Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Ask DB1

Gaius Douchius Caesar writes in:

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Dear DB1,

Gaius Douchius Caesar
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There is always hope, GDC. Both within the scrote and even within the bleethed out hott. And yes, even within a group that dresses up as homoerotic warriors from the movie 300.

The process of de-douchification is a long one. It involves twelve key steps a hottie/douchey couple must take together. The specifics of the Twelve Step process will be outlined in my book, and will detail the methodological purge of the Goose and the Gel from the ‘bag/hott couple.

So do not give up, GDC. Your old drinking buddy may indeed still return from the land of douchescrotery at some future date. But, in the interim, send me the pics and we’ll mock his assy face and lust after his hottie’s clavicles. Because mocking means we care. And by care I mean don’t care.

Doggie 'Baggin'

Coming this spring, on (post WGA Strike) Fox: When Doggie ‘Bag Moves Go Wrong!

Or, as The Cowboy in Lebowski says: Sometimes you eat the bar. And sometimes the bar eats you.

Risky Business

Why does this dude feel like one of the extras from the hooker party scene in Risky Business? It must be those glasses. Or the Tom Cruise face.

So I understand you want to attend Princeton.

Now that was a great movie. The Porsche. The legend that is Curtis Armstrong. Guido the Killer Pimp, perhaps another under-celebrated archetype from sleaze antiquity.

And, of course, the 1980s all natural superior dose of hottness that fueled a thousand pre-pubescent fantasies on HBO throughout the mid 1980s: Rebecca De Mornay. I still dream of going for ice cream with that curvy cat-eyed minx. Somewhere off the lake in Chicago.

There’s a crack in my egg. Yes. No. Maybe.

Step away from the stripy boobie, Risky wannabe. This is not the time of your life, kid. You’re just a tool rubbing up on my future ex-girlfriend that I will have relations with on the subway at 3am to the last good Phil Collins song and 12 frames a second step-printing.

In Defense of Douche

maddy writes in:

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you’re way too jaded dude. why all the animosity toward douche-bags? think about it—the female equivalent would be people like lindsey lohan and britney spears.hot, stupid, and proudly partaking in asinine antics which serve to make others feel better about themselves for *not* being that douche-y????

Peace.
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Maddy, I can only quote the great poet singer-songwriter of our generation, Jewel, when she asked all of us the following deep and probing question:

Who will save your soul? Na na na ne na na, nah ne nah?

Who will save my soul indeed, Jewel. Indeed.

Such eloquent and probing words from someone so young who once lived in a van and now has giant boobs.

Thank you, Jewel. You force us to confront ourselves. By staring at your boobs.

Stubble Boy

Is Stubble Boy ‘Bag? Or does the power of side-boob compel me to skip the ‘bag fantastic and go for the boobological side of the Zen douchequation?

And does the fact that those two poorly written scat sentences of textual mash-up make perfect sense to both myself and to you represent the death of proper linguistics as a method of communication?

That is for the scholars to decide.

I know only side boob.

Reader 'Bag Hunting

Reader Hott Lips writes in:

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If the Steve Martin and Dan Aykroyd Wild and Crazy Guys were cross-bred with swarthy and hirsute douchitude, we’d have these choads.

And when exactly did shirtlessness become the go-to douche move? It happened at some point in the past six months but I must’ve missed the exact moment of historical rupture.

Is the Gator "vain"?

“Is this the UK’s Vainest Man?”

Click on the link for the article in last week’s British The Sun newspaper.

Right off the bat I count two main problems with that headline.

1. It’s in the form of a question
2. It refers to The Gator as a “man”

Otherwise, the crimson tanned pecs of Wrath of Khan douchitude remain a supreme pinnacle of cataclysmic social catastrophe, and one of the great finds of this site.

I would attack and primatively hump the chiffron slip clinging to blondie’s boobie curves with the feral rage of a Madagascar porcupine.

Lynyrd Dychryd

I almost didn’t run these two rocker puds, except for two glorious factors:

1. Red Hottie has a perfect example of female body iconographic purity, by which I mean curves and meat in all the right suckle-worthy places.

2. The Rocker Choads both have camel toe.

Name that Scrote

This is a new game here at HCwDB, Name that Scrote. In five words or less, can you identify the following douche-object pictured here?

Take your best guess in the comments thread.

Then click here to reveal what it is.

HCwDB of the Week

It was the best of times. It was the scrotiest of times. Your humble narrator, The DB1 spent much of the weekend chasing an L.A. hottie who swore off ‘bags after her last clubster douche cheated on her with the reservations girl at Koi.

Two turn tables and a microphone later, and she’s back with his sorry tattooed and gelled up ass. Because “deep down, he’s really sweet.”

So the DB1 is fired up. His coffee is brewed. His Cocoa Puffs are still crunchy and a part of his complete nutritious breakfast. And his rash is subsiding.

Will the hotties ever learn? I put it to you, Greg. Help pick me a Hottie/Douchey couple of the week and let the mocking, and I mean serious-ass mocking, begin:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: N’ Stynk

There’s something extra annoying about this pud, and it’s not just the exploding hair.

It’s that Mark Hamill in Corvette Summer youth thing.

But the comments and reaction to this pic the first time around makes me think I might be alone on this. And yes the girl has the vague aura of jailbait. But that leopard print dress and perfect perky wonder twins, not to mention the middle aged paunchbag in the back of the pic, are enough for me to assume they’re old enough to allow the mocking/lust to compete in earnest.

And by earnest, I mean the importance of being. And goes to camp.

I’d love her knees like the Sun God Ra was loved by the Egyptian proletariat.

Which means I would shake papayrus leaves in ritual patterns as an ode to my desire to, uhm, do her. Do her long time.

Damn. That metaphor broke down like a certified pre-owned Yugo.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Limey

First appearing as shirtless limerick. Pure poetry of mock.

Now transcending the narrow confines of short-verse Irish working class bar humor, The Limey jumps to finalist status.

It could be the chin strip.

It could be the brunette’s trashy yet alluring womanhoods.

But, most importantly, it’s the combination of both. The toxic swirl of hott and douche.

And yes, hotts can be douche as well (douchebaguettes). But that is not what we vote on. We vote only on the swirl. The counterpoint.

And a wristwatch that weighs the same as a small Bangladeshi boy.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: The Jackhammer

I’m tossing the Jackhammer into the mix not simply on the strength of the uber-choad (although he reeks of all that is this site’s modus operandi) , but because we need to get some fun yet realistic older hotts into the mix.

The real-world mid 30s party girls who won’t annoy you with stupid questions and might even buy you a beer.

Lets hear it for 30s hotties. Old enough to hang with, yet young enough to still feature firm buttocks of quarter bouncing inspection passing quality.

Oh, and the choad. Yes, the choad. He needs to be dipped in candle wax and sold in Brazil for his healing powers.

So them’s your three.

With only a month or so to The Douchies, our annual end-of-year awards list, we only have a few weekly and only one Monthly left. So make it a good one.

Vote, as always my friends, in the comments thread.