Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Champagne Superdouchebag V

Ah, old friend Champagne Superdouchebag. How I missed your choady Trustfundian ways.

Your consistency of stubble is belied only by that snazzy white belt buckle and douched up NASCAR jacket.

Your ability to shuffle the hotties like a deck of boobie cards invokes the closeup trickery of the great Ricky Jay.

I would dress as a surgeon and rub Tantric African tribal oils on your bright eyed hottie’s upper elbow area until she hit me in the head with a candlestick.

Suckling at the Douche Teat

It’s bad enough I’ve got a hangover the size of a Buick.

But to roll out of bed and regard two juicy juice bouncing balls of hot playing bling hockey in front of a giant wall of checkerboard douchitude, is definitely not helping.

Even worse, this Abtastic Clown is none other than The Kitchen ‘Bag, demonstrating an Ab Lobster and Peaches level of douche-move revelatory consistency.

The rage factor is high with this one. Not even Blondie’s cool arching back can quench that fire.

Bottle 'Bag

You know what they say about smirking guys with large bottles of Grey Goose, right honey?

That they’re total and complete douchebags.

Friday Night 'Baggin'

Ah yes, the Doggie ‘Bag.

Sweeping the nation like Hula Hoops. Like Cabbage Patch Kids. Like Tamagochis. Like The Lohan’s fire crotch.

Even Hottie seems revulsed that she’s forced to participate in such a ridiculous ritual. Carlos in the background is tucking his shirt in out of pure disgust.

But the ‘bag? He loves it like a giant shoulder tatt.

Yup, it’s Friday Night.

Your stubbly narrator in all things 10 Degree, the DB1, has said hello to Mr. Johnny Walker. Because I’m upgrading from the usual ‘Train tonight.

It’s celebratin’ time. The book is almost done. The ridiculous L.A. heatwave has passed. And my feet no longer smell like gouda.

Site hottie Black Betty Bamalam has agreed to go ‘bag hunting with me to take pics for the site in the near future. She will become our covert agent. And I will post the evidence of the ‘baggery we catch.

So get out there, people. If you’re a hottie, avoid the ‘bag like crotch rash. If you’re a ‘bag hunter, smack a ‘bag and have a drink.

It’s Friday, baybees. Life is good.

Not in a Gang Sign #01

Whitey McSuburban, note to self: You are not in a gang. If you go to South Central and ask to join a gang, they will laugh in your whitebread suburban hip-hop face.

Please stop disgracing all of us with your obnoxious pseudo-tough “gang” signs and hijacking of the tropes of hip-hop culture. Didn’t Elvis steal enough?

Your misappropriation of racial discourse offends cultural theorists the world over. Your tilted cap and pouty lipped douche-face do not speak of a guy who’s “bad.” They merely speak of a douche who smells like poo.

I would cut off and sautee my lips in garlic and vinegar and serve to a hungry pit bull if I could nibble with my remaining mouth on perky Meadow Soprano hottie’s satin thingamabob zig-zaggy thing.

Poppy and Clara

Poppy doesn’t have to do much to inspire visions of dipping him in mustard and serving him to one of Maurice Sendak’s Wild Things. Just the collar pop, unbuttoned shirt and douche-face.

That’s enough. More than enough.

Something about this cutie has that 1920s silent film star look.

Like the long forgotten Hollywood sex symbol of the early 1920s, Clara Bow. Who once said, “The more I see of men, the more I like dogs.”

Looks like Clara Bow Hottie likes dogs too.

'Bag Hunting

A reader went ‘bag hunting over the Labor Day weekend and caught the following choads:

—–
So challenged by my guy friends who didn’t think I had the balls, I enlisted my girlfriend at our first attempt at bag hunting. We were at Seacrets in Ocean City, Maryland over Labor Day weekend.

thx,
“fougoo”
—–

Nicely done, fougoo! You’ve captured two solid stage-2 post-collegiate barhopper ‘bags.

‘Bag Hunting is a rarified skill that must be approached cautiously and carefully, as ‘bags can grow skittish if they feel entrapped.

Scrubby

Of all the permutations across the wide variety of douchey/hottie subsections, this is one I’m having a hard time categorizing.

Is he douche? Of course. There’s really no debate. But what brand of douchuousness? What flavor of choad?

Scrubby has the intricately carved facial hair of a pampered persian cat’s ass whiskers. He actually sports a pair of pants he cut into shorts complete with dangling pockets, circa 1987.

There’s the douchey tats and the retro sunglasses. So how do we classify Scrubby? This middle aged doughboy confounds.

Is he Oldbag? Clownbag? Suburban Choadbag? Or simply playing douche dress-up to entertain his much younger cutie?

The only thing I can safely conclude is that I would ice-fish for frozen mackerel on a mountain lake using only string, chewing gum and my cunning for bait, just for the chance to lick melting snow off Hottie’s Subaru that won’t start because she forgot to change the oil.

Friday Haiku

Meat Loaf, Paradise,
by the doucheboard light. Tragic.
silver pasties… hope.

The Undertaker
Now rocks to heavy metal,
and found his groupie.

— douchey howser, m.d.

Gorgeous Vampiress
Caught by camera mid-kill
I would die with you.

— arch ‘bagger of canturbury

Look no further, scrote:
You’re choad and wank nirvana.
Cowgirl boobies… mmm…

— el maestro

Old Sabbath Rocker
Is about to spend his cash
To pay her daycare

— clementine of cappadoucha

The Hills Have 'Bags

Okay, I know I keep saying I’m going to avoid covering celebridouche on the site, but it’s probably okay if I post this pic from MTV’s “The Hills.”

Since nobody’s heard of these clowns, nobody will ever hear of these clowns, and their douche-nozzle factor is set on overdrive.

In fact the guy who delivers my mail is a bigger celebrity. The old ladies up the street love that guy.

Any wannabe scroterashes douching it up on an MTV reality show in a desperate attempt for D level fame deserve uberdouche status. Then you factor in the tonguebaggery of this pic, and it’s like Puck from Real World SF times 1000.

Yes, I just referenced Puck from MTV San Francisco.

Because my MTV references have to go that far back.

The rest of them all faded into some mishmash of Bleethed out hotties named Trashelle and uber-douche Road Rules generics who look like Pod People from Invasion of the Neo-Aryan Body Snatchers Who Look Like Mark McGrath.

And the stereotype token black guy. Who’s sweet and cuddly until he gets in a drunken fight with one of the white chicks.

Good times, MTV. Good times.