Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Mini Hitler Chin

Still out there.

Still preparing to write Mein Chinf.

Scruffy Ralph Discovers Sheertina

Scruffy Ralph’s a stage-1 ‘bagger. A borderline tag, but the chin pubes are perhaps enough.

Sheertina offers glimpses of the canyoncs of teenage hyperbolic fantasy sugar premium aesthetic.

Her mellonic inspirations are laudatory.

Hells, lets get some perfect pear alls up in this place to go with perfect bazingos.

Reader Mail: Sierra Dates a Bouff

Sierra writes in with a strange first-person tag:

—-

Subject: Jersey boy w a southern belle

— Sierra

———-

Short. Cryptic. And entirely unclear on the concept of this website.

Rare-ass Blue Cup does not approve.

And neither does Tom Brady.

In Denmark, They Take the Bus

Epic Bus.

Richard Grieco, Unholy Source Douche for the Modern 'Bag Plague, Explains What a Gigolo Is

And the Typhoid Douchey of the Grieco virus continues unabated.

———–

//”When I started dripping the paint over the piece, it just seemed to come alive all of a sudden . . . I got this feeling like this is what I should be doing. I felt such a strange feeling of relief in a way.”

“Stylistically, he has dubbed his work “abstract emotionalism,” a moniker he said captures to the “unbridled emotion” that goes into each work. ‘I paint because I have to paint, like I have to get these feelings out of my head…'”//

————–

“Abstract Emotionalism” for the groin punch.

Jenny in the Land of Sci-Fi Herpster Poobags

One of Robert Heinlein’s lesser known novellas. But just as kinky as Heinlein’s 1980s Lazarus Long orgy stuff.

Elmo Hott and Groverchoad Approve of the HCwDB of the Week

Somewhere in the infinite beyond, Jim Henson weeps softly into his corn flakes.

HCwDB of the Week: Alissa and the Pepscrote

Last week we had Snuffaluffacrotch and Bozies. Pear Bombers and Taptastrophe.

But nothing said classic HC and DB like Alissa’s barely legal sexy hip poke and the toolosity of Lawn Giland Pepscrote.

Together, they make a smudgy brown insect stain on your throw rug.

So we annoint them unholy, and I go for sugar cereal forage in the kitchen.

Bikini Girl Dances in a Bikini

Because sometimes in life you just need to stare at a bikini girl dancing in a bikini with a creepy smile on her face in front of a bizarre chyron of a streetcorner.

As Nietzsche would want us to.

Comment of the Week: Mr. Scrotato Head

Mr. Scrotato Head brings epic mock and breaks down the backstory on the Tapout Family, winning the coveted HCwDB of the Week:

———————-

I know, I know what you’re thinking Ronnie. If only you’d gone out for the football team as a freshman instead of playing trombone in the marching band. If only you’d bought that home gym instead of the BlackNaga 2000 tower PC with the AckAck graphics card and 20-inch monitor. If only you’d listened to your dad, who said you should run far far away, instead of your mom, who said you should start school at the local community college and get all the general classes out of the way. If only you hadn’t hit the club with the other salesmen and flashed all that cash from your first quarter bonus payment for being Scion Peon of the Month at Schmidtweiser Scion and Subaru. If only you’d had maybe five beers instead of eight. If only you’d looked the other way when Jenna from billing and license plates smiled at you in her too-tight tank and her too short skirt with the oh my gawd holy white triangle flashing every time she shifted in her seat. If only, dear God in heaven, if only you hadn’t given up on trying to open that condom wrapper as the two of you fumbled around in the backseat of your loaner Scion with the speakers thumping and visions of guinea pigs in matching track suits with bling and backwards hats giving you the thumbs up exploding in your head.

If only, Ronnie, if only. In the meantime, try to smile sincerely when Jenna tells you this time she’s really going to lose those last few pounds of pregnancy pooch. And for hell’s sake would it kill you to clean up after the dogs once in a while?

——————-