Coona tee-tocky malia?
Cheska lopey x’hoo pumba? Kavaa kyotopa bu whirlee backa? Moova dee boonkee ree slagwa. Tah-koh tee womp rat e’nachu!!
Blame Canada
Look guys, I love Labatts. Really polite tourists. Ice hockey. David Cronenberg. Bob and Doug McKenzie.
You’re our neighbor to the north. You’re cold, large and have caribou. Kind of like my ex-girlfriend Carolyn.
But what’s with the douched out Air Force wicket hair muscle choad?
And what are the combined topographic land mass of those two Saint Elias mountains?
The Species Killer
This douche is a rare type.
He doesn’t just violate cultural aesthetic. He is what scientists label a “species killer.” Like an oil slick. Or a microbal plague. He causes sterility simply by breathing in proximity to a fertile female.
He is literally anti-procreation.
Ovaries spontaneously combust in his greased up presence. Fallopian tubes collapse from abject terror at even the hint of his genetic imprint.
Fertility shamans in ancient Japan commit ritual hari-kari simply witnessing his used sweatbands.
There are opposites to the Species Killer Douche. Those few with superpowers of impregnation. Like Tom Brady. Tom Brady could inseminate a field of oxen by sneezing. Tom Brady could impregnate Koko, the sterile panda in the China Zoo,simply by reminiscing about his childhood teddy bear.
Halloween Prompa
PIC DELETED
—-
DB1,
Attached is a photo of a buddy of mine sporting the Oompa Prompa for Halloween. I know its a few days late, but based on the costumes you’ve posted, I’d say this is the best I’ve seen. And the 33 year old w/ the huge cans in the purple aerobics outfit only adds to the douchosity.
Cheers,
Dan
—-
Orange Face may be my great contribution to 21st Century American culture.
The 'Bag Brothers
Jean Claude Van Bagge writes in:
—–
Dear DB1,
Threw a party at my apartment last night when two uber scrote/douche’s walk in. At first I wasn’t sure if they were simply wearing a costume for Halloween but after I saw the big scrote on the left white belt/white pants ensemble I knew that they had succumbed to a level of douchiness that there is no cure. While the girls have fairly cute faces I’m sorry they aren’t showing any boob.
Best,
Jean Claude Van Bagge
—–
Let me check the calendar. Last night? November 1st. Thus, not a halloween party. Thus, the biggest servings of choads since that meal I had with King Festivus The Large during my pilgrimage through Uttar Pradesh during the rainy season.
Tackdouche
Once, back when I was in second grade, I sat on a tack.
Sam Boyd put it on my seat when I wasn’t looking during arts and crafts period.
The pain was terrible. I cried, and the teacher had to call my parents to come pick me up.
So when I say that this pic makes me want to force a hundred second graders to run through a gymnasium of tacks barefoot, it’s not that I’m not sensitive to how much their little feetsies will hurt. I am. Believe me.
But in a karmic universe in which injustice is repaid only in subsequent pain, that gymnasium full of crying second graders with bleeding feetsies is the only answer to this picture of Tackdouche and the Doublemint Cutes.
So really, children. Don’t be mad at me for forcing you to run over a thousand tacks barefoot until your feetsies hurt. It’s the only cosmic answer. Think of the larger picture.
De Basement
Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
— William Shakespeare, “The Tempest”
I smell poo.
— DB1, HCwDB
Friday Haiku
Kissy Lips hangs loose,
Brick Wall Hott reflects on life,
gazing at face grease.
Elisha Cuthbert
You have fallen so far down.
Please call Jack Bauer.
— reservoir douche
Brickwall blondie has
Sideboob cleavite exposed here
Must wash oily cheek
— batou
Little forearm tat-
I wonder what it could say…
The mark of a bleeth.
— boatbutter
Side boobs eyes smolder
Pictures taken behind Von’s
Where douche manages
— don parmesan guido linguini
Step aside blondie
Allow the crash test dummies
To plow this douchebag
— xander dingleberries
Even bricks saying,
What the hell is she thinking?
Bricks can be so wise.
— the alpha douche
Where's Waldouche?
Somewhere in this lineup of platinum boobitude I’ve carefully hidden a Kneel Before Zod! Douche with an orange balloon floating above his head.
Look closely.
Can you find him?
'Bag / Not a 'Bag
PIC DELETED
I need an official ruling. Does folding up the shirt-sleeves into giant nun habits stamp one as choad?
Or am I just running this pic because I would ride a Shetland Pony over the landmine infested hinterlands of Cambodia just for the chance to share noodle soup with her older, less attractive, cousin Shirley?
It’s probably to get with Shirley.
