Zima Time
When your parents are out of town at an insurance convention and there was a 50% off sale on headbands at the Gap, what time is it?
Zima time.
Watch out, Sharon, Linda and Kelly.
The Zima Boyz are gettin’ frisky.
No More Crackodile Dundee
Dundee’s Jazzy Aussie Hott writes in:
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I’d appreciate it if you removed the ‘Crackodile Dundee’ photo/profile. Although I do find your site amusing, and your little spiel about me and my partner – I do find some of the comments a little slack, and I guess I am kind of offended.
As you said on your homepage – if your emailed and asked to remove a picture – you will. So please do.
P.s. You can let all our online buddies know that my tits are well and truly real. Just thought you’d like to know.
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If there’s anything about my comments thread regulars that can be noted, it’s their damn slack. Slackers.
So, to make up for it, here’s a pic of a girl with The Fresh Prince of Bel Air’s Carlton. Who isn’t douchey. But he is Carlton.
HCwDB of the Week
An incredibly pungent week pf pics last week (props to all who submitted), leads me to turn to my trusty arbiter of all that needs arbiting, alcohol, to select the final three.
My post-sugar-rush haze after two packets of Twizzlers, a half a bag of Fiddle Faddles, and fourteen Pabst Blue Ribbons out of my special issue limited edition Ubiquitous Plaid Cup led me to the following three HCwDB of the Week Finalists. Vote wisely:
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Wheatstalks
Hells, might as well give this uberscrote another shot at a Weekly.
With hair that hilarious, and a chiquita that bouncy, he’s got the goods to go all the way.
And by all the way, I mean really stupid ass hair.
The only thing holding back Wheatstalks is that he’s so clownish he almost inverts the douche paradigm of obnoxiousness.
He also has no real hand gestures, no annoying bling, and no tribal tatts.
Even his face isn’t very douche-facey.
But that hair. That shirt. She is Mediterranean sweat hott. And he is poo.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Meatballs
Rare is the Swedish Delight so snowflake clean in the middle of a classic Eurobag sandwich of scrote.
I put it to you, Greg.
Yellow armband. Mullet. Dior Sunglasses.
She is a roots showing curvy non-scoliosis suffering arched back of skin lick.
I am in pain. I loves me some milky jean short-shorts.
I would castrate a peruvian wolf without Novocaine just for the chance to smack her grandmother’s corpse with a bottle of Absinthe.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Truman Coyote
This Wednesday Limerick combo of classic Vegas Choad and sexy mamacita hott deserves a shot in the finals, if for no other reason than that tatt.
Also, since it was limerick time, the Reese Witherspoon Legally Hott did not get remotely that proper attention that she deserves.
And by proper attention, I mean my hiding behind her Kia Sport at 2am dressed as a giant marshmallow.
Every classic HCwDB pic must have that proper balance between sweet innocent boobie hottie and utterly rank choad.
Which of these three pics rises to winner status?
That, my fellow ‘bag hunters, is up to you.
Vote for your winner, as always, in the comments thread.
Honorable mention to Trainwreckin’ in Rehab, the Friday Follicles Haiku and the toughest omission of all, He’s Alwayz Down for Wuteva, whose poetic verse wasn’t enough to compensate for a mediocre douche-pose.
Sundays in the Park with Jorge
Sometimes, on a lazy Sunday afternoon, you just gotta put on your best checkered tablecloth vest, blow-dry your mullet, and be the ball.
Ass Not What Your Country Can Do For You
…. but what you can do for your country.
Why Dane Cook is a Huge Bag of Douche
By now, pretty much everyone knows Dane Cook is a huge douche.
But how many people have explained exactly why is Dane Cook a huge bag of douche?
That is the question.
Here is a media concocted pseudo-comedian with less talent than a stuttering Screech and whiter teeth than Tony Robbins bursting onto the scene in one giant toxic swirl of unfunny. Then, in no time, amplifying from 0 to 60 up the multimedia stratus of accomplishment in a blazing hail of lame frat jokes and physical hand gestures.
Headlining tour. HBO special. Late night appearances. Each media outlet carefully built to feed off the others, package together, and launch “Dane Cook” into the mass consciousness as the next “comedy superstar.”
We were told we liked him. We were told other people liked him. Which meant we must like him, too. Because they liked him. And they are we.
Only unlike the organic and legit accomplishment of, say, the talented Steve Carrell, who actually earned his place at the top by being funny, Cook’s force-fed limelight down all of our collective throats has caused the collective regurgitating response. The clarion call to focus all this noise around something, anything real: A begging we are all making of his sorry, generic ass: DO SOMETHING REAL.
Say something authentic. Express a genuine emotion. Have an opinion. Offer a joke that actually might piss someone off.
Because simply being unfunny isn’t enough of an offense by Cook. If simply being “unfunny “meant you were a douche, mid 1990s Robin Williams would’ve grown a rubber bag out of his ass and cleansed women’s private hoohoos from here to Bangledesh.
Which, come to think of it, may have actually happened.
No, what makes Dane Cook a huge douche is his carefully softened “injury free” safe ride of genericism. His media constructed “regular guy” persona. His genericized jokes of pure pablum, meant to vaguely invoke nostalgic memories of your drunk college best friend while carefully designed to offend absolutely no one.
Cook is the sackless tamper-proof Hollywood creation of genericized un-humor sold as pseudo-humor and operating as placebo effect. An opinion-free puddle of blandified “good looks” carefully designed and set up to sell across multiple medium platforms. Dane Cook isn’t a human being, he’s a focus tested brand. A career built soft-drink. Selling out every ounce of originality in the hope of suckling from the mass processed cookie cutter rewards offered by the 24/7 media age.
I’m not saying every comedian has to take on the edge of genius that the late, great Bill Hicks and brilliant Mitch Hedberg brought on stage with them. Jerry Seinfeld isn’t exactly cutting edge, but no one’s calling Jerry Seinfeld a huge douche.
Because Seinfeld was who he was.
Dane Cook wouldn’t know what he was if you asked him to look for it. The self has no place when the image transcends all, and the rewards justify the vacuity.
Dane Cook is a focus tested girl scout cookie. A packaged “best friend drinking buddy” for guys, “sweet former boyfriend who listens and cares” for girls. He has one and only one role in his theater of the self — ingratiate all, offend none. The “superfinger” his carefully constructed “naughty” bit to extend just to the margins of PG-13 ratings. Just enough to earn his “cred,” before Cook runs off to above-the-title the next Jessica Simpson uncomedy.
For that, and those stupid-ass hairdos, you, Dane Cook, are elevated into the pantheon of celebridouche.
Now get off the stage, assface.
Chippy II
There was some doubt about whether April’s Chippy was a douche or just the luckiest Eric Estrada CHiPs looking mofo to cross the site in some time.
This pic answers that query.
Chippy is rank.
Wheatstalks II
Last summer’s spiky haired corn harvest douche, Wheatstalks, is back, although as bouncy as Chiquita is, with a bit of a hott downgrade.
Unfortunately it looks like this year’s crop is getting a little thinner there, ‘Stalkboy.
Did Kevin Costner build a baseball field up there?
He's Alwayz Down for Wuteva
Today’s Neo-Modernist Facebook Poetry selection comes from He’s Always Down for Wuteva:
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~~ Lets see…IM ALWAYZ DOWN FOR WUTEVA, AND IF U KNOW ME THEN U KNOW THATZ THE TRUTH. Im an animal at partyz, i live it up for the memories and when i cant remember s@#t the next day i just smile and knew it wuz a good night….No matter what comes my way i take it and roll wit it, cuz “YA’LL NIGGAZ CANT TAKE MUH PRIDE, YA’LL NIGGAZ CANT HOOOLD ME DOWN, OH NO I GOT TO KEEP ON MOVINNN.”
Im movin at a fast pace and if u wit me then itz gonna get HECTIC but if u cant keep up ya gonna get left behind……Im just feelin good 24/7 and nothing can phase me at this point, I got mi familia here and thatz all i need. Juss appreciating wut i got….Everythingz goin my way, so when u see me ya gonna see a grin ear to ear. BY THE WAY TRUE PEOPLEZ CALL ME “JP”, other than that aint much more to say, ya wanna know more guess ya just gonna have to find out ur damn self….Im
OUTTTYYYYYY…..ONE~~
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Hmm. Sort of reminds me of another “JP” on this site.
Note how He’s Alwayz Down for Wuteva invokes a post-structuralist inversion of power as challenge to authority in his use of “Niggaz” as a pejorative for those who attempt to “take his pride.” This meta-commentary on linguistic slippage within ethnic power relations and construction of identity foregrounds the violence of embedded language structures by inverting dominant meaning codes.
Or he just sucks balls.
As You Spike It
Blow, blow, thou greasy wind!
Thou are not as unkind as a douche’s scrotitude. True it is that we have seen better days. And by better, I mean less douchey.
For all the world is a stage, and all the ‘bags and hotts merely players. They have their exits and their entrances, and one douche smells like poo.
Lithe Rosalind, how dost thou not wear librarian glasses? How now?
For ever and a day, I would hump thy teddybear. For ever and a day…
— As You Spike It
William Scrotespeare
