Castor Oil
It is rare when we name a douche after oil itself.
This is that time.
'Bag / Not a 'Bag
At first I was going to give the Carmen Electra fan a nottadouche pass, a hearty handshake, then a kick out of the picture so I can stare at some inflated celebuboobs.
But then I noticed the dual ant-pattern facial pube config. Annoying. Stupid.
But enough to stamp “‘bag” on his forehead? That’s where I need you to weigh in.
‘Bag? Or Not a ‘Bag?
Ralph the Ferret
This is classic punch-in-the-gut “There is no God” Hottie/Douchey wrongness.
Three delightful suburban girls who want to get back at daddy, commingling with Suburban poseur-punk Opie Ron Howard Douche, all while two Ubiquitous Red Cups monitor the situation.
Middle Brunette wants me to tickle her pet ferret with a pigeon feather I fished out of the Hudson. Which I would. Because her pet ferret needs tickling.
And by pet ferret, I mean a literal pet ferret. His name is “Ralph.” What’d you think I meant? Perv.
Wednesday Limerick
Sweet Veronica went for a Vegas Vacation,
She hoped for transcendent elation,
She walked to the pool,
And got mugged by two tools,
Whose gesticulations were of a castration vocation.
That doesn’t even make sense. I need a coffee. Surely you can do better than that in the comments thread.
HCwDB of the Week: The Metaphysical Hooligan
Was there any doubt?
In the last Weekly before next week’s Monthly, there was no stopping the dominance of the Metaphysical Hooligan and Italian Ice Hott, Carly. Mr. Bungle makes the case:
This is a clear win by The Metaphysical Hooligan. Not only does he sport the starscrote action, but the Vanilla Ice pout and the spike-mullet combo put it over the top for me.
And she is a lovely plate of delicious canoli that I hope would melt in my mouth and not in my hand.
Well put, Mr. B. Grumpy Llama agrees:
Gotta be The Metaphysical Hooligan. While I’d like to thank the other contestants for playing, this really was over before it began. Italian Pastry Hott is not quite up to par with the others, but Hooligan, with the star and the sneer and the soul patch, is just a barbed-wire arm band tattoo away from being the Grand Poobah of Douches. With what he’s got going for him, he could be snuggling Rosie O’Donnell and still be a contender.
And that, my friends, makes him something special.
That’s exactly it, GL, and thank you for the “snuggling Rosie O’Donnell” image so early in the morning. As the everpresent anonymous puts it:
Metaphysical Hooligan, for the deep carnal rage against humanity that he inspires in me.
Heh. “Carnal rage against humanity.” However the sheer power of the douching trough for Butterday Night Fever also made a strong case. our fragile griecosystem explains:
Butterday Night Fever due to the corey(hart)ography involved and the 2.5/1 nerdvana of hotness/douche ratio. Also the spray-on tans and the way the Last of the Scrotehicans presides over the whole affair.
Dr. McDouchie agrees, arguing for the pool-hott butt lineup for Weekly:
Butterday Night Fever is the suckle buns/grease muscle dichotomy amplified to 60mph and wedged under our collective fingernails. Those beautiful watercolors could inspire a Maurice Prendergast masterpiece, while those choads resemble beer poo. Bunnday Morning Hangover FTW.
Well said Doctor, and the Trough will have serious consideration for a 2008 Douchie. But clear a well earned spot for the sneering wrongness of the Hooligan. Pappa’s Got a Brand New Bagg explains:
The Hooligan deserves his landslide victory. He might as well be running against the green party.
And Massengill:
Metaphysical Hooligan FTW. The sneer, the star, the stare, the chin hair…he’s the total package. And by package I mean douche. I suspect his hott is a notary public.
Indeed, Mass. Crucial Head makes the final exclamation point on MH and Carly’s win, and by win, I mean douche-poo:
He makes me want to fondle a grizzly cub in front of its mother so she would swiftly put me out of my misery. She makes me want to take a warm shower while fondling a water balloon.
Dust off the shelf and elevate the MH for a well deserved Weekly, and the final spot in the Monthly smack-off.
Reader Mail: Where's Bachelorette Waldouche?
Lauren writes in:
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Hey DB1-
So I just spent the weekend in South Beach, FL for a bachelorette party.
I was going through my pictures just now with my friend Kyle who is an avid HCwDB.com visitor and he asked if there were any HCwDB’s in any of our pics. I assumed there surely must be some, so we started keeping our eyes peeled while flipping through the chronicles of the Final Freedom Flight. When this one popped up, we both started cracking up so I felt obliged to send it to you.
At first glance, he’s a total Waldouche…but I don’t know, something about the helmet head makes me want to say ‘Speed Racerbag’…yet, the deer-in-headlights facial expression also forced me to consider ‘Bambibag.’ Anyway, figured I’d send it along and see if you had monikers that might be a little more clever and fitting.
I’m still going through the pictures, so if I find anything else with such ‘bagtacular qualities, I’ll be sure to send them along.
Happy ‘baghunting…
Lauren
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I see him more like the “Thank you God!” kid in Animal House. He just fell into a pile of giggle-hotts, and they’re way more ambulatory and three dimensional than when he secretly goes through his dad’s Playboys in the garage.
So for that, I give him a pass.
As to your group of Bachelorette Friends, I would help them brew Malaysian coffee while fondling their inner thighs with a quart of Quaker State and some large ball bearings. Because I’m classy like that.
Gunter and Klaus
Gunter and Klaus want you.
Yes, you.
To try their new musky perfume, Arschloch. Available at fine stores everywhere, like Macy’s.
Oh Sister Christian, you’re not overly sexy, but you are very sweet. You still deserved to be rescued from that shaved chest ‘bag sandwich.
Reader Mail: The Cookbag
Angry Girl writes in:
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DB1-
If there’s anything or anyone I hate more than Dane Cook, it’s someone who actually aspires to be him. Dane Cook is this guy’s hero; He considers himself a local celebrity in F@#ING TENNESSEE.
He’s always talking on his iphone (for which he never paid my friend back) saying things like, “ya beautiful” and “oh, i’ll catch ya lata babe. ya know i loves ya.” you wanna read the rap he wrote? let me know.
his repuation only exists at some townie bar, and yet he’s deluded enough to think he’s ballin’. for christ’s sake, he constantly uses “hollywood” and “vegas” as ADJECTIVES to describe his pathetic mundane life. this guy SUMS UP douche.
– Angry Girl
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Yikes. I almost feel bad for the guy after that verbal whiplashing. But not bad enough not to post his ass to the site.
Do I want to read the rap he wrote?
Yes. Yes I do.
Caption This Pic
When Suzie’s therapist advised her to look closely to read the signs about her relationship with Thad, Suzie took it a bit too literally.
It's A Wonderful Butt
Remember Clarence, every time you grab a girl by the butt, a Tatt Angel gets his wings.
