Dharma Bag in Paris
Dharma ‘Bag wanted to come by and remind you to get your votes in on the HCwDB of the Week Contest while he macks his choady seed on future prison inmate #2431145.
Voting will be open all day. As will Paris.
Punk Douche
Look, I’m a fan of late 70s Punk as much as the next guy, but something tells me true punks don’t wear clean, nicely pressed t-shirts of the very band they’re coopting imagery from.
As to hottie, things have to be bad when your head starts leaking condoms.
"The Bells"
Hear the tolling of the bells –
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their
melody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people – ah, the people –
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone –
They are neither man nor woman –
They are neither brute nor human –
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!…..
— “The Bells” by Edgar Allan Poe 1847
Pornbags
At some point we need to clearly delineate the PornBags from regular douchebaggery. I’m not sure whether these are actual porn stars. But it doesn’t really matter. That have the sunbaked genericism of porny type cali zombies. Which ultimately makes them a lesser breed of scrote.
The truly powerful ‘bags are not the sun-cooked California pornbags but hyperstylized Miami beach, Jersey or Las Vegas high roller douches. At the second tier, the Fratbags, skeezebags, lurkerbags, or just the roly-poly choads of the world.
Pornbags are like DJ Scrotes. Too otherworldly to really work up any energy over. It’s the anonyscrotes and the everyday librarian hotties who love them that drive the DB1 to distraction. The average douchebags with their arms around cute young things who don’t know any better. That’s what can drive a douchebag to drink.
Don’t get me wrong. I’d swing from coconut trees in a codpiece if it meant I could nibble on Young Anna Nicole’s sunglasses on the right. But other than the usual desire to set fire to his eyebrows, 80s Pornbag doesn’t incite me to any great degree.
The Aristocrats
So the agent says, what do you call yourselves?
HCWDB of the Week: Raccnophobia
This was a tough week to winnow down into finalists, what with the legendary Racc getting his second chance. Both the spleen calcifying hotness of the hottie in Dude and the mutant douchebaggery of The Vulcan Douche just barely failed to make the cut. And by cut I mean poo.
But such is the violent decay of our society. Next thing you know they’ll be using Violent Femmes songs in Wendys commercials. Or Match.com will start running soft core porn-like first person “webcam” clips online. Or my rash will spread to the inner thigh because the Crisco didn’t help. On to the finalists…
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Spider Bag
My senior year in college I had a girlfriend. Her name was Hannah. She didn’t look anything like this ball of perfection. She was blond and kind of skinny. Cute in her own way. But really not anything like the angelic perfection of Spider Hottie.
How is that barely coherent and not particularly anecdotal story relevant to this pic?
No idea.
Then why did I bring it up?
Not sure.
But she is perfection. And he is choad.
I would pay 1/2 over premium for the opportunity to build condos in her cleavage with non-union labor.
Spider Bag, on the other hand, needs to have his webslinger tied to his green goblins.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Manmaries
Hard to argue with a pic that causes iris bleeding in 12% of those who stare for too long at the man boobies.Manmaries + Mandana = uber-douchosity. If we get back to what this site really stands for, at it’s core, it’s this pic right here.
She is quite delectable, even in spite of those two pirates of silicone alley.
Sleazy suburban wasteland. Sexy cutie giving a nice smile. And that.
Let the pain waft over you. And consider the HCwDB wrongness. For it speaks to all of us. It is, how you say, le peu.
HCwDB Finalist of the Week #3: The Raccoon
Never has a ‘bag inspired such loathing, apathy, discussion and debate as The Racc did in the last week. This is his second, and final, chance to advance to the monthly. There is no doubt that DJ spinning douchitude is a legit branch of the douchey/hottie combos we study. But where does the Racc fall on that scale?
Perhaps the makeup and performance based approach is no more true douche than a mime is struggling with being trapped in a box or climbing a rope. I leave it to the ‘bags, ‘bag hunters and hotties who read this site to render their judgement.
Does The Raccoon deserve a shot at Fish Slap and Ab Lobster in the monthly? Or should Man Boobies or Spider Bag advance?
To Lenny Bruce, Langston Hughes and the stage! La Vie Boheme one of these three douchey/hottie combos, as always, in the comments thread.
Fist Manifest
I see this fist acting not as physical limb but as collective manifestation. It is the punch of ten thousand human wills all desperately trying to grasp how a red faced bleachbag could possibly have a delicious lemon drop on his arm. With the force of a thousand minds, together, struggling with this hottie/scrotey wrongness, comes: “Fist Manifest.” The spontaneous appearance of ‘bag punch.
Rare is the manifestation of the mental into the physical captured on camera like this. We should appreciate the result of all of our hard work. ‘Bag punch appearances are rare, but they have been documented. And here is the proof. Fist Manifest.
Someone call The Amazing Randi. We have the evidence.
Tiny Gangster
What are ya, a wiseguy? I got boobs here, see? And I’m gonna take ’em out back and slap ’em around, see? So scram!
This pic is just confounding on so many levels. What is going on here? It’s like a James Cagney porn film. What variety of factors and circumstances let to the intermingling of this amazonian princess of boobage and 1940s Tiny Gansgter ‘Bag? I can’t tell whether Tiny Gangster’s going to bury his head between those majestic hills, or grab his tommy gun and start shooting at the coppers.
Come and get me, ya dirty rats!
Yo go, Tiny Gangster. Show that femme fatale who’s boss.
Windy
We’ve seen the entire spectrum of douchey/hottie wrongness on this site over the last year. But rare is the ‘bag who’s smarmy douchosity actually inspires me to rethink ‘bag hierarchies and ascribe a new branch, a new section, to the ‘bag tree.
Windy is that ‘bag. He is ‘bag wind. Wafting air of scrote. Scent of douche.
Not simply for scorting a brunette hottie with the great smile, shiny eyes and hint of shoulder I would gnaw into like rodents on nitrous. But for the angrogyne Pat sweater. The greased hair that looks like a Six Flags Great Adventure water park ride. And, of course, the douche-face.
I think this is an important pic as we’ve been discussing and analyzing the differentiations between performative douche and douche essence. This ‘bag isn’t overtly filled with makeup, tats and bling. But for the DB1, he makes my eyelid twitch. I propose a perfume in his honor: Essence du ‘Bag. And a new category: The Windy ‘Bag.
Saturday 'Bag / Not a 'Bag
And here I was thinking “douche stain” was simply a metaphor. But is it enough to qualify for ‘bag?
First question: can someone explain to me how, exactly, a male of the species, any male of the species, ends up holding a champagne glass like that?
As to Happy New Year Cutie, yes. Happy New Year indeed. Just don’t turn around.
