HCwDB of the Week
We have two weeks of pics to cull from for this week’s contest thanks to last week’s ginormous 4-pic monthly clash, with The Limey barely beating Batbag in a smackdown douche/hott spectacular.
Speaking of that Monthly, a stellar comments thread took place in that debate. If you missed it, check it out here.
As to me, I’m flying back from a weekend of turkey, gravy and making fun of nine year old orphans on the street by denying them their porridge. Because I’m sensitive like that.
Here’s your finalists:
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: The Douche Hoagie
What do you do when facing a sandwich with a hott filling so succulent, and two moldy pimento bread loves?
Do you take a bite?
Do you strip off the foul and try to feed it to the local pigeons, hoping for one of those ex-lax urban legend reactions you used to hear about in fifth grade?
These two choads have all the requisite bling, hand gestures, douche-faces, hat tilts and fauxhauks to be award winning ‘bags.
And she is perfect, if inflated, tanned perfection. I would lick her used George Foreman grill after she made a roast and note that the Snozzberries tasted like Snozzberries. Who ever heard of a Snozzberry? We are the music makers. And we are the dreamers of dreams.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Easy-Bake Oven
Every great hottie/douchey coupling, no matter how much they veer into surrealism, contains a basic gut punch of dude-duism.
Chin Lip Rat Fungus Smug Smirking Asswad With Too Many Tatts is that dude.
CLRFSSAWTMT has so polluted a Perfect Ten Hott, that she becomes lost.
Her boobs bekon.
But her hand warns us to stay away.
What to do?
That conundrum you feel, my friends, is what every great HCwDB pic offers. We stare into the douche-abyss. And we see ourselves.
And the DB1 pours another bowl of Lucky Charms. Because they’re magically delicious.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Wonderbag and the Missing T
Our second bread related ‘bag in the contest, Wonderbag’s sullen “Blue Steel” look and Ten Degree Wonder Bread Yankee Cap Tilt both club arctic seals out of pure spite.
His “DJ” bling necklace, four layers of shirt and covert ‘bag hand gesture all mock The Buddha’s transcendence.
She is Gymnasium Hott, the kind on the college track team who dated that dude Chad that you always hated. Gym Hott once had a pseudo-deep conversation with you while drunk at a frat party only to forget your name the next day in Art History.
Or was that just me?
Their combo tasks the soul. It is wrong. But her hips are so, so very drinkable right. What to do? Why mock and lust, of course. Mock and lust.
So which of these three slices of doucheyness and hott rises to the top of the “wrong” pile?
That, my friends, is up to you.
Vote, as always, in the comments thread.
The Family Circus: Why Jeffy is 'Bag
If there’s one American comic strip of the past fifty years that should jump to mind when you think of douchebags, it’s gotta be The Family Circus.
Now I know what you’re thinking.
How could such a charming All American Family of heteronormative whiteness that perpetuates outdated gender stereotypes and patriarchy contain any signs of modern douchebaggery?
The answer is clear: Jeffy.
Jeffy is douchebag.
Oh sure, Billy seems the obvious choice. Billy’s more aggressive with the ladies. Billy’s got the comb-forward fauxhawk. But Billy is simply ‘bag wannabe. ‘Bagling if you will.
Example #1: Billy The ‘Bagling
In the picture featured here, Billy’s detailed global search to determine the name brand of his shirt suggests the Armani-Exchange club culture from whence all of modern ‘baggery has sprung.
But Billy is simply searching.
He is an aspirant.
Note his father’s blank Norman Rockwell stare. A stare that says, “There are no black people in my America.”
His father is unthreatened. Because Billy is bland.
Blank.
As such, Billy hasn’t touched true douchebaggery.
The douchebaggery of Jeffy.
Example #2: Hip-Hop Jeffy
This picture demonstrates the complexity of Jeffy’s douchuous maturity, even at his early age.
Note Jeffy’s in-your-face aggressiveness.
His macho preening.
Jeffy is hip-hop. Jeffy is gangsta. Jeffy is pounding the rhythmic tribal beat of the new douche review.
Jeffy isn’t afraid to bang his proverbial bongo, even in the face of his cartoonist father’s generic passive-aggressive reach.
Jeffy holds his sticks authoritatively. As if to say, “Step back, yo! Or I will shove this stick up your ass, old man.”
But the key to Jeffy’s douche is in the rebelliously stylish pants-suit roll up move.
He is Fly.
He is Fresh.
He is ready to party.
Example #3: Jeffy Macks the Hott
Here’s the mark of a true ‘bag in action.
Jeffy sees his mama-hott paying attention to someone else.
Unafraid, he interrupts and demands he been seen. Not only that, he makes the horribly crude double entendre about her open mouth.
He is busting classic aggressive douchal masculinity in the presence of a curvy hott.
Now I know what you’re thinking: That’s his mom, dude.
And yes, for the purposes of this example, it is.
But in the larger context of Jeffy’s powerful douche maneuvers, it illuminates.
Note also Jeffy’s clenched fist. He will not be denied the affections of the hott. Even if he has to interrupt and point to get it. A hallmark of any hyper-aggressive ‘bag.
Example #4: Jeffy Tells Authority to Step-Off
In this final example, Jeffy interrupts his father’s story about the merits of the Ku Klux Klan to inform his father that he sleeps with “purple dragons.”
As any urban scholar knows, “purple dragons” is street slang for “Hispanic hookers.”
With one aggressive sentence, Jeffy shatters his father’s white suburban construct and announces he is rebelling.
Jeffy has no need for authority or boundaries.
He only needs slick leather pants.
And purple shoes.
It won’t be long until Jeffy is fist pumping to Kanye remixes while grinding his package into a 17 year old from the Valley named “Sharon.”
You go with your bad self, Jeffy.
Jeffy from the Family Circus. The True Douche of American Comics.
So to recap. Signs that Jeffy is douche:
1. Obsession with Lego bling
2. Pushyness and aggressive male posturing
3. A tendency to cry when confronted
4. Leather pants
5. Shaved patterns in his hair
6. Manipulating mom-hott to cop a feel
7. Psychologically destroying his sister Dolly through vicious innuendo until her low self-esteem sends her bulimia careening out of control
8. The weekend in Tijuana with that hooker and donkey
9. The fourteen bottles of Grey Goose hidden behind the fish tank
10. Vanilla Ice “Cooler Than Ice” limited edition pajama one-piece
11. Doing the Guido Dance for 3rd Grade show and tell
12. Extensive collection of vintage Matchbox muscle cars
Jeffy.
Total and complete douchebag.
Next week: Jughead.
Friday Night Shots
Take a shirtless douche, press his face in a Gutenberg printing press, toss in a hand gesture and have him paw a sweet Suburban SUV Hott, and it’s Friday Night Shots time.
She is sweet innocent pureness, bottled and served at room temperature.
He is a week old tea bag.
Together they make a couple of pure, 100% Columbian Wrong.
The Jerz
One of the deepest betrayals of primal douchitude involves the exposure of self-worship.
Like this turd. Starin’ at the flex. Eroticizing his own bicep rather than the curves next to him.
Caught in this pixelated frozen digital moment, the Jerz exposes a core truth. Douchitude is about the worship of the self over the lust for the boobs.
Or else, it’s Friday, and the DB1 ate too much turkey. Stupid tryptophan.
The 'Bag Hunters
So, on this weekend after Thanksgiving, I return to the eternal question. Why hunt douchebags and the hotties that love them?
We hunt the ‘bag because we hunt ourselves. We hunt the hott because we love boobies.
In their distorted image, in their ridiculous clownishness, we see the fun-house mirror reflection of our own vanities. Our societal insecurities. Our collective garish absurdities.
I mean look at this guy. His shirtlessness of the soul. His vacant “duuuude” stare. The slutt-hott on his arm. The Puma wristband. God just deducted two points from your score for that alone, bud.
In their swirling cocktail of foul cultural rot, in that psychoanalytic space between cutie and douche, we find beauty and truth.
Oh who am I kidding.
We like to mock choads because they suck monkey poo. Pass the damn turkey.
Friday Haiku
Middle fingers cry,
For hott thigh and worthy abs,
yet lost to huge ass.
Finger rage caused by
Total lack of fashion sense
Except for boobies
— dion didouchie
Grey Goose is on shelf,
Lightning bolts and veins on jeans,
Someone help these two.
— bill bellidouchechick
Magnificent rack!
Juicy and delectable!
Nice Thanksgiving hams
— ed
I would love to eat
My Thanksgiving leftovers
Off the hott’s belly
— douche almighty
Flick-me-off-Fergie?
Little Playboy tan decal?
Blow it out your ass.
— boatbutter
Happy Thanksgiving!!
Happy Thanksgiving, from all the hottie/douchey couples of the world, to you. The reader.
Even Douche-Bert and Douche-Ernie want to say Happy Thanksgiving.
May your turkey be tender like The Rooster Wank, crowing on an early summer’s morning.
HCwDB at the Ballgame
Heyyyy ‘bagger ‘bagger ‘bagger…. swing ‘bagger!!
Wednesday Limerick
Three blondies were bored by the pool house.
When up popped a douche-head named Klaus.
‘Mein frauleins!” he cried,
With Germanic aside,
‘Mein tattoo says my hair’s been deloused!”
HCwDB of the Month: The Limey
In this glorious smackdown between classic douche and the absurd spectacle of a Euro-wreck, it was a race to the finish. But the sheer power of accessory, as well as the hott, helped The Limey to overpower The Batbag and take the comic book crown.
As swami ‘bagavad gita medidates on The Lime:
When I first saw the Limey, I felt like Arjuna after Krisna revealed himself: glorious, yet terrified. He has bestowed upon us the visage of the ultimate choad: the ‘Bagavan. “The Limey is Time; He is the Destroyer of Worlds.” How could he not be DB of the month?
Indeed, Swami. Sir Douche-a-Lot the Third agrees:
Couple said extreme ‘Baggerdom with such tightly snugged slugs that they resemble ole’ Chin ‘Bag’s chin. Oh no. my mind is possessed with ‘Bagger to the point that I no longer enjoy fresh cleavite without recurring images of God’s mistakes.
That’s the key to this pic. The cleavite. The glove. The chin pubes. The blank, vacant, lobotomized look of too many hours of basic cable and downloaded porn. It is douche-hell personified.
talayatu makes the case for a ‘Bag Soda and Lime:
Limey’s hott is superior, even with that awful frontal lobe hair bump thing guidettes often have nowadays. The shocker, the one glove, the bling, and especially the dang soul patch, but also the fact I don’t want to look at Scrotington that often… it’s gotta be Limey.
And burnsy agrees:
The Limey’s racing stripe makes me want to eat a baby.
In an irrational world, the only rational choice is irrationality. Well said, burnsey.
However the Batbag fans had their KAPOWS to say about the lurid spectacle of superdouche in the age of mechanical reproduction. bernard mcshaughnessy lays the smackdown for the Batbag:
It is like someone took a lump of douche and molded it into a doughy douche-package, then s@#t on it, wiped his/her ass with a comic book, crammed the feces-smeared pages into the lump of douche, popped a silk shirt on it, threw it into a night club and then ran for the state line, ass on fire.
Yup. Pretty much sums it up. Beautiful smackdown B McS.
Long-time friend of the site and supreme ‘bag hunter baron von douchehausen throws some spew Jack Scrotington’s way:
I got to go with Jack on this one. When you are an aging ‘bag with a receding hairline and you pay to have your scraggly dirty blonde locks braided up to look like an imported overpaid soccer player, well, you deserve a shot at the annual.
Well said, BvD. But it’s the everpresent anonymous who makes perhaps the clearest case why The Limey deserves to win:
Of the four candidates the Limey contains both the girl I would most like to lick and the douche I would most like to see trash compacted.
And that’s what we’re all about here at HCwDB. On Turkey’s Eve, we must remember to contemplate the hott as well as the choad. Like turkey with gravy. Or poo with flowers.
The Batbag, we’ll see again. Oh yes. We’ll see him again.
But today, the classic Hott/Scrote combo of The Limey is our Monthly Winner.
