Ask DB1: “The Friendbag Conundrum”
—–
DB1,
What if you see a woman on a dating website, she’s got a great profile, seems really together, nothing that makes you suspect anything then when you click on her “more photos” button you see this picture?
Shit, she even referred to him as “one of my besties.”
If she is, in fact, not a bleeth or even close, is it worth having to spend ANY time around this tool just to get the thigh nuzzle and pear chomp?
– MC 900 Foot Douchebag
——
What you refer to is what phenomenologists like Husserl first termed “The Friendbag Conundrum.”
If said Hot Chick can be demonstrably proven not to have performed coital cohabit with said douche (and this is not an easy proof), then permanent Bleeth status is not yet achieved. However, the H.C. is now suspect, and must be monitored (via stalking, rosebush hiding, etc.) for any potential future infractions.
Greasy Ramon Says “Whut You Want?”
For sheer stomach punch wrongness, this greasy cohabit between Greasy Ramon and suckle nibble spankle pooch Kelly, with fertile and viable womb that dazzles both flora and fauna equally and causes Zoroastrian Monks to chant existential Gaelic curse words, is notable.
Hers is the fabled Mayan Eye of Coitus from a body that offer that most nibbly of organic free range fair trade skin gnawble.
He’s a greasy Europud.
The DB1 needs coffee.
Quoth The Raven, “What a Douche”
Okay, that’s it.
I’ve had about enough of shirtless, greased up, ubermoob festerpuds like Major Havoc here bothering The Skanking Class of this great nation.
This pic just makes me want to suction cup out all higher consciousness using the torture machine that kills Wesley in The Princess Bride.
Self awareness just isn’t worth it, God.
Take it back.
Return me to the primal state from whence I came so I can unlearn what humanity chooses to do with the gifts and miracles of an improbably impossible universe of creation.
Smug Todd Hooks His Glasses in his Pants
Your humble narrator just ate an entire box of Carr’s Ginger Lemon Creme Cookies
Then I licked a hallucinogenic toad.
And by hallucinogenic toad, I mean a picture of early 80s Soft Fuzzy Sweater Heather Thomas.
So’s I’m makin’ no sense.
Have some Grand Pearyon.
Sunny Meets The Tatt Vortex
—–
She’d heard the rumors.
Alas, alacrum, across the great expanse of the Vegas Parties, the legend persisted. Passed along, Sorority Hott to Sorority Hott. Stare at The Tatt Vortex for too long and your first born would have “The Mark of the Ed Hardy” uponst his forehead.
But Sunny didn’t listen.
And, nine months later, poor Timmy came along. Timmy would spend the grade school years trying to live down the ignominy of the wretched curse of… The Scarlett Doucher.
—–
This excerpt from “The Scarlett Doucher,” reminds you to support your local public library. For without books, there’d be no books.
Andy’s Glasses Mildly Amuse Katie
When the Polo logo has migrated from the chest area to down by the six pound watch, then you know we’re dealing with a new breed of Frat Douche entirely.
Katie is insecure because she’s big boned, but her zaftig strength only gives her the Semitic superpowers that would cause me to bitch slap a caftan chief with a dead marmot just for the chance to soup strain her talcum powder.
Katie is college hoth without knowing it hott (HWKIH). And for that, there is a peanut for Ganesh.
Whatever Happened to Uncle Richie and Aunt Maureen?
Now you know.
Benders in Reno never have happy endings.
It probably is best that your Dad stopped speaking to them after all.
HCwDB: Police Lineup Edition
Somewhere in this lineup of hot chicks with douchebags, I’ve carefully hidden the worst serving of potent orange groin shave reveal since April’s Marty.
Look closely.
Can you gouge your eyes out with plastic orange wine glasses?
Thankfully, Angie, Angie and Marie have agreed to each wear authentic Rube Goldberg Bathing Suits, providing us the perfect framework to appreciate the douchadox of their trashy hott Bleethery. Just pull the string and watch what happens!
Happy Rocco Approves of the HCwDB of the Week
Happy Rocco probably gets a nottabag. But you know he’s the kinda guy who’ll take Sir Ivan as his inspiration.
And that’s worrisome.
But why’d I really post this pic?
Because I’m in some R. Crumb Thunderthigh Crush fantasy thing right now, and Powergirls Kathy and Katie will crush me to a smoove, clutchy ecstacy of death buried in a pillow suckage gaspathon.
And if that ain’t inspiration for a Monday, I don’t know what.
HCwDB of the Week: Sir Ivan and Ashley and Ananda
Welcome back from Labor Day, fellow hunters. Hope you are well rested. Now let us resume the holy mock. For our mission continues.
Last week was a notable week for, how you say, bobby bobbs. We had porny bobbs and sweaty bobbs. Ginormous bobbs, Pro Boobs and The Holy Breasteses of the Iroquois Nation. Who also gave us Holy Suckle Pooch.
On the ‘bag side, there was The Unibro, who may or may not have me killed by Columbian drug lords, the uberskeezy Lonnie, and the odious Tatt Owl.
But our site is about hottie/douchey dialectics.
And none were worse than Sir Ivan’s creepy oldbaggery and the tasty popsicle youth tautchomp of Ananda and Ashley.
Sir Ivan’s toxic buffoonery has been bouncing around on the site for months, but this pic seems like the perfect time to mock his ass with a Weekly win (loss).
So this week’s Weekly winner goes to odious Oldbag, Sir Ivan, and his Great Nieces, Ashley and Ananda. Sure he’s kinda a “pro” douche. But if we don’t mock this saggy shweatyballs, then we do not do our job.
Place this pudgy oldbag and his hottie nieces in the next Monthly. And your humb narr for Pop Tarts.
