HCwDB of the Week: Fung
In spite of a healthy debate over proximity of hott within the hottie/douchey dialectic, it was an utter landslide.
The sheer overpowering stench of Fung carried a distant and ambiguous hott side to a slam dunk win and an early favorite for the next Monthly vote.
HRH King Friday XIII: FUNG. How can you not? He’s approaching the theoretical limits of douchebaggery.
Anonymous: Neither of the two can even touch Fung, he is the true T-1000 of douchebags. If anyone uses Fungs name in vain they will spontaneously combust.
Baby got ‘Bag: This isn’t even a contest. Fung wins hands down. That blonde in the background is just trying to even up the competition by looking normal and not particularly sexy, but she’s a healthy girl next-door type with a nice…well, I can’t really see much, but you get my point.
Willy: I vote F.U.N.G. F@#king Ugly Newjersey Guido. If a picture says a thousand words, the first 999 words for Fung are pejorative adjectives and the last word is douchebag.
Fish Slap: I looked at satan and I looked at Fung. They are one in the same. His eyes have burned my retinas. His fungi has made my skin melt. His orange glow has made me write bad checks. It is because of Fung that my credit is bad. God, please kill this man now. He is what is wrong with our country.
Desertdouche: Oy vey! This was a tough one. Even though Fung doesn’t have a hott in the foreground, I am giving him the win. Mencken and Old Chap I just want to laugh at. But Fung I want to inflict serious pain upon.
anonydouche: fung – so douchey he won’t even allow himself to be pictured with someone else
KierNotKier: I must vote for Fung. For Fung is all that is douchebag. If one was to lookup Douchebag on Google, Wikipedia or an old fashioned Encyclopedia Britannica you would discover two photos. One of an actual Masengill container and one of Fung. He is Dante’s 9th Circle of Doucheitude. He evokes douche in all the standard ways: Gotti Hair, trimmed eyebrows, tight Armani Exchange style shirt, bling, chinstrap beard, huge diamond earrings, posturing for the camera and last but not least a shade of orange that the people at Crayola have now upgraded their 64 crayon set to 65 by adding their latest color – Fung. .
Syradouche Orangeman: No question this week. Fung FTW! He fills me with rage, but it is a rage I have to hide as I believe him to actually be an android douche from a future that we will fail to prevent, despite the holy work of this website. Perhaps he has come back to our time to make sure the evil plan of the Master Douche goes through.
Well argued, people. But a significant and vocal minority voted for the balanced Hottie/Douchey toxicity of I Say, Old Chap. Billy Pilgrim makes the case:
Old Chap. I dock points from Fung because the hott is hidden behind him (is she really hott?), and is in fact so far from him that you could reasonably argue that they’re not together. And if the hot chick is not with the douchebag, the pic doesn’t cry out for Justice.
Old Chap, on the other hand, isn’t worthy to feel the breeze of librarian hott as she drives past in her sensible four-door.
I agree, B.P. That librarian hott was delectable and those sideburns were rot. Anonymous agrees, citing the mission statement of the site for avoiding Fung:
old chap…this is ‘hot chicks with douchebags’. if it was just ‘douchebags’, there would be an army of fungs in the weekly every single time.
Well, there are bends for certain uberdouche (like the Prompas and DJ Bello). So while points should be deducted for not invoking rage through hott mugging, Fung was still able to create douchitude by himself, while maintaining just enough cute young female to qualify. It’s like 16 pieces of flair. It’s the bare minimum. But it qualifies.
And Cameron notes the sadly neglected uberdouche move of Mencken:
Mencken for the win. Mainly because I’m impressed. Did he pick up the bottom of his shirt with his mouth? Did one of his ‘bagettes hand it to him to put in his mouth? Quite the quandry.
In a normal week, Mencken would dominate. But this is a Fungal landslide. The Everpresent Anonymous sums it up:
FUNG. He looks like how my mouth feels when I forget to brush my teeth in the morning.
Indeed he does.
Book Fung and his backseat ambiguous cutie a ticket in the Monthly.
Douche Zak
You almost earned a nottadouche wee man, but then you had to go and get all giant Jesus Bling with Earring Combo on me.
Blonde is statuesque Dutch Windmill perfection. She makes butter while raising nine children and dancing in klogs around a Maypole. I would Rotter her dams, and then Amster her Fluffenwagen, while Van Gogh and Rembrandt kicked back with a Heineken.
The Sad Clown
Who weeps for the sad clown?
After the cotton candy is spun. After the Big Top has been packed up and sent off to the next location.
Who weeps for the sad clown?
Who mugs a Blonde Bottleneck Hott with soft, fluffy Cleavite and Listerine Whitened teeth.
Who weeps for the sad clown?
Not I, said the cat. Not I.
But I would kick him in the nads.
Crip or Blood?
I need an expert on urban gang signs to translate this for me.
Judging by the hand gestures, is this aspiring gang member in the presence of a lovely and extremely healthy hott:
A) A Crip
B) A Blood
C) A Latin King
D) A Future Sizzler’s Washroom Attendant
Ask DB1: Jet Poo
—-
DB1, I have a serious problem.
I work at the airport as one of those shmucks that load luggage onto the planes. Yesterday while loading a plane (bound for Newark, no less) as I was stacking one of the bags, there was a faint pop and then the distinct scent of some sort of Axe-type body spray or deodorant. I don’t know if you’ve ever had the pleasure of being in the cargo bin of a DC-9, but there’s not a whole lot of space. I was essentially trapped in this douche fog for a good 20 minutes.
Now here is the problem. When I got out of the bin, I noticed my hat was tilted a bit sideways.
No big deal, I thought, it just got pushed around while I was stacking that luggage. But to make matters worse, somehow the top 2 buttons of uniform shirt came undone as well. Then on the drive home, I noticed there was a Kid Rock song on the radio and I didn’t automatically change it like I normally do. I’m freaking out a bit.
I mean what’s next, do I wake up with my hair inexplicably gelled and my skin orange? Or do you think this will clear up on its own as long as I don’t expose myself to anymore masculine deodorant spray?
Help me DB1, you’re my only hope.
– Douche Springsteen
—-
Yikes, a Stage-2 Grieco Virus Infection, clearly contacted by close proximity to Vinny’s luggage.
Shower at once, D.S. Then put on some classical music and relax. Then get me a set of thirty weight ball bearings, some three-in-one oil and some gauze pads. And I’m gonna need ten quarts of anti-freeze, preferably, Prestone. No, make that Quaker State.
Caption This Pic
There may not be much to do in rural Nevada, off the interstate and six miles up from the I-Hop on the outskirts of Reno, but that didn’t stop Tony, Carol and Mike from meddling in an old Indian burial ground.
Pooper McGee
Nobody is more popular with people at a party than Pooper. Pooper’s people love to pop poppers while playing with palindromes. Like Pippip. And Poopoop.
Yup, I’m jittery and not making sense again.
I blame the Trader Joes Blood Orange Soda. It’s just so sweet and tangy.
Like Patsy Kensit Hott’s large, yet succulent, racks of lamb leg.
Denny
When not partying up in his Logan’s Run Ice Palace, Denny takes time out to read philosophy and contemplate the mysteries of the human existence within a Hegelian framework.
Carlos Finds Love
After Sublime broke up in 1996, Carlos found love, in his own unique way. So who are you to judge his shiny belt and matching thigh tatts?
Maria Conchita Aboobso on the right causes small marsupials to collapse into paralytic shock and then tremble weakly crying for the marsupial mother they never had.
Stupid small marsupials. That’s what you get for being so small and furry.
HCwDB of the Week
You ever play butt bongos with a rusty Pringles can and a spork? Yeah. Me neither. Here’s your finalists:
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: I Say, Old Chap
Oi there, guvnah! Yer yarbles got their own bloody coat of arms on ’em, eh?
Okay, I can’t talk in Cockney Britspeak anymore.
She is delightful librarian smiles, albeit with inexplicable tweety bird matching hip tatts. I would trek across the Adirondaks wearing only a sheepskin legwarmer just for the chance to mulch the birch bark off the tree that once provided shade to her great aunt, Bertha.
He has Wolverine Douchitude in spades.
Although no tatts. I guess 1890s Britain wasn’t into the tatt thing.
But for Wellsian time traveling creepiness and douchey Vegas hair, Old Chap had to get a shot in the Finals.
And by shot, I mean look kids! Big Ben! The Parliament!
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Mencken
At first, you’re probably stunned into submission by the high Bleeth factor on both girls. You think, “This pic is all douche.”
True.
While the hotts are both so ‘baguetted out as to be unredeemable, their inner hott does remain.
Like a footprint.
Or an acoustic echo.
So while they still render the pic the toxicity of true hottie/douchey wrongness, there is the glimmer of a better world lost to the dark plague of dark douchebaggery.
Plus, the lifting of shirt with mouth to reveal ab may be one of the most innovative douche maneuvers since The Peach Point.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Fung
What more can be said about this strange, eerie, almost otherworldly pic of all that is wrong and greasy in our culture?
The uberdouche is overwhelming. This pic will be used someday to teach 3rd graders in a “Scared Straight” anti-douche seminar.
And all the while, that little Anna Pacquin Rogue Cutie sitting nonchalantly in the background.
It’s sort of like smoking a cig and checking your cell phone while standing next to Chernobyl.
This pic has to be the favorite, but does it have enough to pull off the victory?
And by pull off, I mean chin fung.
(Dis)honorable mention to the uberdouche lineup in A.S.O.W., who simply lacked the hott to make finalist status, the perfection and poo of The Ass and I, The Brothabags and OC Hotts of Summoning Cthuthlu and the perfect boobies of The Four Horsemen of the Douchepocalypse.
Damn fine week of submissions, props again to all ‘bag hunters who sent in pics. But three may enter, and only one may win. Which one? That’s up to you.
Cast your vote, as ever, in the comments thread.
