Shirtdouche Epidemic
Okay, the emerging missing shirt douche look has officially gone from skeezy epidemic to “Punching Myself in the Face with a Tire Iron” critical.
How does this picture happen? Does it make any sense at all?
How does an upscale bar filled with Yuppiebags and Jennifer Aniston in “Office Space” hotts suddenly find a shirtdouche washing up on its shores?
Can someone explain this to me?
And if you can stare at his face for ten seconds without pouring ascorbic acid your computer monitor, you’re a better person than I.
EDIT: Is this thing photoshopped? Any ‘shoppers out there who can tell?
Boris The Skull
I’m not sure that missing bits of your skull like you were snipered with an M-16 while fighting Chechnyan rebels in Groznyy is the studliest look for you, Boris.
I can’t tell whether you’re on a date or searching out a triage unit.
However, your babushka of borsch is a tasty perogy with extra stroganoff.
I would Yakov her Smirnoff then Lenin her Tolstoy. And then I would grab her boobs.
Stars and Stripes
Next on Antiques Roadshow:
A delightful antique wooden chair and table set from the mid 1970s. Rustic charm with a polished New England oak. Just like the one Grandma used to have.
Only wear and tear is the chairs are slightly greased up by a douchey retro couple doing their best karaoke “Afternoon Delight.”
Charlie's Angels
When did college girls start emulating Charlie’s Angels by way of the slutt machine?
And when did fratdouches embrace the trucker mandana + Reservoir Dog tie look?
But most importantly, the female butt rub. It’s like four cantalope halves fighting over a quarter. Good times.
Wonderbag and the Missing "T"
Wonderbag is certainly a doughy breadness of skeeze.
His sullen expression, douched out Wonderbread Yankee cap and covert ‘bag hand gesture all represent. And smiling brunette is the guitar solo fusion sunshine of my love.
But this is one of those pics where something remains unanswered.
A vague question not just of how these two came to cohabitate, but an unfinished sentence of permanent open ended story.
It’s like that elusive “T” when Lady Miss Kier of 1991 One Hit Wonder Deee-Lite sings “Groove is in the Heart.” But she drags out the last word of the chorus, so it sounds like harrrr…
Groove is in the harrrrr… aye yaye yaye yaye… Groove is in the harrrrr…
Where does that “t” go? Did the “t” ever exist? Is the hook of the chorus intentionally delaying the gratification of completion? Is the missing “t” simply part of the musical cadence? Or is it a conundrum? A paradox? A closed loop of impossibility?
For years I’ve wondered what happened to the “t” in “heart” during the chorus of that song.
But then Q-Tip raps.
And all is good again.
The Lonely Pimp
Off by himself. In the distance, a violin plays a solo.
In the corner of the Jacuzz, with only a bottle of cheap champagne to comfort him, while the hotts congregate at the other end of the waterfront.
Feel for the Lonely Pimp.
For it is not easy wearing long shorts, sunglasses, a mandana and a wristwatch into a jacuzzi, only to have your pimp look rejected by the rodeo girls.
But he’s not completely alone.
His #1 Fan salutes his heroism with the One Armed Miller Lite.
99 Douche Balloons
Someone needs to pen a German language 80s synth dance hit to summarize this tragedy right here. And why, exactly, is 99 D.B. crying? Shouldn’t he be playing early Philip Glass harmonics on the six piece butt bongo in front of him?
I’m also pleased to see the Rare Blue Cup make an ethereal appearance.
Stereodouchtonic Picnic
I’m fairly certain these two picnic clowns in classic ‘bag sandwich formation are the Stereodouchtonic twins from last Spring. Also featured here.
Do these douches ever wear shirts?
And is it time to convene the Hall of Scrote Committee to vote on the STD’s worthiness for the Hall?
Wednesday Limerick
When douche and hott commingle for too long,
You get a double tragedy so strong,
The hott looks like dreck,
From surviving her douche-wreck,
And “Hostility” for caucasian Long Duck Dong.
HCwDB of the Week: The Limey
You know how you take that intoxicating first sip of Night Train straight from the bottle? Two minutes after purchasing that small glass tube of tangy red wine-substance for $2.99 from your local Korean grocer, you crack the twist off cap and guzzle down that headache inducing liquid and say goodbye to soberdom for the next twelve hours?
I ask because that’s this week’s winner.
Able to wear one glove, make “The Shocker,” feature the frozen stare of The Gator, all while covered in numerous adouchremenets. It’s twelve hours of headache for $2.99.
That’s The Limey. As the eradicatoor puts it in the comments thread:
The Limey. His gaze is so vacant, and unaware of the melons he could be suckling if he would just turn off the camera. The Shocker, or failed piece sign coupled with ripped Dice Clays and enough metal to choke a bear.
Her Hott is playful and sweet, I want to unwrap her and test her reflexes.
Very well said, E. schwagle agrees:
Limey, however, represents all that the douches of tomorrow wish to be. His vaguely drugged up stare and the pubic dribble emanating from his foodhole almost seem to draw you in and refuse to let go without a fight. It’s as if he is attempting to suck out your soul through mere eye contact, like some sort of scrotological basilisk.
And it’s obvious he stores the souls he reaps in his arm, where the twisting nether of fading colors show how many souls he has consumed over the years. And it’s pretty obvious that the hottie next to him is his next victim, lured in by Limey’s nauseous stench, never to be seen again.
You both brought your A-Game verbal dexterity to this week’s smackdown. The verbal shredding in this week’s thread were of the purest of HoHo sugar rush quality.
But let us not forget N ‘Stynk, who pulls talayatu’s vote:
I was going to go with the Limey, but I dunno, something about the way Mark Hamill’s hott is looking at the camera… it’s gotta be #1.
And david douchecovney agrees, bringing the Plato:
N’ Stynk epitomizes the swirl so perfectly, it’s as if I’ve spent my whole life staring at shadowy images of puppets projected by firelight, and thinking the images real, only to be led away from the fire this morning and made to look upon not just the puppets, but the hand that animates them. And the leopard print too. I been made to look at that.
But it’s The Limey for the win. N ‘Stynk placed a distant second, and the MILFs of The Jackhammer barely placing third and confirming that youth-hott is indeed a strong part of the equation.
notadouche presents the case:
limey’s chin stripe says it all, “why go clean shaven when i can make the bottom part of my face look like a skunks ass? why stop there when i can make the top part look like deep fried cow dung dowsed in glitter?”
Couldn’t have said it better myself, nota. “deep fried cow dung dowsed in glitter” may be the choice metaphor of the week, good work.
So there’s your winner, folks. Give that tool a kewpie doll and toss him on the Merry-Go-Round, then take his hott for cotton candy. For they’re in the Monthly like a chin pube dribble.
