitus.

    So today seems like a good day to say thank you to all that have joined me on this journey of mock into the heart of American culture in the digital age. The last eight years have been incredible. I had a platform to spew my daily thoughts and people who responded to it.

    It’s the eight year anniversary in about a week. And so that seems like a nice bookend.

    I will take a month or three off. I’ll still be doing house cleaning around here. Like adding Brothabag Edgar to the Closet of Poo.

    And then I will probably start occasionally posting again here and there when I can. If I find a pic or a rant worthy of attention.

    So I wouldn’t call this site dead-dead.

    More like on walkabout. For now.

    But just because HCwDB will not be updating that does not mean I won’t be around. I am working on a number of new projects that I’m quite excited about. Hopefully good news will be announced in due time. In the meantime I will start updating on my long dormant sister site, Lucky Punkass, again. All of your avatars/IDs should carry over there. Feel free to join me and say hi.

    You can also follow me on Twitter and Instagram, both of which I try to keep active. Or just drop me an email: douchebag1 at hotchickswithdouchebags.com.

    I have much left to say/rant/complain about in life. I just can’t keep mocking douchebags over and over. Nor did I want to transform this site into something it was never meant to be.

    So let us close the books on the HCwDB run. It was glorious. I have seen my writing and our mock influence everything from the game changing impact of The Jersey Shore to the “Douche Jar” mocking of Schmidt on New Girl.

    And let us bow our head and appreciate the power of the mock. The power of pointing out the hypocrisy and economic violence of a media and corporage industry hellbent on selling “sex” in high priced packages. Douchey t-shirts and overpriced bodyspray. All part of the long con. The marketing hypnosis meant to brainwash us into thinking we need spikey hair and overpriced products to perform the universal coital dance. We do not. Coitus is free. If you want it. (to paraphrase John Lennon).

    That’s what HCwDB has always stood against. And always will.

    Now let us repose with a pack of tasty Hostess HoHos and a cup of Night Train.

    Life is good.

    # posted by douchebag1
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