Camoflage Ken
Camobag doesn’t really have the more spectacular giveaways we associate with scrotological poopy poo.
But then you look into those eyes. And you realize the doucheyness that lurks beneath the surface. It’s what makes Camo into the stealth douchescrote that he is.
But oh sweet Sarah.
How your eyes taunt me with that perfect sweet and sour delight. A wholesome grad student on the outside during the day. Willing to dress up like an Armenian weightlifter and tickle my underarms with a vibrating kumquat at night.
Like the great, unheralded classic teen sex comedy from the mid 1980s, Malibu Bikini Shop, I would make your army bikinis out of water dissolving stitches, then enroll you in the beach race just to watch hilarity ensue right before the closing credits.
Reader Mail: 'Bag Safaris?
Amy writes in:
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Dear DB1,
I’m a huge fan of your website and working in a university setting where much of the student population is from Jersey, I see douchebags on a regular basis. However, this morning I was sent into fits of laughter by the videos of the dancing ‘bags. This gave me a brilliant idea. What if one were to offer douchebag safaris. See douchebags in their natural habitat! One could take people to douche-filled areas like Cabo or Jersey and play spot the douche while enjoying a cocktail. Anyway just an idea.
Amy
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Great idea, Amy, I love it. I can see the ad campaign with Richard Attenborough: Welcome…. to Doucherassic Park!
Any intrepid travel agent readers want to partner on HCwDB Vacation Safari Getaways? I’m thinking Scottsdale, Miami Beach, the Inland Empire, Chicago, Jerz, Dallas and Cabo as part of the extended tour.
Predatorbag
Get to the choppah!!
HCwDB of the Week
Bam!! Pow!! Your humble narrator is jacked on ‘Train and Frosted Flakes, and it’s only Monday Morning. The hopper is full of pics for the week, and I’m rarin’ to go. It’s smoggy and hot in smoggy-ass Los Angeles, and I sit on my floor and stare at the haze over the skyline, and think of how far we’ve come. And how far we still have to go.
But lest I ruminate for so long that I trip over a semi-colon and tangent into a run-on sentence, I’ll shut my yap and turn it over to you. Here’s your finalists:
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Ping Pong Kong
There’s something tremendous about this pic. Maybe it’s the plethora of Ubiquitous Red Cup in the cheesy, creepy dorm rec room with the two sad balloons on the wall.
Maybe the hilarious Pongster scrote with the silly hair and ‘beater tee.
Or maybe it’s my unhealthy obsession with hot girls in librarian glasses that I’ve had ever since I had my first sexual awakening to Jan Smithers as Bailey Quarters on WKRP in Cincinnati reruns in the early 1980s.
Oh Baily Quarters. We all knew you were the real hott, and Loni Anderson was just a Bleethed out piece of plastic.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: A.D: Artificial Douchetelligence
So named because this orange simulation of a real human being is the douchal equivalent of Gigolo Joe in A.I.
The only thing holding back the genius of this pic from achieving immortality is the lack of hott. The girls are just a bit too trashy to create the dialectic of Yin-Yang polarity that renders the truly superior HCwDB a Rorshach test of cultural violation and sexual desire.
But still.
He’s pretty god damn hilarious. About as ridiculous as we’ve ever seen. But enough to carry the weekly? That remains to be seen.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Vin The Personal Trainer ™
Since we haven’t had any Personal Trainer types win an HCwDB of the Week in awhile, I thought I’d give Vin his shot.
Not to mention he’s got two pics, so is starting to build up an oeuvre of scrotological impact.
And she is a delectable ice cream sundae of All-American Dairy Queen Soft Serve Delight.
It was either Vin or Raggedy Andy, so it was kind of a toss-up. Raggedy Andy is also pretty hilarious/awful. I also considered giving Penis Pants a shot in the Weekly, but tough decisions had to be made, and that foot is me. And Tim probably offered up one of the hottest hotts we’ve had in awhile, but was just too happy to really be in consideration.
So them’s your three. Which of these three couplings most makes you want to hot-poker your eyes out?
Vote, as always, in the comments thread.
Sunday Musings
Thanks to all who showed up for last night’s book signing at Book Soup. I hope your humble narrator did you proud.
Reading your own work in public is always nerve wracking, even more so when it involves frequent references to what you would do to the boobie hottie suckle thighs, but the crowd was supportive, and no scrotelobsters showed up to kick my ass, which is always good.
Ubiquitous Red Cup was in the house, as were my HoHos and ‘Train.
Speaking of literature writ visceral, a number of readers have been inquiring if the Hellboy/Selma Blair coupling constitutes a hott/douche situation, given that Hellboy is rocking the burnt orange skin, displaying his abs, and has a tuft of chin pubes straight out of the O.C. I’m inclined to give Hellboy a pass, what with being a mutant and all, but figured I’d open it up for debate.
I would trade in a post-Yeti Natalie Portman at the Macy’s exchange window just to purchase a Flowbee to give Selma Blair’s cat a more even summer haircut.
Douche Mating Ritual II
It gets worse.
Vin the Personal Trainer ™ 2
Vin’s back, this time with Zebra Stripe and Orange Tan-in-a-Can.
And he brought Chesty Springfield, Bleethed out to a point of unredeemability, I’m afraid.
But while the Douchebaguette is douchey, you may still desire to dive betwixt those two satin and saline throwpillows. Do not fret, grasshopper. This is normal.
This contradiction is known as the douchadox. Do not fear it. For only through it is the way to enlightenment.
Because, as Lao Tzu taught us, the boobies know not the way of the douche that surrounds them.
Classic HCwDB: Douche Mating Ritual
I ran this on the site last year, but it might be time to revel again in the greatest, greasiest example of primitive douchal attempts at a mating ritual ever captured in their native habitat.
Like Flaherty’s Nanook of the North, such documents must be preserved as indexical historical record.
And by preserved, I mean mocked.
Reader Mail: Penis Pants
Carri writes in from traffic on the 405:
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Hi Douchebag1!
I love when you call into Kevin and Bean. It makes my awful commute more enjoyable!
Anyway, I had a run in with a total douche in Vegas. We were staying at Mandalay Bay and had one of those pool side cabanas for the weekend. The booze was flowin’, I was pretty much drunk off my ass the whole weekend (hence the little beer gut in the pic), and I see this idiot with penis shorts on.
Take a look at these shorts. They were more like speedos… And they have a penis and balls silk screened on them. Then, to top off his baggery, he decided to wear some ripped up shirt.
Drunk or not, I would have hit him up for a pic because there’s no way anyone would believe I saw a guy like that. DOUCHE!
–Carri
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I dunno. There’s a certain amount of respek that must be paid to anyone who silkscreens their own junk on top of their junk. And by respek, I mean laughing.
And really, what better way to head into a Friday night than Penis Pants? Kinda says it all.
Yeah Buoy
The girls are a little low on the hott scale even with the nice legs, but that giant chain on The Buoy has gotta be a swimming hazard that the local lifeguard would not approve of.
Shame on you, Buoy. Didn’t you learn better when you were at the minnow level in swim class?
