Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Dempsey Tongue

The Creeper’s influence spreads like a mutated influenza virus among crated egg laying chickens in rural Guang Tzao.

This pic just scars my soul. The more I stare at it, the more I expect Donald Sutherland and Brooke Adams to run by, while Leonard Nimoy goes, “Arrreoeooooooo!!!”

Now that was a good flick. Not that Nicole Kidman PG-13 nonsense a few months ago. I’m talking axes through the head of your alien spore produced pod double.

And genetically spliced dog-human creatures. Running around to banjo music.

Which, strangely enough, brings us back to this pic.

Alien tongues and douchebaggery. And a genetically spliced dog-human. That looks like Patrick Dempsey.

Six of One, a Total Douchebag of the Other

Living proof that you can look like a douched up mutant Brundlefly genetic splicing of Lou Diamond Phillips, Abe Vigoda and a ferret with lupus and still line up six bikini hotties at your table.

And how thoughtful. He brought them all a half dead rose.

The plethora of boobies riverdance like hallucinogenic 99 luftballoons in my peripheral vision. A Ralph Bakshi animated orgy by way of R. Crumb.

I would offer to Windex blushing blonde on the far left’s guest house with a beaten up Swiffer if it meant I could sniff her Grandmother’s oven minutes in regular fifteen minute intervals.

Vince Vaughnbag

Ah, Vince Vaughnbag.

You’re so douchey and you don’t even know it.

Note to all aspiring ‘baglings. Stop it with the muscle ts. No seriously. Put them down.

You want to work out in one? It’s still a stage-1 aesthetic violation, but it’s a gym, so I’ll let it go.

But out on the town with a pouty Spanish Conquistador hottie?

No excuse. Put on a shirt. Any shirt. Even one with tiny Elvises on it. That would be kind of cool.

But when your boobs are bigger than your girl? It’s just wrong, Vaughnbag. Now go help Favreau lose some weight.

Rollin' With the Goose

Bagglio Ordonez writes in:

—–
DB1-

— Bagglio Ordonez
—–

Nicely done, B.O., although unless my senses deceive me, that looks like every other bottle of The Goose. But run with it, my friend. Run like the wind. Now get some rosary beads and dog-tags, and then, maybe, Joey P will let you smell his wristdanas.

Vegas

Vegas.

You mock me with your choads and hott.

And yet, I keep going back.

Stereo Douchetonic Twin?

Maybe all these automaton douchewanks are starting to look the same, but is this one of the Stereo Douchetonic Twins without his partner in scrote?

And does Pauline speak English while she’s nannying here?

And who the hell is Hadley???

These are the questions that plague my ‘Train addled mind. I need help.

Johnny

Don’cha know that you are a douchin’ star, don’tcha know?
And all the world will mock you just as long, as long as you are…

Johnny got his nipple pierced, and now he’s a rock star, livin the high live in Provo, Utah.

That’s it. I’m growing my hair out, getting a minimum wage job at the Snappy Snack Shack where I’ll feast on turbo dogs, and starting up a lousy garage band that plays Buckcherry covers.

Yeah. That’s my new plan.

Then I can get a double serving of polka dot bikini hotties. Just like Johnny.

Doggie 'Baggin On

The Trainwreck. 7/11/2007.

Never Forget.

Watch the Doggie ‘Bag spread here, here, here, here, and here.

HCwDB of the Month

There are some hottie/douchey pics that transcend the need to compete for votes on an internet website. I speak, of course, of The Gator.

The Gator’s foul oil drenched uberdouche, and his increasingly varied selection of hottie, jumped him past the Weekly, past the Monthly, and straight into the rarified air of our beloved “Hall of Scrote.”

But these four couplings don’t have it so easy. They have to compete for your collective societal approval. And by approval, I mean rejection.

Four Weekly winners. But only one Monthly victor will emerge. So lest I keep ramblin’ about my ramblin’ amblin’ weekend, here’s your Finalists:

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #1: The Olive Loaf and Banana Hott

Cheesy club dude?

Or loaf of half baked bread?

The douche is high with this one, and I’m not just saying that because he has carefully orchestrated thickets of hair in perfect crop formation. I’m saying that because his face is a pimento olive in the martini glass of ass.

Banana Blonde is a half peeled popsicle stick of appeal.

Succulent thighs and one of the best dresses of all time.

But can she carry the loaf to a win in the Monthly? Is his douchitude enough?

It’s certainly possible. He’s uhm,… how you say,… uberscrote. A worthy finalist indeed. I now want to punch a kitten.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #2: ‘Bag Island

There are the spectacle ‘bags, and then there are the everyday fratchoads.

The type who say Bra and Dude in every other sentence.

The type who live off the trust funds, can’t form a coherent sentence under threat of death, and still pull perfectly formed swim team state school hotties with bone necklaces and ripe apple boobies.

What makes the ‘Bag Islander so annoying isn’t just the hair device, the Miller Lite/point or the neck sunglasses.

It’s the look to his off-screen buddy.

The Duuuuude, we’re so living the dream!! with finger point.

No. No you’re not living the dream, Miller Lite pud.

Well okay, maybe in your universe, you are livin’ the proverbial dream. But that still doesn’t mean I can’t call you douche.

And I see you too, Bikini Red on the right taking the picture. Hi there.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #3: Thornton Mellon Stewie Head

Some of you felt TMSH wasn’t a worthy Weekly winner, but I disagree.

It’s not just the football mellon head. It’s the pink flushed cheecks. The receding fauxhawk. The teeny, tiny patch of chin pube.

And a cornfed hottie who makes me want to drive the back roads of Iowa and pretend to be a Country Western singer named “Biff.”

Then you have the giant A/X shirt.

And a sombrero.

I’m telling you. Add in a dancing monkey and this pic would be hanging in the experimental wing at the Museum of Modern Art.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #4: Velvet Jones

For those arguing we need to get some more brothers up on our wall, Velvet Jones represents nicely.

He is classic Eddie Murphy SNL parody douchebaggery.

A nice slice of brothabag that demonstrates once again that douchebaggery is performativity. It is found in every nook, cranny and sphincter of this wide and disparate country.

And she is fantastic strawberry cheesecake happy pants goodness.

She’s probably named Amanda. Or Kelly. She watches American Idol and dreams of writing children’s books.

But now Velvet’s showin’ her some luve.

And the rest of us can only recoil in the hottie/douchey wrongness. And the velvet shirt. Seriously. Velvet, Velvet Jones? And does your mustache talk?

So them’s your four. Four enter. Only one can win.

I don’t envy you this task, people. Each of these pics brings powerful and unique attributes to the hott/choad duality that tasks us all.

Is it Velvet and Strawberry? Or perhaps it’s the classic fratchoad on the boat in the ‘Bag Island Experience? Or the lusty perfection of Banana Hott and the Olive Loaf? Or does the cartoonish ridiculousness of Thornton Mellon Stewie Head take the Monthly prize?

It’s a food fight Monthly.

Which cohabitation of hump worthy hott and rotting zombie corpse douche make you want to cry “Uncle!” and smash your head into a metallic underpass? That, fellow ‘bag hunters, is up to you. Four servings of douche-meat and hott. But only one can triumph.

Which will it be?

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

Saturday Night Greaseballs

What’s fascinating about this horrifying clip taken from the underbrush is not just the soul sucking wrongness of douched up Guidos on spring break. Although that is pretty douchetastic in its own right.

What’s revealing is watching the girls in this primitive mating ritual. Watch as they repeatedly try and fail to integrate themselves with the ‘bags. The ‘bags pay no notice.

And while it’s easy to say they’re gay or have no interest in women, that probably isn’t true. It’s just that they’ve become the spectacle. And so they grease. Which is one of the inherent defining characteristics of inner douchosity.

Now how am I supposed to go enjoy my tasty package of HoHos and football after witnessing this?