The Double Vulcan
This may be the first time ‘Bag Hand Gesture and Nerd Hand Gesture have merged.
Here we see Braden’s “off-the-hook” pool party at his house while his parents were off recuperating at The Betty Ford Center’s Dry Wasp House for broken down Brahmins.
Braden greased up, busted the bling, and talked two exchange students into stripping down.
But the “Double Vulcan,” Braden? Really?
How do we rectify the Douchal and Nerdal in one singular event? Could Braden be a secret Comicon Attendee?
HCwDB: The Book
Brian writes in:
Hey DB1 —
– Brian
—-
Thanks Brian, but, and I hate to say it, your hot chick looks like a man.
But now is a good time to note that the Hot Chicks with Douchebags Book makes a great gift for weddings, Bar Mitzvahs, funerals, Valentines gifts, birthdays, divorces, circumcisions, ritual brandings and bukakes.
If you haven’t bought it yet, and I’m looking at you, Dude-in-a-Cubicle-in-Atlanta, now is the time.
Fermented Mead
13th Century Zoroastrians living in the Rhineland believed that inducing hallucinations of hottie/douchey couplings by drinking fermented mead and licking a tree frog would lead towards enlightenment.
That is, until Priest Vinny set the congregation straight. Legend has it, he screamed, “Facial Pubes are Douchey!” before collapsing from a seizure, shouting incoprehensibly in tongues, and eventually dying from consumption in a nearby sanitarium in Brottenberg.
Yup, I’m making no sense.
That’s what happens when you travel and stare at a hott mugging at the same time.
Farmboy Mike
I get that Farmboy Mike is excited to be away at college for the first time and thinks a bandana around the neck will make him look more “gangsta” for the ladies.
I even get that Farmboy Mike wants to display a giant Cross like Emperor Constantine right before massacring a bunch of Franks in Gaul in 306 A.D.
But what’s with the giant ball of suspended hay?
Stare at it long enough and the metal begins to form a face. An evil cat face. Now I’m scared.
Hold me, Kimmy and Shelly. Put down the Red Bulls and hold me tight.
And by hold me, I mean let me lick your Freshman Econ 101 textbooks for fingerprint residue.
On the Choad
The San Francisco reading/signing was great, thanks to all who showed up, mocked some ‘bags, and enjoyed a tasty HoHo.
The “On the Choad” pic featured here wasn’t taken at the signing, but felt apropos anyway.
I love this city, in spite of the occasional hippiebag, beatnikbag and, of course, the residue of the dot-com trustafarians from 2000.
Your humble narrator is off to NYC in a few days, as the book continues to spread our gospel through the lands of Grieco and Bleeth.
Speaking of HoHos and Night Train, reader Joey Buttadoucheo snapped this pic of the signing table. And proving that great minds think alike, here’s a pic from the L.A. Signing that a reader named “Boz” snapped. Love it, nice work Boz. Now shave that mullet and get back on the football field.
HCwDB of the Month
Here it is, fellow ‘bag hunters. Live from San Francisco. The moment when the four couplings of grease and boobie come together to Bodyspray off for title of HCwDB of the Month and a slot in the Yearly at the 2008 Douchies in December.
Which of these four couplings most personifies all that is wrong in a culture of spectacle gone scrote?
That, fellow ‘bag hunters, is up to your vote. Here are your four finalists:
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #1: Predatorbag
Because I never get tired of shouting Get to the choppa!! and because the 1985 macho classic remains indelibly linked to my childhood, Predatorbag deserves respek.
He is the bastard love child of Ahnold and the Predator. Half human, half four jawed alien Rastah hunter.
Pitch it in 50 words or less, Mr. Silver? He is “World’s Most Dangerous Game” meets “Platoon” meets “Saturday Night Fever”!
If it greases, we can mock it.
She may not rise to a state of pure feminine ivory snow, but she is still soapy. She can offer rays of hope in a dark, thunderous storm.
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #2: A.D. Artificial Douchetelligence
What is a spectacular sample of otherworldly robotic uberscrote is hampered only by a high Bleeth factor on the girls.
While many pics have risen purely on the power of the douchal blight or the sexy hott, it is in the combination, the dialectic, between both that we find enlightement.
That being said, A.D. is so fantastically wrong, is such a perfect embodiment of all that is American Douche, it is hard to deny his uniqueness.
The girls may be 18 and already dropouts from the Long Island Institute for Follicular Studies, but they do have a certain bouncy charm.
But enough to help A.D. take the Monthly?
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #3: Lawnmower Man 
Our third titular reference to a classic sci-fi movie (and I really need to find other genres to crib from), The Lawnmower Man may be the only scrotal contestant on the site to purchase the Weed Wacker instead of the Flowbee.
I would ask Jamba Juice to make me a shot of wheatgrass from that fungus on his head. But it would probably taste like shoe.
However we must deduct points for the potential costumeyness of St. Patrick’s Day. But then we add those points back when we realize Lawnmower Man has a second, even douchier, pic, complete with hott licking.
But enough to take the prize? He has to be ranked as a longshot. But Reese is delightful. Can Lawnmower Man pull a Buster Douglas and take down the favorites? It’s happened before.
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #4: Droopy McScrote
The odds-on favorite to take the prize, Droopy and Surfer Kelly were immediate hits when they first appeared on HCwDB.
She, for the toned, taught body and walnut crushing thighs that promised hints of a summer breeze by the shore while lying languidly on a beach towel, followed by nights of spanking your bottom with a extra-long piece of licorice while calling you “Thor the Ass Hunter!”
He, for the stretch marks and aging gangsta choadishness.
This is a mighty couple indeed. But the winner isn’t announced until the votes are counted.
Will the Monthly go to the alien shirtless Predatorbag? Or the robotic A.D. and his double serving of trampy hotts? Will it be the Lawnmower Bag? Or do Droopy McScrote and Surfer Kelly overpower all?
That, fellow hotts, ‘bags, ‘bag hunters and midgets named Pepe, is up to you.
Vote, as ever, in the comments thread.
Reader Mail: Little Caesars' Revenge
Jon writes in:
—-
Hey DB1-
After reading your website for somewhere near 6 months now, I finally got a perfect chance to complete break apart a Douche/Hott abomination.
I work at Little Caesars, running one of the registers, and I get a large variety of different customers, some with crazy eyes, one shoe, etc. About a week ago though, I was cleaning when two cars pulled up. The people walked in together, and were obviously together. The girl was beyond hot, like on a scale of 1-10…15. The guy who walked in with her was a total douche, I could almost smell it. To start of describing, he pulled up in a Hummer. He had assorted tattoo designs all down her arms, but the one that really got to me was a girls name right below his neck.
The girl ordered a Cheese Pizza and Breadsticks, which takes like 30 seconds to grab out of the Hot-N-Ready ovens. The Douche ordered the most complex pizza, and got pissy when I told him he was going to have to wait for it to be made.
When the girl paid, I asked to see ID for her card, just to check the name on it against the tattoo, and the name on her DL was Heather.
The guys tattoo said April.
Not wanting to let a douche get away with what is equivalent to that as murder, I took his pizza out of the oven as one of our cooks put it in. After about 15 minutes of waiting, Heather got upset at the douche, told him she was going home, and that she would talk to him later (in a very upset tone).
Not wanting the douche to complain, I put his pizza in the oven after she left. But to get him back for his douchetrosities, I pulled his pizza out too fast, which causes the toppings to shift, and didn’t cut it.
He hasn’t been back since, she has 3 times.
-Jon
—-
Pizza Pizza.
Dalmation Dave
Ever wonder what it would look like if that dude from the old Disney animated film, 101 Dalmations, decided to douche it up with an innocent Swedish Hott somewhere in Eastern Europe?
Well wonder no more.
Caption This Pic Saturday
Brandon found his witty pickup line using the “Pay to Park” sign worked on the ladies every time.
Friday Goose Running
When hott and scrote come together, it is worse than when Zuul and Vinz Clortho unlocked the hellfires of Gozer the Destroyer. When perfectly formed boobie suckle thigh and rank smelling Axe Body Spray chest shaving tool conjoin, it is a rip in the collective fabric of universal hope and transcendence.
We have sold out our sexuality to name-brand deification. Our bodies, the imprinteur of a post-ethnicity class system determined by Madison Avenue codes and signifiers. A/X. D&G. Ed Hardy. The new subculture, name brand ethnicity, image tribes sold as product.
We eroticize the brand because the brand validates our sexual worth in the simulacrum. And the simulacrum perpetually shifts the goalposts to keep us spending.
Or, as Donkey Douche responds, “Tribal tatt? I’ll show you a tribal tatt!”
I leave you tonight with Donkey Douche’s tribal tatt, the only coherent response to an incoherent culture. No matter how douchey the clubs get tonight, there is always tomorrow. And there is always hope we will transcend.
