Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Lost Limerick

Soprano #1 writes in:

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well let me start off by saying i appreciate your honesty.. but obviously i am featured on ur site this month.. im the one with my friend and his girlfriend in the middle.. its pretty f@#$ed up that u have the time to bash me but u kno what i take it as a compliment cause i get hot girls and that just proves it.. id really appreciate it if u took me off ur site because its not right.. u have a right to ur opinion but i have a right also ..so do me that favor and take me off. thanx
—-

I don’t like to think of it as “bashing.” I prefer to view it as an erudite cultural critique of the neo-Marxian understanding of social capital, or what Adorno calls the “culture industry.”

Or, put another way, I likes to tool on teh spikey hair grease douche.

And since I didn’t have a pic to accompany this email, here’s a gaggle of hott with two carefully selected choice premium toilet cleanses.

The Douche Toad

Anyone see my trust fund frat-boy douche toad?

I know I left it around here somewhere.

The business major at State who plays bass in classic rock coverband Sonic Hedgehog on Tuesdays during the Ribs Nibs and Dibs buffet at The Wings Shack? You know the type.

The dude who makes kissy lips and dual ‘bag hand gestures when grabbing two sorority sisters from Puta Kappa Beta Carotina.

I see you, saucy Vanessa Carlton hottie on the left. Oh yes I do. I will compose two chord melodramatic songs and bang on a piano with minimal talent in your honor.

Ass Pimples

Ever get hit in the face with a frying pan, and that cartoon “boing” wobble sound gets made? Me neither. But if I ever got hit in the face with a frying pan, that’s the noise I would expect.

That sort of wobbling saw noise. If I were to linguisticize the sonics, it would go:

ba-yung-yung-yung-yung.

That’s what it feels like staring at these two ridiculous hemorrhoidic ass pimples.

ba-yung-yung-yung-yung.

I know. It’s Saturday. I’m supposed to go light with the pics today. Especially after a run of some pretty choice hottie/douchey couplings over the last week. But hell. I’m about to get on a treadmill and work off last night’s steak, so I need something to piss me off and get me motivated.

These Ass Pimples are like crack for the anger soul. I’m gonna release a workout tape based on this principle. “Sweatin’ to the Douchies.”

I know these clowns have been featured before on the site. Is that The Crustacean, our Monthly Winner and douche-partner of fellow sea faring creature, Fish Slap? Or are they all looking the same at this point? And does that make me a douche-racist?

I can’t tell if Aqua Brunette is true hott, but from what I can tell, she’s workout worthy. White is in that awkward mid 20s stage between college and “young soccer mom.” Don’t buy the SUV just yet, Future Soccer Mom. First ditch the Ass Pimples and come have a drink with The DB1.

I promise to offer you cheap wine out of a corkless bottle and served in a plastic cup. Hey, it may not be much, but at least I’m not those ass pimples.

Sneaky Businessman From Indiana

I don’t know what you’re up to, Sneaky Businessman From Indiana.

But it’s trouble.

Is he ‘bag? Perhaps not, although the two-tone Regis Philbin shirt-and-tie color scheme makes my crotch itch flare.

But each of these pouty hotts needs my attention. And by attention, I mean deep philosophical interest in their well being. And by deep philosophical interest in their well being, I mean spanking them lightly with a Connect Four until adorable shades of the lightest pink rise up and sing sonnets from “Godspell.”

Vaudeville Joke #178

Q: Excuse me Miss, but what’s that douchebag doing in your Jacuzzi?

A: The ‘bag stroke.

Ferrigno 'Bag

One of the subcategories of ‘bag that is usually found in the greater Vegas area is the Ferrigno ‘Bag.

This is a douche-pud caught in mid morph between everyday Bruce Banner and The Metro Gender Confused Hulk. Somewhere in the nethers between the two states.

And by nethers, I mean nads.

Note Ferrigno Tool’s Mark of the ‘Bag on the forehead. The distinct shine that resembles schlong-n-balls. The spiritual marking of “Choad” is undeniable.

Angelic ski-slope-nose hottie has the perfect tiny chin of boobal perfection. I would share my teka maki, rainbow roll and Pino Grigio with her at Crazy Fish until she started complaining about how her father never loved her and her agent only sends her out for Skinimax “tastefully topless” acting roles.

Then I would pay the bill, drive her home, and hit on her roommate.

Ask DB1

j writes in:

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DB1,

Yours truly,
j in Dallas (p.s Dallas is a very under appreciated bag breeding ground)
—-

This is an excellent question, j in Dallas, and I would disagree that Dallas is underappreciated for its scrotal breeding grounds. Dallas is in the Top 6 Origination locations of Douche Virus outbreak (the others being Chicago, Las Vegas, Miami, Orange County and New Jersey).

But to answer your question, due to the less than twenty year manifestation of the modern Douche Virus and douche/hott commingling, there really aren’t enough test cases to examine next-generation douchal offspring.

Hence it is entirely possible that a child product of choad and Bleeth could indeed end up surviving well past infancy without any collar popping to speak of.

However, parents do reinforce patterns of behavior, and by behavior I mean chest shaving, so if the parents are douche-parents, the children are more likely to follow in their scrotey footsteps. But it is not guaranteed.

Next Generation ‘baggery still needs to play out. But I will be observing. And by observing, I mean mocking.

The Official "Time To Get Drunk, It's Friday" Pic

I…

The…

Kafka…

It…

Mmm… strawberries.

Friday Haiku

Birdy tatt flies… flies…
Upon douchechoad’s chest, it lands.
Tiki God angry.

Totem god please help
rid us of horrid tat bag
Chomp in two with teeth.

— spinnaker chick

Inked choad puffs menthol
as cross and dog tag collide
baby Jesus weeps

— xander dingleberries

Why’s Charlie Sheen’s head
Mounted on a shaved greyhound?
Whippet, whippet good.

— darksock

Key ring on belt loop?
Island vacation in jeans?
Janitor back home

— ed

sunglasses indoors
automaticly makes choad
fully apparent

-Conducheous

Oompa Prompa, Oompity Prom

Yes, the Prompas are back to riddle us with the following question, delivered in choreographed song form:

Oompa, Prompa, Oompity Dom.
We may be orange, but what did you look like at your prom?

It’s true. I had the early 90s blow dried single length hair thing working. And a paisley cumberbun.

But still.

Ladies, you are lovely.

Gentlemen, you are still orange.