Ask DB1: Matt Stafford Reconsidered
In honor of the start of football, Nick writes in with a question about The Staffordbag:
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My roommate considers you an asshole for calling Matt Stafford a stage-2 bag. He claims that Matt Stafford is not a douche even though he wears classic signifiers such as the plaid shorts and tilted hat. Please correct him. I demand a quorum in order to solidify Stafford’s place in the hall of baggery.
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There is no Sports Leniency for douchebaggery. None.
Staffordbag would earn a stage-2 fratbag for this pic alone.
No pass, no matter how well he does this season.
Douche.
Point Dexter Voted in the HCwDB of the Month
Even the Holy Perky Bobbs of the Comanche Hottdians can’t distract Point Dexter from his due rounds of asswankery.
That, and voting in the HCwDB of the Month.
Have you voted yet?
Low slung bullet belt for the societal punchface.
HCwDB of the Month
Today’s a big day. Four unique slices of mold choad. Four intriguing battles for hottie/douchey supremacy. But I need your help. Which of the following four couplings of intestinal disorder is most deserving of competing at the 2011 Douchie Awards for HCwDB of the Year in December?
Here’s your finalists:
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #1: Joey Lumpcrustowitz and Kate
Bringing two quality pics of Vegasian poolbaggery to the game, including Joey Lumpcrustowitz Gives You the Finger, here there be odiousness.
From tattoo Jesus Bling to spikey hair in the pool.
From hottie suckle thigh to spanky poochle slap.
Here there be Vegas asswippery.
And here there be waitress who aspires to model.
Together, boobies and stupid tatts.
Like the early alchemy that formed the Reece’s Peanut Butter Cup. Or the great Bob Ueker moderating Tastes Great / Less Filling debates of the mid 1980s.
A strong, strong, first entry.
But if you think this pairing is toxic, there’s three more to go.
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #2: Wankus McHannibul and Pearielle
Party boi festercrud here once starred in an Australian Biker Film.
No, not “Mad Max.”
It was a lesser known straight-to-video release called “Sucky Bald Douchebag On a Bike.”
Worth Netflixing, though.
It had a fine early performance from Thandie Newton in it as the hot chick.
Yup.
No idea what I’mma saying anymore.
But leather tie, even if this is Paid-to-Douche professional entertainment, is still ubermockworthy.
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #3: The Chernobros and Cathy
This nuclear meltdown of douche sandwich is the rare “bros” pic in the Monthly.
But do not let the fact we have two ‘bags instead of one split or otherwise distract your vote.
Look at that chin fung. Come on now, people. That’s the sucky suck.
For together, like the Wonder Twins, the Chernobros alter the DNA of all those in the fallout radius and form a collective poo turd.
Cathy is sweet, cute, giggly, and viably holding up the hott side of the equation, even if lacking in Pear thickage.
Together, can this trivection oven hold up in the Monthly?
One more to go:
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #4: Sir Ivan, Ashley and Ananda
Olbaggery representin’.
Ashley and Ananda are gazelle paid to pose gnaw legs of poochy slap.
Sir Ivan has a homepage that looks like this.
Can a paid-to-buffoon Oldbag make it to the Yearly?
It’s tough competition.
As the DB1 enjoys a tasty bowl of Frosted Flakes and reclines on a stained and saggy sofa while contemplating the bleak crises of postmodern corporeal denature, it’s your turn.
Which of these four pics deserves entrance into the Yearly?
Vote, as always, in the comments thread.
Stoned Homies in Vegas Study For the Midterms
“Carpe Diem,” boys. Carpe Diem.
Seize the per diem.
“Let me hit you with some knowledge” for the societal loss.
And to honor the 10 Year anniversary of 9/11 in the only way HCwDB can, have some Peach Fuzz Art Pear. Because the freedom to look at Pear on the internet is not to be taken lightly.
Comment of the week: Capt. James T. Douche
Capt. James T. Douche, inspired by another excellent rant by tattoo artist Medusa Oblongata, beams in to win the coveted HCwDB Comment of the Week with this reflection on the horrifying trend of lady ribcage text tattooing in the Quoth the Raven: “What a Douche” thread:
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Rib cage dialogue is the new tribal tattoo, atleast though there is some comfort in the knowledge that in a couple of years the Vegas pool scene will dry up for people like this, they’ll succumb to an obscure suburban existence and shit out a couple of Bleeth/douche larvae (thus the circle of douche life continues) and that once clever dialogue will look like a Rhorschach test. Every morning in the mirror will be a requiem of days spent rubbing elbows with the cream of the douche crop at Wet Republic and nights Bleething it up at Pure and Tao in a vodka and redbull haze topping off thier evening of youthful frivolities being pecker slapped silly by guys like rockerbag.
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Pretty much sums it all up.
Friday Thoughts and Links
Ah yes, the Z-Axis Hat Tilt.
A rare event. Like the Aurora Borealis. Or hearing a car horn in Los Angeles.
Another Friday comes to pass, and I find my thoughts drifting lazily to thoughts of cookies.
Cookies are so great. I enjoy them heartily. They even have a cute name. How many products are named for the process by which they are produced?
Very few. Think about it. And that’s alls I got.
Here’s your links:
Your HCwDB Grand Guignol DVD Pick of the Week: “I was busy pushing bodies around as you well know and what would a note say, Dan? ‘Cat dead, details later’?”
File under pics I probably shouldn’t run but will anyway: Hot Chicks with Stephen Hawking. “Hot Chicks” being a relative term. Get it? Get it? Relative… oh nevermind. And way to make ‘Bag Hand Gesture #314159 there, Hawkingbag.
The sexiest woman of the summer: Semitic Librarian Hott and Future Ex-Mrs. DB1 #5.
But even Mila can’t compete with the hottness of interspecies Alpaca-Kitty action. So hot.
Full throttle douche bottle! Kinda amusing.
Pauly D continues to be the most profitable douchebag of 2011. I will renew drinking heavily. The war is being lost.
But you are not here for Pauly D updates. You are hear for top shelf quality premium Gnaw Pear, are you not? You are. Then here you go:
The vanity is deserved.
Go forth. Go forth and poke chomp slap. For our female ‘bag hunters, go forth and flirt with a funny guy. We’re hot too. Even without the six pack abs.
Dragon’s Hair
D.J.s. with stupid hair.
Still out there.
Still willing to play The Black Eyed Peas at your next wedding or Bar Mitzvah to pay the bills in a tough economy.
But at least Kelly and Shelley’s feet and calves are being kept warm and snuggy with the corpses of dead aliens.
Yip yip yip yip yip.
Friday Haiku
Bouncer accosts guest:
“Your abs aren’t visible, Sir;
Shirt, Shoes…No Service!“
Center Douche works at
Meinke Muffler all day long
Sore arms won’t go down.
— Franklyn DealorNo Doucheifelt
Ice Station Douchebra,
Where souls suffer in torment,
And sip warm Red Bulls.
— Jay L.
Frank’s double fist pump
Went unnoticed by Tina
And, well, everyone.
— saulgoode42
The Mass o’ douchettes
in this primary don’t seem
to like him o’ roids.**
— The Dude
**nominee for groan-inducing pun of the year – D.S.
Civilization
It ebbs and flows for all. This
is what ebb looks like.
— Wedgie
By the power of
Gray Skull. I am He-Man. Show
Me to Dude-Action.
— The Reverend Chad Kroeger
Dance to the blue light
Like greasy moths to the flame
Guido bugzapper
— Hong Kong Douchey
Reader Mail: The Kadebag Gets a Job
Sergeant Scrote Stain reports in from the front with a report on an old uberdouche, Arthur Kade:
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‘Tis been a while DB1.
As a wildly undeserving member of the Hall of Mock, it is incumbent upon me to shed light onto one of the more hilarious happenings of my past month, or three… or year (who really knows, my life isn’t all that exciting).
There was a time in the storied run of “Hot Chicks with Douchebags” in which a colossal Pud-Giant rose to scrotastic heights that even Jason Beinlich – i.e Stackhouse, for you non-stalkers – dared not touch. This man brought forth a stench of vanity rivaled only by Saddam Hussein’s left testicle, the immortal Arthur Kade.
For those of you who missed the epicenter of pudwhackery that was Kade, rest assured, he is the wretched stench of egotistical douche personified. His website is a treasure trove of unintentional comedy, just classic stuff.
Anyways, as the seasoned Baghunters are aware, Kade’s antics grew tired and we left his bloated gel-enhanced mug behind for fresh sources of douchetastic entertainment (as we always do. Except in Fish Slap’s case. We do not tire of his reek. And by the way, F&#K Fish Slap!).
But Authur Kade is back. And oh god, is it with a vengeance.
I was hanging out in the living room at my Mom’s house watching some TV with the family on Labor Day, because that’s what we hatters do. My Mom is really into murder mystery and true crime shows, because, of course, we’re a family of morbid sickos. And an especially horrific program came on Discovery – Investigation and Discover. The show is called, “Who the Bleep Did I Marry,”
Here’s a quick synopsis of Michael Mastromarino’s life achievements: After losing his licence to practice dentistry, because he was a drug addict who was stealing drugs from his own clinic, then shooting up in the bathroom, then performing procedures on unsuspecting patients, Mr. Mastromarino was forced to find a new source of income. So, he started his own biomedical company that delivered donated body parts to hospitals for surgeries and studies. The only problem was that Michael was stealing the bodies and illegally harvesting their organs and fraudulently selling off the booty. This guy was a real winner. And of course, is now serving a life sentence.
Why does this matter? Well, because in any documentary type show, you have to reenact the story. And who played the infamous body snatcher? That’s right, Aurthur Kade. HOW F%@CKING PERFECT!
As the show started, I kept thinking, “I know that face, I know that guy… IT”S AUTHUR KADE… AHAHAHAHA!!!!” (That was my exact thought process, which took at least four minutes too long due to my intoxication).
Sometimes, society just gets it right.
Lates,
Sergeant Scrote Stain
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The Kadebag will undoubtedly love the attention (any attention) that no-talent hack can find. Still, it looks like that QVC Audition Tape finally paid off.
Land Speedo
Public Speedo = Autobag. No exceptions, even if you’re otherwise an unassuming version of noted thespian Patrick Wilson.
Gypsy Rose may not have visible face offered for our collective and shallow judging process, but she does offer body curve.
As I was watering the alpacas this morning out by the water vapor processors, I asked a nearby lemur what he thought of Gypsy Rose’s succulent curves.
But lemurs can’t talk.
Silly me.
