Wolverine or Jerzey?
Time to play another round of Wolverine or Jerzey?
Is the creepy douche pictured in the front of a gaggle of girls next door:
A. Wolverine
B. From Jerzey
Answer now.
The Halo Angel
He’s a stage-1 scrote, with hat tilt and kissy lips. Mildly annoying.
But she is an angel of geothermal delight and esoteric inspiration. Within that smiling face and bright shining eyes lies hope for a better tomorrow. A glorious vision of a world of elevated thought, spiritual enlightenment, and playing Halo 3 using her boobies as the controller.
'Bag / Not a 'Bag
Here’s a perfect example of how it is The ‘Bag Within, not physical choice, that is the true mark of scrotewankery.
This guy has all the adouchrements for choad status. The hat tilt. The A/X belt. The clashing brand names of cultural validation. The Jesus Bling dog tag.
But something tells me he’s just going along with the douchal crowd. Like a gecko, he blends into his environment, but in actuality is harmless.
However, refracted douchology is still douche. So what say you?
‘Bag? Or nottabag?
The hotts are trampy cute. Tasty looking, but all sorts of scary unhealthy wrong. Like Twinkies. Or a Karadashian.
Scroteboy Slim
Headphone. Tattoo.
Mandana + Trucker Hat set at 10 degree tilt.
Shaved chest.
Headphone. Tattoo.
And a brunette vixen with juicy lips, a poetic Victorian face, and melons of glorious heavenly boobbounceage, whom I would cover with melted Chocolate Chunk from 31 Flavors and top with a maraschino, a sprig of parsley and a digeridoo playing Maori named Fred.
This toxic combo of hottness and DJ Scrote is enough to send a ‘bag hunter off to cower weakly in monastic silence, hidden in a cave somewhere in the rural Subcontinent.
But I will not cower. For this is our mission statement. To mock.
The Flaxen Temptress and the Hair Clown
Soft flaxen haired blonde temptress is a racoon eyed pokey little puppy of delight.
Hair Clown is only a stage-2 ‘bag. Sure he’s got the chin pubes neatly trimmed, the stupid ear bling and the spikey hair that looks like the grass in a Winslow Homer painting. But he hasn’t made the leap to the upper echelon of uberchoadwankery.
Which isn’t to say he won’t. Only that he hasn’t yet. He’s still developing.
Long Scrote The King
Darren writes in:
—-
DB1-
So I get a friend request on facebook from this girl that I supposedly went to hs with, but i don’t recognize her at all.
So i’m going through her pictures, and realize that its because she looks NOTHING like she did in HS. first off, the nose job, second, she’s tanner, and 3rdly, she obviously stole the flotation devices from her last overseas flight, reserved for a plane crash somewhere over the pacific, because they are quite the new additions.
Anyway, hope to see it on your site. I’m a big fan and an avid subscriber to your posts. How honored would I be to see my submission posted on your site.
— darren
—-
That’s none other than “Hall of Scrote” member King Douchuous the IV, “The Hardest Working Man in Choad Business.” Nice to see King D hangin’ with the strippers.
Starship Douchers
This pic doesn’t even feel like it took place on planet Earth.
It’s like some horrible vision from an alternate universe. Some bizarro Heinlein short story about time folding in upon itself only to produce a meta-paradox of uberscrotewankery.
A young scientist who went back in time, stepped on a butterfly, and now all the men are orange lizardy douchebags, and the girls are Russian spies named “Natasha.”
The story ends with our time-traveling adventurer protagonist distraught, realizing the world he’d known is gone forever. All because of one butterfly and the paradox of time travel.
And now he must tan.
Hard Core Harry
Timmy's Skullz
Because when mom and dad are off at the work retreat in upstate Connecticut, nothing says “New Haven Punk” like the skullz shirt, Timmy.
HCwDB of the Week: Crapser The Douchey Ghost
This was a two couple race between the pale Crapser and Mamacita Hott, and the greased up Squidward and the surgically endowed Janice.
In a way, it was classic beachchoad versus the unhealthy rocker scrote.
Two disparate branches of the douchological tree going for the same prize. And by prize, I mean the lip herp. Bill Doucheterive explains why Crapser and Mamacita rise up as a fully superior Hottie/Douchey contradiction:
Crapser. Bigger douche to hott ratio. I would learn how to play the spanish guitar if only to serenade this lovely mamacita, then be told I called the wrong number accidentally and called a Mr. Edward Lonsberry of Bear, DE. and that I would incure several long distance charges.
I’m glad you’re appreciating the mamacita hottness, B.D., as I feel she’s been sadly overlooked, given the monstrosity she’s cuddling. Nick agrees:
Crapser – and it’s not close. That guy makes me happy to be sitting at home playing Wii Baseball on a Saturday night – because I won’t see him out somewhere.
Interesting use of the Wii functionality there Nick. crucial head agrees:
Crapser FTW. Carmelita my mocha love is the sort of lass that reduces normally well spoken gentlemen into an expletive laden stream of adjectives. He curdles blood at the precise moment one’s retinas begin relaying the patterns of light making up this image to the visual cortex.
Strong arguments all around. And apparently it was a Wii weekend for the readers of HCwDB, as El Duderino disagrees, casting in for Squidward and Janice’s two friends:
He is Captain Nemo’s worst nightmare. A mobile slip ‘n’ slide of terror that can only end in him jumping on a plastic lounge chair and breaking his arm…then try to get up and make it look like he meant to do that.
She is the definition of side boob. As much as she’s lying to us all with her surgically enhanced throw pillows, I’d still put my Wii Boxing training to good use and give her the ole ‘left/right’ followed by the ole in and out.
I see what you did there, E.D., jumping from Wii to Clockwork references. Planktony agrees, mesmerized by the large mounds of Janice in the presence of such a grease oven:
Squidward. While there’s ample douchiness in all three candidates, Squid’s hott is by far the most honeysucklethigh. And I can’t even see her thighs.
Akimbo or not, the giant orbs of delight are mezmerizing. I’d bus it to Bayonne wrapped in red jellyfish tentacles and spend all day drinking warm budlight on a cheezy boat tied up to three cheezier boats all blaring different house music if Nunzio told me she was so into tentacles that she wouldn’t mind the smell.
However, I thought Velcro Flabulous, and especially his Nordic Delight, deserved more attention, especially with Donkey Douche’s approving presence, but they fell by the wayside. Hawthorne casts a dissenting vote:
Velcro Fabulous must win.
For a perfect storm exists, not only the utter douchery of wearing kids shoes to the pool, but the delightful innocence of the viking temptress, combined with the implicit approval from a HoF ‘bag. A home run….Nay a grand slam of douchbaggery
It is rare indeed that a douche appears on this site who possesses that unique combination of scrotery and a comically surreal appearence that causes me to laugh out loud.
Crapser the Douchey Ghost had me laughing out loud for a solid minute; a feat surpassed only by the legendary Millennium Bag.
Crapser FTW
And LL E-Dogg takes it home:
I think, for me, it all goes back to the anarchic-douche. Trying to go against the system, and then trying to work it into your favor in order to score Carmelita Hott is the ultimate in hypocrisy. You can’t use the system to your advantage in this way, and still listen to Rage Against the Machine. I vote for Crapser!
Well argued LLED. Book Crapser a ghostly ticket in the monthly.
But fret not Squidward fans. Methinks Janice’s sideboob will be up for a Douchie Award at the Douchies in December.
