Axl Rosebag III
Axl Rose ‘Bag is very upset that he didn’t win the HCwDB of the week contest. When asked to comment, he replied simply, “Unnnnnghhh” and ran off to his room to download James Hetfield screen-savers.
Some might call Axl Pud your average clown playing douche dressup. I wouldn’t argue the point. But I would add that, as we’ve seen before, performative ironic ‘bag is still ‘bag.
In summation, someone please hammer a nail into his taint.
HCwDB of the Week: The Mack
To douche is to be. — Socrates
To be is to douche. — Sartre
Douchebag douchebag do. — Sinatra
One of the closest votes in awhile, with all three finalists seperated by 3 votes or less total. And by closest votes I mean my face buried in young Phoebe’s supple organic Trader Joes. Mmm… I love her pouty zebra printness.
Yup, The Mack took the prize, barely edging out Mullet Toad, who, like all Old Bags, confused voters with a mix of disgust and admiration for anyone who can, in the parlance of the great R. Crumb, Keep on Douchin’.
Dual Jersey hotties, too tight shirt, greased up face and tough guy James Cagney mug all merit The Mack a worthy winner. As pfah puts it:
the other two picts are equally disturbing, but The Mack embodies everything that is douche. and he’s young, so he’s got time to grow up and achieve douche status like that of Xenu or White Chocolate. the farce is strong in this one.
Interestingly, most of the hotties on the site voted for Mullet Toad. KellyBelly launched a thousand fantasies with the following:
Let’s see…..Mullet Toad is the winner! I really like his hottie. I mean, I REALLY REALLY like his hottie. She has the cutest little ties on her bikini. sigh. As for him, all I can say is, GOLD NECKLACE and HAIRY CHEST. come on people. He doesn’t deserve her!
Agreeing, the xviith scrote of douche chimed in:
How did a scrote toad like that land on such a nice lily pad? Give it up for #3 — he’s pure Parrothead Douche.
(The cognitive dissonance from this pic is mixing all my metaphors.)
(I wish I could mix her metaphors.)
(Sigh. Sweet goddam sigh.)
I feel your pain, XVII. Oh wait, no, that’s just my scrotae. But when it comes down to defining douchebaggery, it seems people like to return to the Classics. The traditional signifiers of all that is douchey/hottie wrongness. It’s like Chaim Topol sang in Fiddler: Tradition, Tradition! The Mack is traditional douche. Old school down home ‘bag values. As the the big ledoucheski sums it up:
For me the clear choice is The Mack. Girl on the left doesn’t exactly qualify as a hc, but the one on the right has an Olsen Twin kind of thing happening, but with a bigger rack. Then there is the scrote in the middle, the fact that he probably orchastrated that pose, the too tight shirt, the suspenders (wtf?), and the smug look on his face–that’s the clincher for me. He is eau de douche, the essence of douche if you will.
Yes he is, B.L. But we’ll see how far Classic Scrote takes him in the monthly.
Ab Lobster Blondie's Hotness Confirmed
During our recent deconstruction of the hottie/douchey wrongness of HCwDB of the Week winner Ab Lobster, a tertiary debate broke out in regards to the confirmability of the hotness of the Lobster’s blond hottie. After exploring a number of analytical discourses, some theorized she was not “all that” while a forceful counter-argument emerged that she was indeed, “all that.” However the lack of firm evidence left a sense of intellectual stalemate and the conclusiveness of either perspective gradually faded, locked in stasis.
But your humble narrator brings good news.
New evidence has now arrived which should fundamentally alter the ambiguous deconstruction of the uberhotuousness of said Blond Hottie, pictured here. And by evidence I mean, uhm, well, the pic. Which you already knew. Since you’re looking at it.
Consider the argument settled. The Lobster’s Hottie is indeed a salty baked potato to his crustacean insect abs.
As to the Lobs? We reached conclusion on that ‘bag awhile ago. It’s what they call in the science world a “douche-proof.”
The Swirl
There comes a time when every man faces a choice in life. Seek out his spiritual essence. Question existence. Search for higher truth.
Or just tattoo a ginormous swirl on your arm.
I know the tat is fairly ‘baggy, but I sort of like The Swirl. No 10 degree hat tilt, relatively benign sunglasses, no ‘bag hand gesture. He seems like he’s kind of got a sense of humor.
And then I spotted it. The low hanging shorts/underwear thing, fairly stenchuous with uberbagosity. And if those last two terms aren’t real words, they should be.
The Blizzard
The other day I was sitting around, sipping a nice tall glass of lemonade out on the porch and watching my grandmother milk the yaks, and I thought to myself, “Ya know? If Dairy Queen ever made a Hottie/Douchey Blizzard milkshake, I wonder what it would look like?”
Now I know.
Doublemint Douche
As if last week’s HCwDB winners, Twin Bags weren’t enough, here’s another heaping of Doublemint Douche to help you get through your Tuesday.
I would love ambiguous Russian Minx hotties in a massive tsarist bacchanal complete with grapes, goblets and a fey lute player for bemusement while resting between bouts of coitus. Then I would feed the Doublemint Douche Twins to the lions while reading Tolstoy to the Noxema Girl Hottie and sipping from the Samovar.
Gotta love dual twin chest exposure + Jesus Bling. Do they make hazmat suits to protect from that sort of gale force douchosity?
Silky McDouchowitz
Silky McDouchowitz flashing his I.D.
‘Bag? Not a ‘Bag?
Uhm, ‘Bag.
Now that, my friends, is the curvature of Ass Heaven.
You might have missed the chapter on Ass Heaven in the Bible. It’s right after the section on chopping off someone’s wrist for touching leather and right before the part on the legalities of stoning your wife for churning butter incorrectly. Say what you will about the Bible, at least it’s got Ass Heaven in there.
The 'Bagling
Ah, the stage-1 choadbag. A young ‘bagling crawling out of his gelled up cocoon for the first time and taking his first awkward steps into a larger scrotey world.
While those blue satin shorts belong to the woman behind you, ‘Bagling Boy, it somehow informs your budding douche essence. That tentative, raw power of ‘Bagling — the blue satin shorts of your scrotey soul.
She is slender curvy iced banana perfection. I would blend her into a smoothie with a shot of vitamin powder and called it “Hotberry.” I would nibble her earlobes softly and whisper the ingredients off a package of HoHos with all the sexiness I could muster: Wheat gluten… Sodium Caseinate… Sorbic Acid…
Because I’m studly like that.
