Ab Reveal and Boobies
Yeah, I probably could’ve picked a cleverer title for this pic. Perhaps something involving the wild times former New York Knicks guard Stephon Marbury had on his trip to South Korea. But, in the end, boobies.
Reader Mail: The Britbag
Count Bagula writes in with the spreading Jerz Virus in Britain:
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Dear DB1,
Apparently MTV is the bringing the dose of televisual herpes known as Jersey Shore to the UK…the show will be known as Geordie Shore. Why set this show in the North-East of England, you may ask?
This cardigan-wearing, chest-shaving, wannabe-Situation is the answer. His friends look on in awkward confusion as he speaks of ‘GTL for life’, ‘a Jesus piece’ and ‘bitches’…all they want to do is enjoy a quiet pint with the girls who’ve lived on their block since they were all 3 years old. Sadly, the Solo Bag lowers the tone. A dark day indeed.
– Count Bagula
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Britbags have been there for as long as fist pumping took viral club flight. The Jersey Shore is merely the signifier, not the sign.
Mmm… I salute the Brit Hotts from my wanderings in London a few years ago. Awkward, shy, alcoholic and boozy flirts, the birds of London may not be as hott as the ladies of the Eastern Bloc, but they sure can stumble out of a pub at 2am and then let me pooch their anklets by Harrods.
Caption This Pic
“Swing Lessons at the Decatur County Ballroom took a turn for the strange when Instructor Brandt introduced his innovative new dance step, ‘The Queasy Stripper.'”
Some Days You Just Gotta Pin a Dress to your Tighty Whities
And try to talk the Ubergnaw Southern Sue into taking a ride on what Tad calls his “Own Private General Lee.”
The Happy Bieberbag
Short, happy and hair feathered is no way to go through life, son. Sure it may attract Paid-to-Pose bosoms of largesse. But the Biebpocalypse is only going to get worse. And your future kids will laugh at your old photobook.
Sorority Cynthia Made a Bad Choice for Spring Break
Sorry Cynthia. Should’ve gone with your besties to Cabo rather than Tijuana with Mike. The lice will take months to delouse. The crabs, even longer.
Text Harrison
So as we come down from the monthly, here’s a friendly tip: Texting while picture posing with the girls from the local trade school = autodouche.
Now granted Text Harrison was already autodouche. But the larger point about texting needed to be made.
HCwDB of the Month: The Smarm Candy and Patty
It was a solid victory for classic HCwDB mugging, as the Smarm Candy’s stupid faux and fondle of the tasty sweet Patty proved too strong a dialectic for the others to overcome.
The voters speak:
Deltus: Gotta go with my gut on this one. And the coupling that makes me the sickest is Smarm Candy and Patty. He is greasy stupid overconfident assmunch smackface choad. She is sweet and hott sauce lovely smile banging bodied slurp gnaw. No other entry makes me want to club baby harp seals to death with the willed-into-corporeality that is my disgust at their pairing.
Greg: He’s the douchiest looking backpack I’ve ever seen and she’s like sunshine on a sunshiney day.
Douchey Lewis and the News: Smarm Candy and Patty FTW. He’s objectionable to all the senses.
Mr. Biggs: The mugging, the sneer, the metaphysical grease, the innocent bouncy giggle smile. It’s all there, in a composition Picasso would envy.
DoucheyWallnuts: Patty’s delectably delicious and suckleable inner thigh is just a boner bonus.
Scooby Douche: Sexy little tight dress, nice legs, she is what we fight to preserve. To hell with the environment, why is there no federal Patty Protection Agency issuing injunctions to keep Smarm’s greasy hands off her?
MoeDouche: Smarm Candy and Patty. She is succulent barely-legal hottie and he is a douche of gargantuan proportions.
Eliza Douchecoo: Going with the Smarmer here, he is most definitely the most punch to the face worthy out of all these guys. Although the legs in the greasepitz are calling to me, I must say no and vote with my fist and the Smarmster is worthy of meeting it.
Troy Tempest: smarm candy and patty ftw. Why? Because he is so douchie that when he walks down the sidewalk earthworms erupt from the neighbouring lawns begging birds to feast on them, for they know the douchepocalypse is nigh.
tall guy: he win must go to the infiltrating near miss of Smarm Candy and Patty. His watch alone gets him over the line. Add the sunnies indoors and the everpresent Billy Idol sneer and we’re home’n’hosed (hosed with bleach that is).
Smarm Candy & Patty FTW.
Dr. Bunsen Honeydouche: She smells like lavender-scented kitten burps. He reminds you of that time when you puked up what was left of that expired carton of milk that you used to wash down that Wendy’s chili that had been in the fridge for over a week but hey you were starving into the dumpster behind the abortion clinic.
Wheezer: Patty’s curves are so sleek, and her positioning speaks volumes. She’s holding tightly to her purse, knowing hipsterbag wannabe Smarm Candy wants to know “How much cash you got?” She caught him peeking in there last night.
Mr. Scrotato Head: When Smarm Candy gets home he flops on the couch, fires up the X-box, and tells his buds how he f*cked the shit out of girlfriend. Nobody wins, but Smarm gets the nod and a shovel to the face.
The Minister Scott Stapp: Patty. For she is as pure as the driven snow on a crisp winter solstice day with 3 year olds making snow angels in it while sipping on minty candies and giggling. He is the black turd that shows up when it melts. And matronly arms. Son.
Well said Minister. Sadly even Champagne Katie’s tasty delusional lawsuit gnaw couldn’t carry the mediocre douchery of Billy Dee Villhelm to victory, as they come in second, with The Greasepitz and Toxic Terry and Angelica rounding out the voting:
soy bomb: Billy Dee Willhelm and Champagne Katie For the Win. Billy Dee has several adouchements going for him, but certainly what will push him over the ledge, screaming, is his bizzaro see-through silky shirt. Seriously, look at that thing. As for Champagne Katie, her poorly written litigious threat may have lost her some votes, but came off as charming and endearing in mine eye(s). I don’t know about y’all, but I’m not paying her to think. Or speak. Or write or anything like that. Just to knock boots.
The Dude: Greasepitz. Does that oil bead up when they get sweaty Urp, I just threw up on my screen a little.
Dex: Angelica. I don’t know which I want to be more. The breeze that whips past your legs to lift your dress and give the world the briefest glimpse of the un-bleethed promised land beneath, or your hair, cascading down your supple bosom like an amber waterfall of EverythingIWantInLife.
dbBen: Toxic Terry and Angelica. For she makes me think of Kelly Brook, which warms the very cockles of my heart. He makes me think of the floor of a bad Las Vegas tattoo parlor, which makes me want to do a tough actin tinactin dance (John Madden sounds friendly).
Magnum Douche P.I: Champagne Katie, even with her intellectual shortcomings, is the hottest of hot. The wallet chain and waxed chest accent by red bead necklace sealed it for me. The clubbaggery of Billy Dee Willhelm for the win (loss).
smackdouche: As proof that I am not homophobic, my vote goes to the greasepitz.
banana hammock: Toxic Terry & sweet Angelica FTW! He is just so sad Douchy, and she is so magically delicious.
Chris in ‘Baghdad: my decision goes to Champagne Katie (from the sounds of her I’d say the champagne you buy at Wal-Mart) and Billy Dee Willhelm. The oily appeal of Billy Dee, coupled with the semi-literate, prosecutorial minded Katie, brings all the shock and awe, one assumes, of one of Stackhouse’s who-bag jump-offs.
Blair: My God, the paradox of the hottie/douche is nowhere more apparent than with Angelica and Toxic Terry. I rage against the dawning Douchepocalypse that would allow that picture to happen.
All well argued, but lets turn it over to BustADouche for the final word:
Patty. Definitely smokin’ hott but there is an underlying wholesomeness there that takes the cake. Her douchebag has more than the minimum number of douche requirements to take the top prize. Here’s hoping to more pics of Patty in the future.
And the always esoteric Motorcycle Accessories has one more salient point to add:
No other entry makes me need to club child harp seals to death with the willed-into-corporeality that is my disgust at their pairing.
That comment was so good, M.A. I want to purchase the products in your linked name. For my motorcycle.
As to Patty, mmm, she is tasty indeed. And Smarm is classic pud. So chalk up The Smarm Candy and Patty for the Yearly, although Vegas odds aren’t giving him much of a shot there. Can his toxicity build over time? Will Patty ever make up with her besties, Charley and Boo? Inquiring minds want to know.
Where’s Waldouche?: Co-ed Lingerie Edition
Somewhere in this lineup of pillow fighting collegiate giggle hottie tasty leg snacks and nape of the neck suckle chew, I’ve carefully hidden not one, not two, but three Fratty Waldouche puddlers.
Look closely.
Can you find them?
HCwDB of the Month winner shortly. First I gotta scratch myself and enjoy a tasty HoHo.
