HCwDB of the Week: Crabs and Armpits Edition
After a lovely weekend of debauchery, hottie chasing and watching with bemusement at the many L.A. douchebags practicing their game, I found myself ruminating on this week’s selection of hottie/scrotey wrongness. In so doing, I realized I neglected a truly superior pic in last week’s HCwDB of the Week that deserves a fighting chance to ascend to a higher plateau of mockedness. So I’ve included that saltwater taffy generated choad in the mix.
So before we get to the Three, lets take a moment. Breathe in. Breathe out. Gaze at the following three images of sweet fawn and arthritic toad. Which of the three contains just the right mix of anger and arousal, humor and rage, boobies and douchebag?
Then and only then, can one of three rise to the top and be called “Champeen.”
I know what you’re thinking. Shut yer yap, DB1, and get on with it. And so I shall, young spice merchant. And so I shall. The douchinees are:
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Gillette Mach Douche
When did our society first steer its ship into the rocky cliffs of cultural douchebaggery?
I’d say a good guideline was when men started getting barbed wire tats and shaving their armpits. Right there, we have a problem. A major problem.
I mean really. Take a look at this dude. As hard as it is, keep looking. Creepy cheekboned Tommy Lee JonesBag here makes me all sorts of vomitorious with his shiny forehead, uberdouche muscle-t, and well, douche everything.
And then there’s Lovely Fawn.
Lovely Fawn is the antithesis of the rank spew.
Lovely Fawn cooks the DB1 scrambled eggs and brings him the funnies to read after a night spent rubbing his thighs with goat yogurt and doing the watusi on his back.
I can’t see how I missed this pic in last week’s Weekly spew-off. This is a classic HCwDB pic. It brings up the bile. It features a girl-next-door West Hamptons debutante hott. And, like any special ‘bag, he introduces us to new facets of douchebaggery with the underarm shave + proud reveal ‘bag move. Yech.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Lip Tatter
Rare are the purely headshot pics able to make it into the Finals. Usually you need at least some glimpse of side-boob, legs or curvy round ass cheek that I would lead a small but cunning group of ninja warriors into to fight for the survival of the western world.
But Lip Tatter has it all.
The 10 Degree Hat Tilt.
The Chin Pubes.
The Douche Face you want to pelt with garbage then hook off-stage.
And, of course, one of the hottest hotties ever to grace the DB1’s perverted fantasies involving latex, pretzels and a small orphan child named Seamus. Then factor in that she’s reaching over and revealing his lip tatt. Reaching over. And revealing his lip tatt. Is it a real tat? Does it matter?
Real or not, douche affect remains polluting our culture with toxic spew like a rusty Edsel without a muffler. And if you think that’s a lame metaphor, I’ve got plenty where those came from. I can simile the homile like an erudite Steven Hawking on red bull.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: The Crustacean
If you like your hotties multiple, archetypal and anorexic in a good way, then the Crustacean is for you.
This asswad has appeared on the site before more than a few times. His Miami beach douched out ridiculousness has shown up in more variations than Alec Guinness in “Kind Hearts and Coronets.”
Obscure reference? Perhaps. But I would simply point you to striped boobies hott on the right. They are luscious like firm ripe nectarines.
Oh. And she’s pointing. To. His. Abs.
I wonder if the hott quotient is so high in this pic that it almost obscures the rank smell of douchosity coming from Ab Crustacean. Five young females I would marry, have children with, then abandon at a truck stop in rural Illinois, are almost enough to cover his Puma Douche completely.
Almost. But not quite.
So them’s your three. Three enter. Only one pic survives.
Remember, before you vote, it is the combo of douche + hotness. Spew and innocence. Yin and Yang. Beef and broccoli.
What say you? Vote, as always, in the comments thread. Tell me why your pic deserves to call itself “HCwDB of the Week.”
Cro Bagnon Harem
Cro Bagnon see douchebags.
Cro Bagnon SMASH!!
Cro Bagnon feel better.
Cro Bagnon cuddle with hottie harem.
Puffs
Okay, the whole peroxide blonde fauxhawk / mohawk thing on over 30 choads desperately clinging to fading relevancy?
Please stop.
Just stop.
And if you ever doubt the power of the douche vortex, observe this former cutie. Too much exposure to the Grieco Virus and she’s a stage-4 douchebaguette with 10 Degree Hat Tilt.
Even worse, the DB1 is out of Coco Puffs.
Now really, how am I supposed to enjoy my healthy nutritional breakfast without my Coco Puffs?
Paisley Panties
PIC PAISLEY PANTIFIED
It’s almost Friday night, and you know what that means.
Time to get your freak on in your best pair of aqua blue paisley panties.
What are your plans for tonight?
More than a Feelin'
What intrigues me about Insect Tom Petty is that his early 80s ironic retro “Boston” t-shirt seems to have something else written on the album cover artwork instead of the name “Boston.” But I can’t make out what it says. “O’Neill”? “One ill”? “I’m a heaving scrotebag who needs a shave”?
Choke collars don’t do it for me, but perky healthy viable wombs make “procreation” sound like “recreation.” Because I’m crazy with the word puns like that.
Hey, whaddaya want. It’s Friday.
EDIT: Here’s the original Boston album cover.
'Bag Tagging
One of the key skills a trained ‘bag hunter must hone is the ability to process the hottie/douchey image quickly and with expert deconstruction. To instantly parse hott from choad. A sort of douche wheat/chaff separation analysis.
The skilled ‘bag hunter would be able to glance at this gaggle of curvy lunchable takeout sashimi hotties and be able to bag and tag the ‘bags in under 3.4 seconds.
Ready? Go.
Double Chin Grinbag, Stu the Plumberbag, and Kevin from accounting with a fetish for Europorn bondage DVDs.
Once appropriately mocked by an experienced ‘bag hunter, the three douches are thus adequately neutralized, and boob lusting may begin in earnest.
I would douse black miniskirt’s legs in tartar sauce and read her Tolstoy by candlelight. We would argue about Russian nihilism and then I would hump her Teddy Bear until she called her older brother to come over and kick my ass.
Friday Haiku
There’s no mystery,
Belly button lint tastes good,
Like sweet Pumpkin Pie.
Shania Twain hott
he’s still the one you run to
for Dior douche licks
– little douche kook
Ha, beer can bruise on thigh
this is your second chance, choad.
“I’ll pop off your head.”
— replicantx
Drinking Miller Light
While licking a hottie is
White trash times ten, bro
– Ryan Seadouche
take off sunglasses!
you cannot see where to lick,
vagina armpit.
— kellybelly
why is she wearing,
dale earnhardt’s driving goggles?
Four tires and fuel.
— the alpha douche
Honorary Douchebag of the Month: "Mystery" from The Pickup Artist
To all of you ridiculous asswads with your seven point pickup plans and strategeries to “seduce women in sixty seconds,” here’s a clue: you are douche.
You are not stylish. You are scrote.
If you are getting any, it’s simply because your douchebaggery triumphs in a culture gone rot. But what you contribute in polluting the culture with your douchuousness more than denigrates any short term gain in temporary possession of the funbags.
So take your “game,” take your “how to seduce women” seminars, your inane lecture circuits and your seduction websites and stuff them up your designer brand silk shirt, your soul patch and your excessive hair product. You are simply another form of douche: The Gamebag. You sell your warmed over Deepak Chopra by way of Frank T.J. Mackey by the yard and hope for the cable show score before someone realizes what a hacktastic pile of warmed over repackaged New Age “Iron John” regurgitation you really offer.
You get ass? Good for you.
The hotties love you? Congratulations.
You’ve reduced flirtation and the thrills of seduction to a militaristic set of rules, guidelines and psychological manipulation techniques you learned from the Khmer Rouge brainwash techniques of the 1970s Killing Fields? Fantastic.
You are still a raging pile of douche. And all the hotness in the world won’t change that. Because hiding behind the scoring of poonanny is only a temporary fix. The blight of your soul(patch) is forever.
Doggie Douchin'
Vin Douchel here goes beyond the simple Doggie ‘Bag move into the extra-dimensional realm of the Doggie Douche. He employs simultaneous one handed Doggie ‘Bag, second hand Douche Hand Gesture #67, and a scrote-face scrunch that transcends mortal human choadery. It is Super String Theory Douchebaggery. A move so complex it rewrites the laws of space/time/’bag.
Warning: To aspiring douchebags, scrotewanks and lemon scented choadmellons reading this site, do not attempt this move at home.
Only the truly ascendant Zen Douchebag Masters who have studied with the Trappist Monks of the Scrotal Abbey in Uttar Pradesh can reach such a bliss state. And by bliss state, I mean total asswank.
Fluff Head
Remember having that photo taken when you’re a Freshman where you think to yourself, “In twenty years I’m going to laugh at what I look like right now.”
In Fluff Head’s case, photog was already laughing. It’s like time travel. Fluff Head is dated before he’s even date.
Modern art dresses confuse me, but Girl Next Door looks sweet, wholesome and secretly dirrty. If only she wasn’t grabbing at Fluff Head’s sardines.
