Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Bring Me The Head of Alfredo Greasia

Shirtsies?

We don’t need no steenking shirties.

Holy Shirts and Pants

Shirtlessness?

The new popped collar.

Underwear peak?

The new douche-face.

Tiny Dancer who knows not what she climbs on?

Just plain wrong.

Saturday Musings

It’s early morning on a Saturday, and your half awake narrator on all things Brain Grenade/Bone Zone, is contemplating the morphing douchological plague.

After a doozer of sober busters I had an epiphany last night.

I’ve been overly cruel to New Jersey. I owe the Garden State a bit of a mea culpa for overstating its role within douche hierarchy.

This is not to say Jersey isn’t one of the central fronts in the War on Douchebaggery. It is. Only that compared to areas of Long Island and Staten Island, Jersey really isn’t producing grease choads at quite the rate one would assume.

Jersey’s in the mix. There’s no doubt of it’s douche influence. But there are other cities and areas far higher on the pie-chart of hottie/scrotey violation.

I’m looking at you, Chicago and Dallas. Douche clone factories. Dystopian nexus points of aesthetic violations. Of fist pumping blight. Even cities you wouldn’t assume would pump out the pumped up douchescrotes. Atlanta. Memphis. Even Vancouver.

Even my City of Angels. Actorbags and unemployed stubblebags working out their “Game” moves on the latest crop of 18-24 year olds fresh of the boat from Sheboygan. But alas, as the fires recede from the hills of Malibu, I tip my Red Cup of the ‘Train. Because, no matter how Bleethed they may be, the young hottie boobies are still bouncing.

Special thanks to reader Pfah for the kickass new banner for the site. He is a supreme ‘bag hunter, and I honor his rapier wit and ability to lust after the boob while mocking the choad with erudite aplomb. Good to have you on board brotha.

Snake Pisskin

Question. Across the long and glorious subsections of douchological classification, what are those attributes that most rise to the top? That transcend ordinary scrotitude and invoke a higher plane of choad consciousness?

I would argue there are certain ‘bags who summon the ‘bag spirit without need for primitive hand gestures nor the Kissy Lips. What I like to term spectral douchitude.

Snake Pisskin here is one of these privileged deities that I speak of.

It’s not just that he’s corralled a sexy future librarian that I plan to awkwardly greet outside of her sorority house until she maces me and kicks me in the shins. How I love that soft blue dress and two tone brunette hair. She is a creamy dark haired soft serve ice-cream tilt-o-whirl of cotton candy carrot sticks. And if that last sentence read confusingly, it’s only because she dizzifies my wiki fantastic.

But it’s the tat-douchery that Snake embodies that sends this pic off into strato-wrongness. Pisskin’s ass chin. Top it all off with the bug glasses and you have a nice frothy serving of spectral douchitude far greater than the analytic sum of its parts.

In short, it’s Friday. He sucks. She’s hott. And it’s time to start drinking.

Fan Mail

Anonymous D-Bag writes in:

—–
This should be a book on how to pick up some chicks. Because guys that look like that when they go out, including myself, get chicks. My you should use these pictures to learn something. Cause were getting laid and your not.
—-

What about my not? Oh, you mean you’re not. As in “you’re not a very good speller, but your Affliction t-shirt is da bomb.”

Keep touting your hott as proof that your douchebaggery is justified, Anonymous DB. And I’ll keep posting the pics and mocking your douchey ass, regardless of the quality of boobies in your presence.

Because simply scoring a cutie does not justify the aesthetic cultural violations that your douchuous gender inverted narcissism performs on our society.

And you smell like poo.

The Chase

So what defines the parameters of human existence?

Is it the way we construct the careful elements of cultural armor to launch ourselves like fiery pieces of Sputnik into a collision course with a large quantity of hott in the hopes of grabbing shards during our atmospheric plunge?

Is it through a madcap endless chasing of the name-brand identities of trend culture in the vain hopes of grasping that just-out-of-reach brass ring of “now”?

An endlessly impossible journey of paradox, a quagmire of corporate inspired chase in which we are brand-name rats scurrying for a mythic product to transcend the sexual competition during our underground descent into the Land of Boobological Firmness?

And is it so wrong that I want Angry Blonde White with the tiny side-boobs to shackle me to a radiator and spank me while dressed in a giant Snoopy costume?

No More Rat Chin

Rat Chin writes in:

—–
What’s up. I’m really liking this site…except for the fact that I’m on it. Hell, I’m probably going to be coming back here and checking regularly. However, you guys have a picture up that a friend of mine (he’s the real douchebag) added of me. It’s a Halloween picture and I’m wearing a costume that I would not dare wear on a normal day. If you guys could remove the pic, I would really appreciate it.

Thanks.
(Rat Chin)
——

“Halloween Pic,” Rat Chin? Let me consult my Magic 8-Ball. It says, “All Signs Lead to Not Freaking Likely.”

But alas your Ten Degree Hat Tilt with the Sticker Still On (TDHTwtSSO) and chin scruff will be lost to the spirit world.

So instead here’s a picture of some z-list scenester named Scott something or other whom I’ve never heard of, but readers keep insisting I run since he’s a grade-A douche.

Friday Haiku

‘Sure he looks like douche,’
Cute lil’ Jenny told her mom.
‘But he lifts my box.’

Faux hawk and real tats
Her perfect boobs make this scrote
Grab his small package

— el doucherino, if you’re not into the whole brevity thing

Reflective hottie
In background calls DB1.
“I found another!”

— boatbutter

Narcissistic douche
Flexes for his blonde hottie
Grips light-weight package

— clementine of cappadoucha

really bad carpet.
must be at the Douchebag Mall.
box full of white belts.

— pfah

Douchey warehouse ‘bag
I lurk behind Galaga
to steal the blonde hott

— douche mcallister

Halloween HCwDB Costumes

I’m getting a lot of emails inquiring on the best steps for dressing up as Hottie/Douchey couple for Halloween.

I’d be careful about impersonating a ‘bag too accurately, as you may get your ass kicked even on Halloween. But for those adventurous enough to try, I think it’s a great costume. If you pull off an accurate Hall of Scrote impersonation, I’d be honored and impressed.

Please send any and all pics of such attempts.

Jesse “The Douche” Ventura, a huge fan of the site, actually went with his friend to a Halloween party dressed as a HCwDB couple. Uhm… a little disturbing, but A for effort, guys.

Now if you’d only gone as a Prompa, I’d be really impressed.

Captain Shirtless

After a series of army experiments using radiation and a glowing green liquid made by Doctor Douchuous in an underground lair went horribly wrong, young army private Bleek Blather found himself transformed into…

Captain Shirtless!! Hero to the common douche!!

At first I was going to reject this pic on the grounds of professional stripperdom, but now I’m not so sure. Do strip clubs let in douche superheroes like Captain Shirtless? Or is my fervered imagination convincing me that hotties actually dress up in tiny bits of lingerie of their own free non-economically-inspired accord?

And what about Sweet Polly Purebred on the right? How does she figure into this equation?

Tune in next week for the further scrotey adventures of Captain Shirtless and the Stable of Ambiguously Pro Hott!! Same douche time!! Same douche channel!!