Private Pile
Sir, you are a douche, sir!
What is it with the tourniquet upper arm bandana look? Were you hit by a flying bottle of Grey Goose during late night club turf battles, Private Pile?
Put down Red Velvet and get back to work. Which means playing Call of Duty III on your Xbox360 for eighteen hours straight, while subsisting only on Lucky Charms.
Which actually sounds pretty good.
The "Thumbs Up" 'Bag
Unlike some of the purer of the douche hand gestures, The Shocker (#93) and Sideways Peace Sign (#204) for example, the “Thumbs Up” is a rare hybrid. It can be both douche and non-douche, depending on its use.
Sometimes the “Thumbs Up” is simply a sign of support. Like when your chicken pot pie is at the perfect temperature, and you want to thank your mom for microwaving it for you.
And then there are moments when the simple “Thumbs Up” signifies deep douchal wrongness.
Like with Oldy McTatt and his perfect hott.
You just know this guy sucks. Even without the Kissy Lips or Gang Sign gesture. The Thumbs Up is enough.
Ricardo Montelbag
Check out the rich Corinthian leather on Ricardo, moving in for that polite but not too friendly photo pose with Candice, the office temp who lives a wild double life on weekends.
But the capper on the pic has to be Red Haired Ronny, boogeying down with middle aged aplomb in the background.
Shake your moneymaker, Ronny!
The Meatball
PIC DELETED
I can’t tell which is worse. That this choad reminds me of the alien who goes to summer camp in Meatballs II, or that I remember anything about Meatballs II.
Yup. Yesterday Zardoz. Today, Meatballs 2. Tomorrow? I’m thinking a Treasure of the Four Crowns reference is long overdue.
Lauren Hottowitz has that pouty Sarah Michelle Gellar Great Neck poor little rich Jewish girl sexiness that buffys my vampire slayer with a shot of Manischewitz.
And yes, that may have been the worst phrased, incoherent run-on sentence this side of George Will.
Friday Haiku
Party Boy Blue says,
“I’m the Narnia Lion!”
Growls at Asian friend.
Werewolf in London,
Your hair is far from perfect,
Silver bullets, please.
— mitch meats
In the White Room with
Red doorways is a Douchebag
Eric Crapton hair.
— clementine of cappadoucha
douchebag nice haircut
it’s bridgette nielsons pubis
post flavor coitus
— bcs
Mail order bride weeps:
“This can’t be America.”
Flee back to homeland.
— mr. white
Bird flies into head.
I’m not Fabio says douche,
I see disco ball.
— eradicatoor
The Existential 'Stache
The world breaks down into two kinds of people.
Those that should grow mustaches. And this guy.
It’s not that the ‘stache is wrong, so much as it is wrong. Wrong in that soul deadening existential no-purpose God Questioning alcoholic encouraging meaninglessness wrong.
Yes, there’s the Flock of Seagulls Nest Hair. Yes, there’s the half hearted Peaches Point. The sweat stains and goofy tie.
But it’s the ‘stache that says: You think there’s meaning in this life? Think again, carbon based lump of animate clay.
Arlona the Trailer Park Hott makes me want to fight over the last packet of Cheetos before making up in the dirt farm out back at 2am while sipping ripple from a plastic cup.
So maybe there is meaning after all in this life. And it is boobies.
The Chinstrapper
So when did stubblebags start shaving their chinstraps into giant hockey stick formation? I’m still recovering from the shoelace look.
I haven’t seen a mug that stone-like since Sean Connery went flying around in a giant stone head in Zardoz.
Yeah, I said Zardoz. If you haven’t seen Sean Connery in Zardoz, this image should convince you that you haven’t lived a proper and full life until you have.
The two chorus line girls are Zamphiric Pan Flutes of budding hott. I would toast them over flaming marshmallows then munch on them lightly with a shot of port wine while dressed in cherry flavored edible underwear.
Which I look hot in.
Wally Playah
Wally’s one of those classic small down ‘bags.
The “Big Man on Campus,” suckin’ down chili dogs outside the Tastee-Freez.
The one who’s going to “make it out” by taking classes in fashion at the community college, while jamming out with his DJ buddies to their homemade remixes of Umbrella.
Don’t get me wrong. I think taking your girlfriend out to a formal while shirtless, sunglassed up and white sneakered, is as classy as the next guy.
So I’m pulling for ya, Wally.
The Starbucks gig is just for now. Aim high.
Teddy Tall Hair
I hear the Teddy Tall Hairs are the go-to holiday gift for 2008.
They’re like the Furby, Cabbage Patch Dolls and a giant heaping club douche all neatly packaged by Hasbro and sold for $19.95.
Aussie Rules Douchebags
I’m getting a ton of email lately from our friends in the great outback, who tell me that douchosity has overrun that southern hemisphere continent like a plague of Homer Simpson frogs.
This clip is from an Aussie music festival, and the douchosity is off the charts. We’re talking Jersey Beach level-4 toxicity.
What’s going on down there, Aussies? First the Dingo Party Boy, and now this?
I hate to admit my Douchette Paradox is in full effect. I want to ravish the dark haired hott, even as she dances next to the two plague viruses to her left with fully polluted douchebaguette style.
