Donkey Douche and Cultural Capital
There’s a certain giddyness I get when I get a new picture of legendary Hall of Scrote member Donkey Douche in my inbox.
Watching the Donkster’s primal ooze and garish style in the presence of sweet suckable boobie hottie powder thigh no longer infuriates. The Donkster simply illuminates.
For Donkey Douche and his Ukranian hottbag accessory are no longer simply a couple. Within our collective simulacrum, they are the douche-id of scrotal modernity. Watching his progressive devolution while his Ukranian Hott tries to keep up speaks to a much broader cultural journey.
As noted cultural theorist Pierre Bourdieu describes it, Donkey Douche has acquired symbolic capital through absorption of media sanctified signifiers within his habitus. Witness the Donkster’s recently added ginormous shoulder tribal tatt. His hairstyle change to vertical fauxhawk. These symbols communicate the Donk’s acquired cultural capital within the symbolic realm.
As such, the Donkster’s body no longer exists as physical presence. It becomes untethered. A douchal hyperlink, if you will.
Donkey Douche engages his own body as scrotal Rorsharch Test offered up for societal decoding. His primitive cluelessness and lack of awareness of his own agency become the blank canvas with which our culture inscribes its trendlines. The Donkster doesn’t choose douchosity. He is simply a blank receptacle for societal imposition. The Donk’s body, a nexus point of social reception.
Or, as famed philosopher Tawny Kitaen once said, “Unnnnmmgghhhhhhh.”
Exactly, Tawny Kitaen. Exactly.
'Bag / Not a 'Bag
Yes, Chester is the drunk annoying guy at the Rare-Ass Blue Cup kegger frat party. But is he true scrote?
There’s ‘bag hand gesture #68. And the skinny Elvis Costello tie + satin shirt combo, which isn’t douchey per se, but violates at least six aesthetic factors.
And of course there’s the fact he’s macking on blonde 1989 Paula Abdul. She has that sultry slight curl to her smile that says, I will stay up all night powdering your bottom with talcum powder, then spanking you with a wet tennis racket, only to get into grad school in the morning.
Or, to get totally obscure, she’s Bootsy From the 1985 Tom Hanks classic, Volunteers. Someone show me some love on this reference. Don’t leave me hangin’.
Caption This Pic
Some called them a trio of douche and Bleeth, but to their critics, Kendra, Suze and Trey had a simple five letter response: IAEWE.
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The Vegamite Sandwich
I love the passion for hottie/douchey hunting that comes from the site’s fans in Australia.
Our friends in Oz, in addition to producing lunchmeat legs like the actress hotts featured in 1992’s Flirting (introduced us to Thandie Newton, Nicole Kidman and Naomi Watts), share a keen passion for mocking all that is scrote.
Enjoy the two Aussie Birds, featured here. I can only imagine their twangy dialect as they order another local brew before going off on a drunken rant about how “Fosters tastes like piss,” then passing out in a puddle of their own vomit.
As to the douche? Nothing says “urban gangsta” like working at a fashion mall in Melbourne. Give it up, Russell.
Reader Mail: Carbaggery
Amber/Lotus writes in:
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Hey DB1, how ya doin’?
I’m a fairly new ‘bag hunter, having only been introduced to the site when Attack of the Show featured you a while back.
I’ve been working my way through the archives and have my copy of the book but I have a question for you that I haven’t seen covered yet: Does a guy’s car count towards his douchebaggery?
In my 8 months living here in Tuscon, I’ve never seen the guy who drives this truck but I just HAVE to assume that the owner is scrotetastic, right? Note the lack of door handles and the 1 inch of ground clearance (I’m assuming keyless entry and hydraulics or something but still, douchey).
No way does a hot chick or a soccer mom or a banker or a normal and completely dateable dude drive this vehicle. It has GOT to be someone with a mandana and chin pubes and probably 4 large gold chains (2 of which are probably Jesus bling). Probably a Virgin Mary tattoo, too. So what say you? Is a choad’s ride another indicator of his choadity?
Love, hugs and boobies,
Amber/Lotus
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Great question Amber, and yes. Yes it is.
Problem #1 in examining your situation: Tuscon. Escape. Fast. Come let the DB1 protect you from the douchal plague. By offering you cheap wine in a plastic red cup. And staring at your boobs while you’re watching T.V., and, when caught, pretend I was just looking for the remote.
The Porcupine and Michelle
While you’re mulling your vote in the Weekly, here’s The Porcupine and Michelle.
I’m pretty sure there’s a less well known children’s tale by Maurice Sendak that covers this pic. It involves teaching children an important lesson about sharing, humility, and hair gel. Where the Douchey Follicles Are.
But before you go knocking the girl as a nottahott, there’s a very good chance she’d clean up nicely. And besides, with the Porc’s blowout, there was no way I wasn’t running this pic.
HCwDB of the Week
Last week was so overwhelming in its hottie/douchey totality that I’m nearly at a loss as to what to select for the Weekly. Good thing I’m in NYC, prepping for a book signing (details changing, but will be announced in a day or two), and drinking heavily on Avenue B.
And yes, we all need to drink heavily after Douchebag Beach and hearing Cro ‘Bagnon speak on Saturday.
The Weekly after a Monthly is always doubly interesting because it features two weeks of pics to cull down. Indubitably, some faves will be left out. Either that, or I just like typing the word “indubitably.”
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: The Earwig
Because one can’t douche properly if not hydrated.
The Earwig brings us the rocker scrote in action. Everything that went wrong somewhere between the death of grunge and the rise of American Idol. Plus nasty-ass freedom trail.
The two delightful Karen-From-Staten-Island bridge and tunnel hotts remind us that the truly ascendant HCwDB pic must feature both hott and choad in unholy dialectic. This is one of the reasons the excoriating A.D: Artificial Douchetelligence missed a victory in the Monthly, and why The Earwig has a legit shot.
For rage inducing “real-douche” polarities, this pic has it all.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Smog Magogs
Originally appearing as a Friday Haiku, this pic has haunted me like a naked Kathy Bates in About Schmidt. These two punctured balloons have appeared on the site before here and here (props to Darksock for the finds).
Their greasy scrotosity is overwhelming. And she’ll get drunk and make out with six guys at the bar. And yes, I’m saying that like it’s a good thing. Even though it isn’t.
For their body of work, and by body of work I mean chest sag in the presence of hott perk, the Magogs deserve consideration not just for a Weekly, but possibly for the Hall of Scrote.
And she is an understated tasty dessert of trampy delights.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Mooby Dick
I don’t like this as much as you don’t like this. This pic is our penance. It is cruelty outside of mockable douchuousness, and for that, I apologize.
I wish this pic would just go away. It pains me somewhere deep in my cerebellum.
And yet we must witness. For we are the ‘bag hunters. We are the hott savers. And if ever there needed the collective fire hose of societal rejection, it is this picture.
Does that mean it’s worthy of winning a Weekly? I’m not sure.
Can we turn the other pec? Can we ignore the monstrosity of mooby fondling by a brunette scrunchy hott?
Did I just write a sentence that actually contained the sequential wording, “monstrosity of mooby fondling”? Take that, James Joyce.
I disqualified The Nipper on account of possible legit Maori origin (and skanky hott), And Oldbag was just too “Roger Ebert talks about Hermione in Harry Potter” creepy. Boa Arthur and the Errand Twins were also painful near misses. Finally, Fermented Mead, Glare of the Emo and Staten Island legend Tai Chia, the hardest to leave off of all.
What an incredible few weeks of hottie/scrotey commingling, a testament to the submissions I’ve been getting lately. But also a tough task to cull down to a final three. Nonetheless, my highly scientific methods have determined your finalists.
Vote, as always, in the comments thread.
Malignant Melanoma
Anyone can develop a malignant melanoma. However, some people are more at risk then others. Risk factors include –
* being a woman (twice as likely to develop malignant melanoma, compared to men)
* having fair skin with lots of freckles
* spending time sunbathing, especially in the tropics
* indoor workers with pale skin, who sit out in strong sunlight during the summer
* episodes of severe sunburn in the past
* having lots of moles on your skin
* other members of your family with skin cancer
* Being a huge mohawked uberdouche who dyes his chin-pubes blond
He Just Bangs Bitches and Makes Girls Say Hello to Their Majesty
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Profile: I’m the s@#t.
Girls… either take me out on a date and then get on your knees and say hello to your majesty or stop wastin my time.
I’m not a gentleman, and I’m not that kinda guy.
Status: is reminiscine about Aug 1 last year when the big bust happend that put his ass in jail…o well…back to the money.
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Yeah I know you’re sick of this guy, but he cracks me the hell up.
Phil is Still White
Phil, no matter how gangsta you try to look, no matter how gangsta you try to be, no matter how many tatts you get, no matter how many hand gestures you make and hats you tilt to 25 degrees, you will never, ever, not be the whitest guy I know.
Farrah has found the perfect place to store her driver’s license. And if I were that license, I would chew like a hungry marsupial jacked on no-doze.
