Breaking: Greasy Chefbag Guy Fieri Screams at his Hairdresser
Longtime HCwDB (without the HC) clown Guy Fieri got into a screaming hissy fit/fight with his personal hairdresser.
I guess the douchespikes didn’t turn out with proper spung.
Your Wednesday Bros and Hotts on a Boat
“Bro!! Pass the Bud Light Lime!!” sad the cat with a wicked grin.
And the Jester said “Hoo Hoo!” and the Queen said “Haa Haa!”
And everybody got syphilis.
— Excerpt from Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Doucheyland
After the Horrokiss
Greaser Matt and Hott Layla’s sister, Hott Tonya, pose for posterity’s sake.
And by posterity, I mean posterior.
And by posterior, I mean the Baby Tebus pooping on Gandhi.
Horrokiss
Show me one Halloween event remotely as scary, puke worthy or toxic crotch lice inducingly awful as Greaser Matt making out with Hott Layla, and I’ll buy you a gold plated raisin.
But only a 14 karat gold plated raisin. No 24 karats all up in this shiz.
On my way back to LA from Vegas.
The craps table is a mean and heartless she-bitch.
Vegas Is Filled with Douchefluff
Stop the presses. Wait, what? Who dat say what?
I’m in Vegas.
And everyone looks like these two.
Amish faux punk doucheclowns and stripper hotts who smell like glitter, cheap hand sanitizer, and wet tobacco.
‘Tis true. Your humb narrs has chosen to return to the land of douche mecca that I first came to, so long ago, with notebook (and camera) in hand in the dark days of 2006. Back when I first began to document the emerging hottie/douchey plague.
And now I return, seven years later, to see from whenst the scrotal/hott cohabit has mutated, grown, shrunk, or otherwise stank up the strip.
HC1 and I dropped off the poop machine with the grandma and hit the road.
Vegas, baby.
I’m talking Swingers Vegas.
Not Hard Rock Douche Mecca Vegas.
The battle continues. HC1 and I will be mocking.
From a safe distance, of course.
Instant Bro
In case you missed the link on Friday, here’s the latest in douche couture.
Your Saturday Migraine Crotch Punch
This pic of Joe The Inflascrote cuddling with Party Girl Thigh Fondle Kaylie is enough to make a tiger spew.
In a related story, “Tiger Spew” was also the working title for Ernest Hemingway’s “The Sun Also Rises.”
Friday Thoughts and Links
The Melon Checker knows what’s up.
And what’s up is that those melons ain’t gonna check themselves.
Certainly not with the FDA in upheaval after the shutdown.
Why, who knows what insidious boob flu might sneak through customs without the yeomanlike work of boobal inspections as performed by The Melon Checker?
So next time you see a Melon Checker, don’t be afraid!
Reach out! Come on! Melon Checkers are people too! Well, maybe not. But you get what I mean.
Here’s yer links:
Your HCwDB Buy Some Shit and Support the Site Link of the Week: What to get when Lumburgh steals your stapler.
This human being sucks. Truth. 100% truth.
Your humb narrs did an interview with the HCwDB supporters over on the Girls Gone Wild blog.
Larry King is an oldbag. But you knew that.
When the douches get lazy, then only lazy people will be douchebags. Or something.
If you haven’t seen The Room, Tommy Wiseau’s sublime 2003 piece of cinematic performance art, this book will help you understand the genius at work.
Noted Hollywood douchebag Russell Brand is a blathering idiot who spews word salad enough to fool the masses into thinking he’s some sort of Dionysian intellectual rebel. I have far more respect for Hollywood bimbos who understand the shallow depths of their own limitations. Know thyself, Russell. You ain’t an intellectua.
In Mexico, thug life echoes American douchebaggery. No surprise. It is a global plague, after all.
Hollywood’s secret sex parties. The only one I was invited to involved a lingerie clad Kathy Bates and a vat of Crisco in a bathroom at a motel off Sunset and Hyperion. Good times.
Okay. You been good. Here’s your pear:
No I don’t know what it means either.
Friday Haiku
The new sci-fi hit Star Trans, with Terry FlatChest And Gaylord McVest
Terry the Drag Queen
tries out his new character
he/she Shannon Tweed.
— Douche Wayne
Jeff Gordon’s little
Brother comes out of closet
Far enough for both.
— UFO Destroyers
Terry sees himself
As a Pirate! His first move’s
To score sunken chest
— Franklyn DealorNo Doucheifelt
The penis is tucked
Since the gyroscope was put
In “her” Monkey Hole.
— The Reverend Chad Kroeger
Spock will change mind on
wanting pon farr after he
sees these two morons.
— Dr. Bunsen HoneyDouche
In space nobody
Can hear you scream or runs out
Of hair gel or moussé
— DoucheyWallnuts
Pink is the new blond
In outer space
No one grows boobies
— Dr Magnifico
Her eyes say mystique
His say rather be working
men’s room glory hole
— Magnum Douche P.I.
Nepos.
Moulie The Trumpet Snags Groupie Party Rachel, Earns a Nottadouche
Moulie the Trumpet is clearly a performer, is coming off stage, and seems relatively reasonable despite the Elvis thing. So Moulie thus qualifies for the rockstar/performer leniency and earns a hearty nottadouche and goinpeace.
Performer leniency is a rare dispensation granted when peacocking attire is in service of stage or theatrical spectacle and therefore is not an organic byproduct of douchal scrotal tendencies.
So go in peace, Moulie The Trumpet. Enjoy the spoils of your musicianship, as Groupie Party Rachel appears to be Mupets-era Bernadette Peters hott.
