HCwDB of the Week
Your humble narrator is completing a relaxing weekend in S.F. as we gear up for the premiere of Season #2 of Is She Really Going Out With Him? today (and every weekday) at 6pm on MTV.
The tiny, bouncy, curvy S.F. hotties are pure champagne supernova. And for that, we celebrate with cilantro.
But I am not here just to pimp my show and praise the S.F. hotts. I am here to give you your weekly finalists. Because that’s what I do. Here they is:
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: David Crapperfield and Rachel
Absurdist 19th Century dress-up would normally be too costume-y to fall into a true douche category.
But D.C.’s guyliner, Mr. T bling and ridic tatts are classic schlord. So he makes the cut.
And Rachel is hot, naughty, delights in pillow spankings, and hates her parents for never acknowledging her early interest in dance.
Thus, a Weekly is born.
And by born, I mean leather wrist-sleeves and an ab tumor so potent it just ate Cincinnati.
Also, Rache’s shoulder is gnaw.
Not just any gnaw.
Uber-gnaw.
I would gnaw.
Mole.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Tony Crapachino and Elle, Sue and Jen
From the Friday Haiku comes this pic of three squeaky clean tasty All-American hott burgers and one greasy side order of fries.
‘Bout time we got a little “Wild n’ Crazy Guy” retro toolery all up in this place.
The ladies are classic real-world hottness.
The kind you stutter and stammer over, then make out in the car. Then praise Vishnu and sacrifice a goat to Ganesh just for the pleasure of fondling her outer thighs.
Tony Crapachino tapdances on twaddle.
And you can quote me on that.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Marco Chinholio and Charo, aka Fake Doogie Poo
A bit overlooked when it first ran, Marco Chinholio is all that is creep-taint about global toad.
Charo is all that is curvy smirking smugness that you’d put up with in the vain hope of a brief yet primal fully-clothed hump by the bathrooms at 2:17 am.
Truthfully, M.C wouldn’t have had a shot except that I’m convinced that if you stare at that chin fung long enough, you’ll see the face of Gary Busey.
And who am I to mess with the face of Gary Busey?
Add in the cartoon penguin dog-tag, and it’s Weekly worthy indeed. (Dis)honorable mention to Billy Barue Bores Bethany, Chia Guido (with uber-hott blonde), the whiny takedownery of Monchichi and the roided up pecs of Arm Phalli.
But only three may enter. And only one toxic coupling may rise to the top (bottom).
Which of the three? Vote, as always, in the comments thread.
Douchiano L'Italiano
Mario plays with his dough. And the Axe plague ruins another country.
Douchiano L’Italiano
Mario plays with his dough. And the Axe plague ruins another country.
Your Saturday Boobstructional
Step 1. Touch the boobs.
Step 2. Sniff the boobs.
Step 3. Profit.
Friday Thoughts and Links
Doggie ‘baggin and pud whackin’.
But what’s really important, camera guy, is that local news report. Frame it up.
It’s Friday, and your humble narrator is in San Francisco. And there is one, and only one movie, that sums up this city in the collective unconscious.
The hipsterbags are uber-scruff. But the S.F. hotties are tiny, bubbly and all sorts of sexy.
Here’s your links:
With actor Rip Torn in the news lately for old-age drunkeness, this unedited clip of his early 1970s drug fueled “improv,” in which he hits author Norman Mailer in the head with a hammer, may be his finest moment. Mailer deserved to be hit in the head with a hammer just for writing “The Gospel According to the Son.”
Subway street graffiti for the win.
For the critical theorists among us, Hot Chicks with Slavoj Žižekbags‘.
The greatest single line of dialogue in cinema history.
The New York Times video blog confuses the word “douche” with “peacock.”
The lovely Yasmine Bleeth, she of the archetypal warning to all hot chicks who date douchebags (Richard Grieco), is back and lookin’ pretty good. Perhaps years of rehab from Grieco Virus infection have at least partially un-Bleethed our titular, and I do mean titular, Bleeth.
Yeah, I just made a titular pun.
I don’t quite understand this, but HCwDB inspired some sort of old person sketch.
The greatest action sequence of all time. Avatar can suck on this.
Okay, because I like you, and for all your work on HCwDB this week… you’ve earned it:
Go forth. Go forth and drink. And think. And listen to Englebert Humperdink.
Monchichi the Club Monkey Demands I Delete This Phote
With the eloquence and grammatical skills of a young Bertrand Russell, Tuesday’s Monchichi writes in with a pic takedown “request:”
—-
Subject: delete this pic from youR site or i will contact my lawyer for further legal
To: douchebag1
DELETE THIS PHOTE FROM YOUR SITE OR MY LAWYER WILL BE CONTACTING YOU FOR FURTHER LEGAL PROCESS FOR PRIVACY LAWS AND UN-AUTHORIZED PHOTOS ! ASAP
—–
And then, shortly thereafter:
—–
Subject: remove pic of legal action will be taken !
To: douchebag1
im giving you one last chance to take down this picture and delete any other picture i’am or legal action will be taken upon you and your site for privacy laws try if you dont belive me !!
——
Oh, I belive.
However, since the Club Hotts are adorably cute, and these emails are particularly annoying, I’ll simply fix the pic, rather than remove it entirely.
Ask DB1: Baby 'Bags
—-
Hey DB1
I was recently at a friends baby shower and she received an Ed Hardy tattooed onesie with little striped pants (for the baby, not for her). The Ed Hardy logo was stamped on the back of the onesie vertically, exactly where poo would go if the baby happened to overflow the diaper (how appropriate).
It was given to her by a hot chick, but as this was a baby shower and no men attended, I could not see if she had a douchebag boyfriend.
I have a few questions – I was not aware that enough hott/douchebag pairings resulted in offspring that would require Ed Hardy infant clothing (I’m still wondering why it exists in the first place) and is douchebaggery a learned or innate behavior? Are certain traits of douchebag/hott parents genetically passed down to their children, dooming them to eternal baggitude?
Thanks!
-Gregoria Mendelbag
—-
Douchebaggery is learned. It is not innate nor genetic, despite the best efforts of the Jerz Guidos to convince us otherwise.
Cultural and parental anxieties of social acceptance are placed upon the young, who intuit from an early age that they must transform their bodies into spectacle to compete with the ever-increasing schizophrenia of our fragmented media universe. The market system’s modus of consumption in the digital age informs the corporeal transformation of the individual.
Beware hot chicks bearing douche-gifts, Gregoria. For in the Book of Vinny it foretells yet another sign of impending scrotocalypse.
Ask DB1: Baby ‘Bags
—-
Hey DB1
I was recently at a friends baby shower and she received an Ed Hardy tattooed onesie with little striped pants (for the baby, not for her). The Ed Hardy logo was stamped on the back of the onesie vertically, exactly where poo would go if the baby happened to overflow the diaper (how appropriate).
It was given to her by a hot chick, but as this was a baby shower and no men attended, I could not see if she had a douchebag boyfriend.
I have a few questions – I was not aware that enough hott/douchebag pairings resulted in offspring that would require Ed Hardy infant clothing (I’m still wondering why it exists in the first place) and is douchebaggery a learned or innate behavior? Are certain traits of douchebag/hott parents genetically passed down to their children, dooming them to eternal baggitude?
Thanks!
-Gregoria Mendelbag
—-
Douchebaggery is learned. It is not innate nor genetic, despite the best efforts of the Jerz Guidos to convince us otherwise.
Cultural and parental anxieties of social acceptance are placed upon the young, who intuit from an early age that they must transform their bodies into spectacle to compete with the ever-increasing schizophrenia of our fragmented media universe. The market system’s modus of consumption in the digital age informs the corporeal transformation of the individual.
Beware hot chicks bearing douche-gifts, Gregoria. For in the Book of Vinny it foretells yet another sign of impending scrotocalypse.
