The Hebro Voted
Las Vegas Talmudic scholar in the Moses Mammsonides tradition, The Hebro, wanted to perform a mitzvah with his feral yet alluringly exotic hot chick, Emma Goldmounds, by voting in the HCwDB of the Week.
Have you voted yet?
EDIT: These may be porn stars, which raises a good question we have yet to discuss here at HCwDB. Do porn stars qualify for Performative Rockstar Leniency Rule (as in, their career requires douchey behavior), or do we evaluate their choady ways on merit?
HCwDB of the Week
This week’s a doozy serving of cross-cutting greasery and curve boobery. Your narrator’s hopped up on sugar snacks and quality Kelloggs sugar cereal. So get our votin’ on. Bring it:
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Four Prong And the K Sisters (Kimmy and Kassandra)
Douchebags who look like Lesbians isn’t just a future blog I need to create. It’s also the spike-douche we call “Four Prong.”
Who has Five Prongs.
But, just like a propaganda controlled Winston Smith in Orwell’s 1984, you only see four. Because Big Bro’ is Fist Pumping.
And lets not forget the second culture crapping atrocity, Four Prong Plays Pool with Sophie.
When the K Sisters giggle, you just know their boobies shimmy like aortic jello. And for that, we golf clap their ability to avoid eating carbs, and gnaw on their toesies.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Unfinished Tatt Guy and Sandy
Unfinished Tatt Guy is clearly a.
Anyone who walks around with the smug half-tatt and Miller Lite argues for.
Because UTG can’t finish any.
UTG’s favorite expression in French is “comme ce comme ca.”
UTG drives a semi-trailer.
UTG’s favorite punctuation mark is a “;”
As to the Hott side of the dialectic, Sandy brings A-Game Abs (AGA). I would lickle. Then suckle. Then fondkle. Then wail in primal agony for an imperfect universe that suggests godless crisis.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Frong and Latisha
From Prong to Frong.
Frong almost didn’t make the cut. Aging rocker drift-choad tends not to rankle the way sneery young bucks do. Not to mention it’s hard to tell if Latisha really is bringing the A-List Hott, or just a fantastic set of mammsicles.
Come to think of it, a fantastic set of mammsicles goes a long way.
Frong is all that is over-hairsprayed about sad former bassists in local bar Floyd tribute bands, like “Comfortably Pink.”
Combined, they form a toxic stench that is well worthy of the Weekly. SO lets add these two to the competition and see what floats.
I eliminated Gary Glitter for potential gaybaggery, Veg Armstrong for Vegas Skankhottery, Marmadouche for not quite enough hott chickery, and Joey Makes the Puke Face for not enough douchery (but a tremendous swim team hott).
I’m also seriously considering boxing a penguin just to distract Amanda long enough to steal her anklet.
But these are your finalists, and only one may earn the next slot in the Monthly in two weeks. Which’ll it be?
Remember, voting for an HCwDB pic requires you to consider, contrast, innovation, spectacle, and sexy/crappy vortex of contradiction that gives voice to the projection of Freud’s Primal Scene onto the realm of the comedic erotic.
Vote, as always, in the comments thread.
The Fifth Circle of Hell: Miami Style
Where overpriced t-shirts go to die.
Friday Thoughts and Links
I contemplate the Chinese letter ab tatt on this friday, and wonder whether the giggle hotties really know that it stands for “Beef with Broccoli.” Which, of course, is what Vinny named his weenus.
Yeah, I just used the word “weenus” in a post. Because “Cockmonstrous” is currently being taken over at Perez Hilton. And we blogs gotta ration the terms.
Ahhh… Friday.
Season #3 of my show is official, and my new book proposal is about to go out. Times are good for the age of douche mocking.
However, your humble narrator has had an especially poor diet this week consisting of cookies, alcohol, Hot Pockets, alcohol, tasty Hostess Sno-balls, alcohol, and, for nutrition reasons, chicken pot pies. Health food is for suckas.
Here’s your links:
First up: The douchiest shirt in the world. Price: $1098.00.
The Jizz Singer. Still out there. Still taking iPhone bathroom self portraits.
And don’t forget to follow The Jizz Singer on Twitter for highly stimulating conversation. Doug, he so fresh.
Narcissistic preening suckwad, the uberdouchey John Mayer, is still proving he’s a douchestain.
File under “Captain Obvious:” The Jersey Shore is a Herpes Nest. And to think, I gave the world “Snooki.” I may never work off that karmic debt.
David Mamet’s Lost Masterpieces of Pornography is strange, amusing and bizarre in all the right ways. It almost makes Funny or Die seem worthwhile. Almost.
Et tu, People of Walmart? Not even a link to me for borrowing the title? The internet is a silly place.
Ben Roethlisberger overtakes Jeff Reed as biggest douchebag in the NFL.
Speaking of Jizz Singers, there are many things one should witness in a life well lived. At the top of the list: Neil Diamond in blackface.
As to Laurence Olivier, I refuse to consider anyone in the conversation for greatest actor of all time who puts out performances as shite as this. Tom Cruise as Les Grossman performed in less offensive Jew-face. And DeNiro never needs to apologize for Rocky & Bullwinkle again.
Okay. You’re not here on this Friday afternoon for the DeNiro clip. You’re hear for your reward after another week of quality ‘bag mocking and hott lusting.
And here it is, in honor of the World Cup:
Or, as the Europeans call it… Footpear.
And for those who don’t like Soccer or care about the World Cup, head on over to the beach for…
Never say I did nuthin’ for ya. Now go out there, and if you’re a ‘bag hunter, save a hottie. If you’re a huntress, mock a douche when he hits on you.
For it is Friday. And the weekend is upon.
Reader Mail: The Situation
—–
DB1,
Attached find a pic of “The Situation” from Jersey Shore.
While reading an otherwise enlightening news story, this ass hat with his Hollywood (married?) hott appeared out of nowhere as an advert for the Washington Post. The news has been good from the front, but relying on this idiot to sell papers is enough to make a man start pounding malt liquor at 10 am.
And as much as the situation makes me want to slip into a fortified alcohol funk, I just can’t do it. For the Germans shall surely come storming and the Republic must survive. So DB1, perhaps you’ll post this pic and remind us who the real enemy is while we wait for some Friday pear and I’ll keep the Maginot Line fuccen strong and post some snipers on high alert for any roving Eurobag.
Field Marshal Phillipe Petaint
—-
Good catch, FMPP. The Jersey Shore douchebags have reached a higher level of awareness than any of our HCwDB legends of scrote, but I would remind all that mocking douchebags on the other MTV show (the show that came first) is far more rewarding.
And by rewarding, I mean helps the DB1 pay for extra bottles of Mogen David quality fortified wine.
A Greasy Pork Sandwich Served in a Dirty Ashtray
Except for Monique on the far right. Who wins the ribbon for happy pants. I would slap a sloth just for the chance to salivate on her pork chops.
Friday Haiku
Brothabag Damon knows
How to score with drunk bridesmaids,
Perfume the chin fung.
laughs at this guy, says “No game.”
Chin pubage lacking.
— Wheezer
Lamisha Johnson
Just got off her welder’s shift
I’d flip the bird, too.
— Franklyn DealorNo Doucheifelt
Bespeckled genius
Age IQ or douche boy friends
Princess chokes her chicken
— Claude Douchenburg
dovetail-joint chin pubes,
attract royal admirer,
and “sausage fingers”.
— Colossus of Choads
Bling Crosby knows that
In order to claim boobies
Must first ditch fat wife
— saulgoode42
In Utah, Damon
can take advantage of lax
societal rules.
— Dr. Bunsen Honeydouche
Jiffy Lube is closed,
Brothabag Damon parties.
Spends seven month’s pay.
— Amerigo Vesdouchey
Marmadouche
Remember ladies, always spay or neuter your ‘bags.
Okay, this wasn’t the cleverest of writing on this late Thursday afternoon, but cut me some slack. His facial chin looks dog-like. And besides, I just ate half a box of Joe-Joes.
Gary Glitter
That reminds me, did I remember to feed the alpacas this morning?
Yup. No idea what I’m saying.
Your humble narrator is just back from Trader Joes, with a hearty supply of low priced cookies, various chocolates, microwavable burritos, and Blood Orange Soda in the fridge, so the sugar high is toxic and impending.
I lie on my stained rug floor, scratch myself in inappropriate places, and consider a world where people spackle glitter on each other.
But a tasty Trader Joe’s oatmeal raisin reassures.
