Friday Haiku
I blame his mom, yet
We are all complicit, no?
Web face indicts all.
Weather man in France
takes his job a little far
Forecast is douchebag
— plinky
The Doppler radar shows
a low-pressure zone where his
dignity should be.
— Mr. White
stare into my eyes
sleepy hypnosis takes you
to douche you succumb.
— Bleeth McGhee
Douche learned the hard way
huffing markers to get high
will make your head spin.
— Douche Unto Others
Tad and Trina
Tad knew that the only thing to complete his pink satin pimp wardrobe was his patented Spider Leg Hair Shaves.
For the forty-seventh time that night, Trina regretted her decision to take a semester off from Arizona State.
Ed Hardy Sucks German Alpaca Balls
Tuesday’s Ed Hardy post drew this email from Cologne, Germany:
—-
Dear DB1,
Not only does Ed Hardy suck royally from the nutsac of grazing Alpacas, its global expansion is eroding the highly prized and valued precision of excellence here in Cologne, Germany.
In fact, Mr. Hardy has decided to make Cologne ground zero for his first every ‘par-tay’ in the fatherland of blonde-haired blue-eyed boobie hottie suckle thigh where some ancestors have gone so far as to rage wars in their defense. I stood jaw agape in utter shock as I snapped this picture. I recognize it has no douchebag, no hot chick. But I find its dispension of information horrifying. Does he really need to Brand Clubs? Should we notify PETA? Doesn’t that violate ethics on multiple levels of Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus and Species? Does there really need to be live sax AND percussions? Does a dance-fashion-show demonstrate a new world order of decay? Why need this club be named ‘Diamonds’? The pounding questions perplex the strongest of wills.
Ironic?
Hardly, Mr. Hardy. We’re wise to your Machiavellian scheming.
Nero was famous for playing the fiddle as he watched Rome burn. Nero was the son of Claudia Agrippina a local area noble woman with ambition and a fecund propensity for all things blingy, whose marriage established Cologne as a Roman colony (Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium) – hence where the current namesake derives. Nero was remorseful for killing his mother, probably because he determined she had gone Bleethius Maximus Extremus and was beyond cleansing. So sadly we have a history, but I had held out hope.
Now, I just see fires on the horizon.
Burn, Cologne. Burn.
I’ll get my fiddle.
Respectfully,
Herr Professor Douchemann
—-
Ed Hardy is the latest battlefront in the War on Douche. Fight the good fight, Herr Professor. Like Thomas Mann and Marlene Dietrich before you, you must speak out and save the Boobie Suckle Thigh. From really stupid skull cartoons.
Brianna's ATM
Remember that nerd-sexy girl from Senior Year who always seemed to be slightly “above” the wanks who hovered awkwardly arounds her at lunch? Slightly removed. Detached from the white-noise of college sexual tension.
The girl who should’ve been wearing librarian glasses to fire up your fantasies, but never did. The one who when you walked by her, studying in the quad, she’d give you a smile that could melt Eskimo scrotum after seal hunt?
That’s Brianna.
She knows what’s up.
And what’s up is Pietro, the Italian exchange student from Florence, is paying.
Brianna’s ATM
Remember that nerd-sexy girl from Senior Year who always seemed to be slightly “above” the wanks who hovered awkwardly arounds her at lunch? Slightly removed. Detached from the white-noise of college sexual tension.
The girl who should’ve been wearing librarian glasses to fire up your fantasies, but never did. The one who when you walked by her, studying in the quad, she’d give you a smile that could melt Eskimo scrotum after seal hunt?
That’s Brianna.
She knows what’s up.
And what’s up is Pietro, the Italian exchange student from Florence, is paying.
Peach Point Forever
One of the first legendary doucherstars of HCwDB, Hall of Scrote member Peaches is still going strong in 2009.
With sloping, unibrow-esque forehead, and ubiquitous douche-point in presence of multiple chickas, Peaches, like the Gator before him, has the superstar consistency of a Tiger Woods or Lance Armstrong.
A pooey Lance Armstrong.
For Peaches will point-on forever.
Do not try to stop him.
Or you will get roughly poked.
Jed Loves the Doggie 'Baggin'
It’s one thing to doggie ‘bag your local hoochie hott during happy hour. I get that. I get the stars t-shirt and the faux hawk and the douche face. And by get, I mean mock.
But what’s with the ants forming the number “7” on the chin?
I haven’t seen insects this synchronized since the periodical cicada swarms of 2007.
Jed Loves the Doggie ‘Baggin’
It’s one thing to doggie ‘bag your local hoochie hott during happy hour. I get that. I get the stars t-shirt and the faux hawk and the douche face. And by get, I mean mock.
But what’s with the ants forming the number “7” on the chin?
I haven’t seen insects this synchronized since the periodical cicada swarms of 2007.
Licking the Crows
Curly could only chuckle to himself as Samantha got crushed between Z-Love and H-Bomb, the most happenin’ DJs on the Alberta wedding circuit.
Or, as Z-Love likes to put it, Lets get this party started, people! Come on out on the dance floor! Even you, Grandma Norma! Here’s “I Will Survive,” by Gloria Gaynor!
Z-Love is also available for Bar Mitzvahs, Anniversary Parties, Bachelor Parties, and, of course, the midnight to 8am shift at Denny’s.
'Bag / Not a 'Bag
PIC DELETED
With no hand gestures, no cheesy tatts, no annoying bling, and no douche-face, I’m inclined to give Overdeveloped Gentleman Who Could Snap My Spine Like a Pencil, a nottadouche pass and quickly move on.
Paola with the tiny boobs and archy back is all sorts of wrong-for-you Hott. You know she’s polluted by ‘bag virus, yet you’d still listen to her complain about how she needs a “sugar daddy” until her hair salon project gets funded, just for the chance she’ll make out with you for thirty seconds in one of the Cabanas.
But she won’t. Because her BFF just texted.
