Sweet Home Alabagma
Where the guys are so poo…
EDIT: In the comments threads, bagnonymous traces the origins of this pic to the celebration of a traditional Doucheish holiday:
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These choads have emblazoned their chests with the Mark of the Douche in observance of the holy day, Assover.
Assover coincides with the anniversary of HCwDB, a day in which baghunters collectively wipe their asses on tattoo-graphic-printed tees, a form of ironically mocking the shit-stains who actually wear such shirts. Aware of this trend against their people, though, Douches worldwide began to emblazon their shirts with the Mark of the Bag–a shit-stain of sorts–as a mark to the ‘baghunters to skip their shirts. A sort of, “Yo, don’t shit-stain me, Bro!”, if you will.
This holy day is commonly celebrated by practicing traditions such as “Pass the STD”, a game in which dudes outnumber the whobags by 50%, and yet somehow everybody gets laid. Other games include “Don’t Peek into the Gloryhole”, which requires the use of protective eyewear (as seen in the photo), as well as “What’s in My Red Cup? F*ck It I’ll Drink it Anyway.”
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Joey Lipps
Joey Lipps knew the ragin’ frat kegger wouldn’t be complete without his pink balloons.
Tina may be, like, so wasted. But the bustier is 19th Century class, so don’t forget it. Tina was a big fan of Sense & Sensibility in 5th grade.
And a special shout-out to RareAss Yellow Cup, who hasn’t been spotted in months.
Guyliner Jack
Nothing says settling into mid 40s doughy middle age quite like the slit t-shirt and the guyliner.
Sorry Jack.
Jenny’s award winning curves are Paid-to-Pose only.
No, not even if you pull your patented flippy spin move. That worked so well back in college in ’87.
HCwDB Turns Four!!!
Happy birthday fellow hunters and huntresses, mockers and boobie hottie suckle thighs!
I was hoping to have your birthday gift ready (the new site), but alas, the going is slow when the tech team is drunk.
But soon. Soon, mocking mandanas and lusting for cleavite will go to the next level.
Or maybe it won’t.
Hell if I know anymore.
Either way, we’se four.
When Frat Parties Go Wrong
After the physics conferences are over, and their papers on Quantum Mechanics and the variations of string theory have been presented, Willy and Sharlene like to unwind.
In the boiler room of a Turkish waystation and part-time torture chamber.
Meanwhile, Joey and Pete celebrate their limited futures.
Willy Has a Thought
“If dark matter is made of neutrinos, then our universe’s entropic expansion may be accelerating faster than previously thought.
And my mandana, hat and glasses may look way stupid. but Sharlene digs it.”
Where's Sorority Girl?
Somewhere in this lineup of fresh squeezed, taint filtered juicedouche, I’ve carefully hidden one, maybe two, Sorority Girls.
Look closely.
Can you see their fathers weeping and rending their garments and cursing Ganesh?
Where’s Sorority Girl?
Somewhere in this lineup of fresh squeezed, taint filtered juicedouche, I’ve carefully hidden one, maybe two, Sorority Girls.
Look closely.
Can you see their fathers weeping and rending their garments and cursing Ganesh?
Frankie the Greasehead Gets His Gall Bladder Checked
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my many days traversing the globe as a spice runner, anthropologist and part-time pimp, it’s this:
Gall bladder tongue removal just isn’t sanitary.
No, not even in Tijuana.
No HCwDB of the Week This Week
Regular voting will resume next week.
Instead, I’m giving Antonio and Vanessa, a coupling of classic Jerz Guid, an honorary HCwDB of the Week.
Because bra popping out of low cut white tanktop is about as douchebaguette as it gets for Vanessa.
And Tony busts toxic eyebrow sculpt, Ed Hardy 10 Degree Hat Tilt, and the bizarre white belt substitute phallus trend that we’ve been tracking for a year now.
But props to the Snack Shack on the Long Island shore for maintaining such quality health standards on their floor.
