Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

HCwDB of the Week

There was much to choose from over the past two weeks while culling down the finalists. But this was also a breakthrough week for multimedia HCwDB.

There was both the brilliant I’m a Big Douche at the Scottsdale Bars YouTube, as well as the audio grease that is the Legendary Pickup Artist Scrotebag, Dimitri.

Methinks both are in line for 2008 Douchie Awards at the Douchies in December. It’s Monday morning, and while the DB1 nurses a nasty hangover, here’s your finalists:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Gunter and Klaus

These two European chest shavers suggest all that is wrong in Bratwurst, while Sister Christian suggests all that is future Soccer Mom Hott in Scottsdale.

But for G&K, something in their smug expression just reeks of prune.

And the daring attempt by Gunter to affect the Patented Peaches Point deserves an additional serving of powdered scorn.

At fist I was worried that the Hott was a bit too nice girl to inspire lustful thoughts, but the more I stare, the more I’d gnaw some beef chaw just for the chance to spittoon some gak in the Old West near her great grandmother’s former cattle ranch.

Or something like that.

Hey, it’s Monday morning. My brain’s still a bit foggy.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Droopy McScrote

A classic in hott/douche wrongness.

Yes, I could elaborate further on those who sagg and cling to hip-hop wigga glory.

But do I need to?

You got the Droop.

You got the bling, tatts and hand gestures, complete with nerd-glasses and Houston Astros (?) hat tilt.

Then you’ve got Surfer Kelly, with the rock-hard abs and the strangest swatch of bikini bottom this side of Logan Five’s Sanctuary.

But what pushes this pic into greatness is that tiny swatch of red underwear above the cargo pants.

Stay classy, Droopy.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Preppiebags

Something about being transported back to a 1980s teen comedy, in which Teddy Beckerstead is teaming up with Ken from Bachelor Party was enough to set off our collective psyche douche-alarms.

Then there’s two lucious little cutes, and the wrongness is complete.

Irono-scrotery?

This issue comes up a lot.

But as many in the comments thread observed, even the ironic “Bar Golf” gag still requires the purchasing of aqua sweaters and tight pink pants that suggest the Alpha-Betas are planning another attack on the Tri-Lambda house.

But are the Golfbag Twins and their sweet suburban bar hotts enough to take the Weekly?

That, my friends, fellow ‘bag hunters and choice hotts, is up to you.

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

HCwDB of the Week: A. D. Artificial Douchetelligence

It was a close vote this week, all three finalists getting their due. But the crimson robot from the future was just too orange to ignore. baggle n lox makes the case:

It’s gotta be A.D.

Some dedicated work went into creating A.D., and we must recognize its genius. All hail A.D.’s futuristic, alien creators. He is robo-scrote; he is androidouche. He is HCwDB of the week.

Damn fine job summing up the win, BnL. daverobfreeman agrees:

Kudos to DB1 for the agony of choice. A.D. FTW based upon the apparent douchal contamination of the two Bleeths. Short Skirt the Librarian seems to be ignoring the filth that is PPK. Vin’s seeming enchantment of the Blonde Saline Balloonist is troubling, yet A.D.’d doucheccouterments, off center navel, and the total nausea of his orange-tinted face blows away Vin’s standard equipment. A.D.FTW!

Nausea being a key word, DRF, well said. But the everpresent anonymous argues for the Ping Pong Beerness of Kong:

Gotta be Ping Pong Kong because of the oblivion factor. How could one be in the presence of such a comely librarian and not be intensely conversing over the romantic poets: “You like Keats? Yeah, me too, but Tennyson really makes my johnson rise. Wanna see?”

Heh. And choadrunnah brings the argument for Vin, the Personal Trainer ™:

Vin. The winner for me because he’s old enough to know better. Unlike Mini Hawk, Vin is far too old to be indulging his inner-douche like this. And by indulging, I mean Axe body spray in glove compartment.

Plus, there can be no question that the Dairy Queen is the hottest chick in the history of the World. She even looks like she might not be that bright. Awesome. I’d switch to the cyrillic alphabet if it meant that she’d have more b’s and e’s to adorn her majestic tetons.

Nothing beats cyrillic alphabet references before breakfast. But phi slamma douchey brings it home for A.D.:

It must be A.D. FTW. The fire is stoked the embers burning and the poker sits ready. I enjoyed looking at the hottest of hotts and colors other than orange but the magnitude of scrotal monstrosity that is A.D. takes it. He’s got the beater, the jebus bling, the boxers, showing of the 7 minute abs’s, ripped jeans and orange. It’s been a good run eyes but you’ve got to go. Did I mention orange.

And batou concurs:

I seriously can’t tell if he’s real or made out of a mixture of wax and forehead grease. He looks like he was plucked from a future museum, where wax sculptures dressed up like douchebags to educate children about how primitive and distasteful 21st century mating rituals were (but in fact only causes them nightmares for weeks).

Anyway, this guy is beyond poo, he is in fact a metaphoric river of sewage. And for that, he deserves the weekly.

Orange takes the cake for A.D. proving the power of scrotal monstrosity can overcome second rate Bleeths.

Book A.D. a slot in the Monthly in a couple of weeks, where he’ll go up against some formidable competition, including Lawnmower Man and Droopy, as well as whomever wins this week.

It’s a well deserved win. And slutty barely legal “American Beauty” blonde is starting to grow on me.

HCwDB of the Week

The weekend is over. The beer has been Red Cupped. The dogs eaten. The greasechoads, Oranged, and the boobie-hotties tainted by mandana juice.

This week’s sampling of hott/choad are each worthy in their own right. But unlike last week’s champion, Droopy, there is no obvious winner. And by winner, I mean grease-mack upchuck uber-scrotal infectuous wrongness.

I’m so tingly I’m shaking like Katharine Hepburn on Red Bull. Here’s your finalists:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Lawnmower Man

It’s not just because I live near a Jamba Juice that I’m nominating this tasty Grasshead for the Finals.

It’s also Pouty Blonde, who needs me to lightly talc her lower thigh area with confectioner’s sugar, then sign over 10% of all my future earnings in exchange for the chance to argue with her Aunt’s former personal trainer.

She is delightful.

And he is that new crop of Punkbag that makes my nethers itch. The merging of late 70s DIY Punk Aesthetic with chest-shaving greased up Metro Club grease. It is all that is wrong.

For that, they get a well deserved place in the Weekly.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Mullets

The ancient Hindi sect The Ubersquatos believed that the Mullet was a holy sign.

That it conveyed sexual stamina, relief from crop drought, and a scorching case of herps.

Did they know something from their ancient shamanic ways that our modern science has yet to figure out?

I’d argue yes.

Then I’d argue with Brunette.

Politely but firmly.

Because I’d want to touch her bottom with an ice-cream scooper dipped in whipped cream and play-doh.

And she’d say no. And I’d say okay. And go back to the bar to buy her another drink.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Ass Pear

This is one of those pics where ‘bag side isn’t overly ‘baggy. As I mentioned when it first appeared, Inflatey McHulk is more weight training superhero than douche on any level.

But he’s got the chest shave. And the goofy glasses. So he’s at least a Stage-1 Scroter.

Far more importantly, she is a peach. And by peach I mean ass pear. For the hott side hott, this pic squeaks into the finals.

More importantly, I turn it over to you.

Which of these three pics deserves a slot in the Monthly? Which combination of toolshed and cake most earns our collective mock?

That, my friends, is up to you.

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.