Rudy's New Years
Nothing says classy New Years like frosting up them tips, undoing your shirt six buttons, and busting the Rosary Bling. Nicely put together there, Rudy. Aud Lang Syne never sounded so greasy.
Sweet Pouty Turkish Delight, drop the hirsute ball of grease and come let me rub chickenfat on your lower back area while seducing you with rose petals, caviar and a small Belgian tap-dancer named Jurgen, whom we would mock by firelight.
After four hours of chickenfat rubbing, we would retire to the living room to watch David Cronenberg’s Scanners in high-def, pausing on the head explosion for me to softly comfort your fears. You would then call a cab, and I’d have to watch the rest of the movie alone.
Dammit. Why don’t they ever enjoy watching Scanners after a delightful evening mocking a small Belgian tap-dancer?
Yup. It’s Friday. And your humble narrator has slipped on a pop-culture reference, tripped over two misplaced commas, and passed through the looking glass into pure incoherence.
Bugsy
Ladies, he’s not the coolest senior in your small Iowa farming community.
I know you’re impressed because he runs stop signs and once told the guy at the 7-11 to “eat me raw.” I know you think he’s the bomb when he freestyles to Lil’ Wayne.
But no, ladies. This won’t get back at daddy.
He does, however, feature stylin’ wood paneling from the Home Depot. On sale through Friday for $9.99 a yard.
Friday Haiku
Boobie Blonde says, “Shhh….”
Goose Runner in the distance,
Blue Hat, like douche moon.
retarded muppet
is offering up the goose
to bikini hotts
— johnny scrotten
everybody loves a clown
but not this time
back in the small car bozo
— douchetoevsky
Snapple crawls up beach
Tries to cop a feel of hott.
Kill him, Snapple, kill.
— mr. white
“Charlie’s Angels” hotts
who knew Charlie and Bosley
were such giant ‘bags?
-idahohottpotato
Fuzzy blue hat douche,
keep out of hottie sammich.
Reverse oreo!
— blair
Buffalo Scroteja
Dreadlocked Chinja…
J-Lo Milf is sweet, and has a lovely patch of pale cleavite, and maybe even a hint of Mr. Nipper, showing.
Yeah, I just said “Mr. Nipper.” My ancestors weep with shame.
But we haven’t had a Hippie/Rastabag on the site in awhile. Not even one who looks like Ram Sweeney in Heathers.
Caption This Pic
Jennifer had the distinct feeling that the Douche-Radar Antenna she bought on sale at Radio Shack might be busted.
Reader Mail: Henry's 'Bag Tag
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Long-time reader, first-time writer. I was in San Diego for a buddy’s bachelor party this past weekend and to celebrate the 4th, we decided to hangout at the beach front patio of our hotel, which as a common area had many hotts.
One such Hott was the cute brunette in the attached pic. Soon enough she remarked about some Eminem-wannabe douche scrote (who was trying to start his own New Douche Move 2008 by “Running with the Absolut”). I immediately realized her ‘bag hunter potential and showed her your site on my Blackberry. She became an immediate fan.
By the time she was ready to tag her first, the high level game had vacated, but we were able to corner the low-level scrote pictured. While he is absent mandanas or hand gestures, I believe that the soul patch, arched eyebrow, and especially the chain & lock arm tattoo are proof positive of Grieco infection.
-Henry
PS – I promised her that her ‘bag tag would make it on-line, so if the pic is clear enough please help this fellow douche-hunter in pursuit of the hott keep his word and keep guiding this ‘bag-hunting padawan.
—-
Nicely done, sir. Now put down the keyboard and follow up with that girl by massaging her ankles with tea tree oil and a dash of parsley, while humming the theme to Stripes. That move never fails.
Ice Man
Must you make the Douche-Face, working man’s Val Kilmer?
Ubiquitous Red Cup has taken over your shorts, and even though Jenny’s going wild on Spring Break and I can’t pin you as a super-douche, there’s still something about you that makes me itch like a post-coital Lohan.
Shades
I haven’t seen horizontal slot glasses that annoying since my last colonoscopy.
I don’t know what that means.
Don’t mind me. I’m a marshmallow in the S’more of uncaffeinated confusion. I go now.
The Bagnana Daiquiri II
Yup, January’s HCwDB of the Week Finalist (and eventual loser to Deathtongue)The Bagnana Daiquiri, is still swirling out there, showing off the groin fungus.
Thankfully this time, Disembodied Hott Arm (DHA) has appeared to offer a collective statement of response.
Speaking of the cultural violence of market system hierarchy, wasn’t there a 1960s book on the colonial subjugation of indigenous peoples, written by Frantz Fanon, called Black Underwear, White Belt?
Reader Mail: Aussie HCwDB — Peter Andre and Jordan
Pratt writes in to respond to last week’s post on Aussie hottie/douchey couplings:
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DB1-
I humbly submit that you have missed the greatest Australian HCWDB in the world today (and possibly tomorrow too). Peter Andre and Jordan aka Kate Richie aka English “Nike Pump” bleeth.
I have not seen the likes of choad-head-condom with mega-bling combo since a school trip to the planetarium made me dizzy.
“That ain’t a douche…THIS!…is a douche”
– Pratt
—-
She’s a little too celebu-trampy for true hott status, but you present a compelling case for Aussiebaggery, Pratt, and get extra props for the Croc Dundee reference.
To answer Cieran’s email yesterday from Ireland, maybe all the Eurobags went down to Australia to scrote up the hotts, where they joined rugby leagues, bought annoying bling, and shaved their chests.
Still, that dude could bench press my face with one hand while eating a Choco-Taco with the other.
