Chin pubes?

More like 70s chin bush by way of Rip Van Winkle werewolf Sy Sperling miracle gro Chia Pet Star Trek Genesis Project Doctor Who hirsute regeneration formula number nine.

Or something like hat.

And boobs.

Good bless the inner sideboob revealing dress. Take that Victorian Era!

Here’s your links:

Your HCwDB Book Pick of the Week: “In the sunset of dissolution, everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia, even the guillotine.”

The great people of Chicago honor the late, great, Don Cornelius with an imprompu Soul Train dance-off. Peace, love and soul, Mr. Cornelius. Sorry to learn how much pain you were in, but may you find peace in the next world.

For a weekend geekgasm: Every Doctor Who Episode Ever in one montage. Zygons for the win.

Speaking of Who, a ‘bag hunter nearly had a whobag jumpoff heart attack when perusing the wine aisle recently.

New Zealand wins a major battle against Douchal Earth! Massive props to the Kiwis as the tide starts to turn.

Tattoo Locations.

Mr. Britney Spears fondles the Future Ex-Mrs. DB1. And a piece of my uvula dies.

A longtime fan of HCwDB asks us to check out his teenage son’s new photography website. and throw him some support. My readers have teenage sons?

When you watch the white rage in our political process today, read Jourdon Anderson’s 1865 letter to his former Master and remind yourself where it comes from. Condescending asswipes making jokes about “food stamps” because they’re still pissed they lost their slaves.

Champagne Katie at the Prom is the greatest image in the history of images.

Pray for poor Kaitlyn.

Who says indie film is dead?

Uhm, yeah. Actually I do. I say it’s dead. Dead as Bingham Ray.

Speaking of indie film, the great Bobcat Goldthwait’s new movie looks genius: God Bless America (trailer). And it’s a cast reunion from One Crazy Summer.

Okay, here it is, you’ve earned it:

Quattro Dart Pear.

Mmmm… Eight slices of doughy pumperfondle.

——–
DB1,
What is a Douchebag without a Hott? I don’t mean a group of ‘Bags about to descend on Hotts, as we see so often. I mean a full-on douchebag all by his lonesome.

Yours in continued opposition to the ‘taint,
Dan
——-

A douchebag alone is still a douchebag. But without hot chick to create societal distress and the need for grievance in the form of the collective mock, they are simply a clown, nothing more.

It is the ‘bags who ruin pear pics, like Marty Waldouche (pictured here), that deserve our scorn. For on the bumpy road of life, they ruin the view. Like styrofoam in a nature preserve.

Mr. Jay Louis:
What’d I ever do to you?
This is so harsh, man…

Shake it off, DarkSock…
Just pull it together, Man…
*takes a deep breath, then…*

Jill always wanted
A Chaz Bono Shit Golem;
Now what, Jill? Now what???

or

Not sayin’ Jan’s dumb,
But she clearly cannot tell
Douche from Shinola.

As always, your turn
Awaits in comments section;
Lawd have mercy, Y’all…

-D.S.

With Carla at the Junior Prom, 10th Grade Melvin just peaked in life.

A forty year career in sanitation on the outskirts of Jersey awaits. So perhaps we should let him have this moment.

Then again, douche-hair. No pass.

I will wait until Carla turns 18 before drooling on her kneecaps like a weathered Bedouin camel satchel soaked after monsoon.

———–
Dear DB1,

Douche-hunting-ly yours,
Choad the Douche Sprocket
——

I would comment at length on the choadfesterment of the flat brimmed cap, but TAT cures lupus.

Somewhere in this pic of typical rural asswankery hitting on skinny giggle Tina, I’ve carefully hidden a mutant troll doll with bonus firecrotch (not pictured, thankfully).

Look closely.

Can you set his hairspray on fire?

A date late to tallying the award because the DB1 is hard at work on new show-stuff, but the regs brought A-Game Mock. And The Grovester and SLS barely took the prize.

And lets not forget Grover McP choke-throttling Heather.

The voters speak:

Douchble Helix: My vote is for Grover, who I think has it figured out, and I’m guessing the Rev is voting for Sarah Lawrence Sarah.

DoucheyWallnuts: Grover McPocalypse FTW. Any time a new species is discovered it is noteworthy – like the Pollinating Cricket or Monitor Lizard – and some may say award worthy. Grover McP certainly represents a new species of douchebag. Greater minds than mine can come up with the appropriate moniker, so until then I will call him Douchebag of the Month.

Dude McCrudeshoes: Appearing without a Hott is no obstacle for McPocolypse, who breaks all the rules, including those of nature. McPocolypse FTW.

Mr. Biggs: ’d have to go with Grover, for taking douchery to the next level, and in an innovative direction at that. Such an undiluted display of herpsterbaggery, encouraged and catalyzed by Sarah McPooch, shows us this toxic new form douchebaggery is taking as it poisons our culture in search of poon. It’s toxic couplings like these that are the reason people hate drum circles and Burning Man.

The Reverend Chad Kroeger: I vote for Grover McPpocolypse and Mons Pubis and I am a hopeless romantic.

icame isaw idouched: Grover FTW. He’s got that look on his fact because a Yak just took a shit on his shoulder.

It was a pretty solid win for herpsterdouche, even with Sarah’s ‘Baguette tendencies. But what do I know. I thought Andy Swirlwind and Freida Garcia were gonna win, and they didn’t come close. Tony the Curdle and Butt Pooch Amanda’s classic HCwDB-ery came in a distant second:

Joey Joe Joe Jr. Shabbadouche: Freida Garcia is sublime, but I have to go with Tony the Curdle and Adriana, because she looks a little like my wife. Yay me!

The others got votes, but I’mma need a coffee to keep HTMLing. So lets let the talking puppet that is Troy Tempest take us home:

Grover McPocalypse and Sarah Lawrence Sarah. Why? Which of the three are you least likely to hire to do anything. The other 3 can pass (barely). Gorver’s still a f#ckin idiot. And Sarah’s skanktastic. She makes my cat sh#t on the bed.

Indeed she does, Troy. But it could also be because you’re feeding Fluffles too much bologna.

Are you listening, Brobot?

Choke scarves, moob shirts, and trashy woo girls are no way to go through life, Brobot. Especially if you’re a brobot sent from the future to prevent the creator of P90X from being born in the great time-traveling “DVD Workout War” of 2013.

The fish.