Schmuck
Schmuck.
searching for something more to say….
Schmuck.
Uhm…
Schmuck.
Yup.
HCwDB of the Week: Glendouchey Glen Bagg Edition
Hooboy this is going to be a drag out smack ’em down hair pulling Axe Bodyspray squirting fight to the finish this week. We have three aged bottles of 18 year Glenbaggy scotch to choose from. To paraphrase the tough loving Alec Baldwin’s advice to these three choad traders, A.B.D.
Always Be Douching. Always. Be. Douching.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Fish Slap
Put. Those dog tags down. Dog tags. Are for douchebags.
It’s hard to argue with such classic signfiers of all-American douchebaggery. The eye shavings. The nose piercing. The giant diamond earring. Sure this chin stubbley stubblebag has appeared on the site before. But when it comes down to the purity of essence that defines douchebaggery, is this not he?
I ask you. Is. This. Not. He? Yes. Yes it is.
Man boobs and hat tilt round out the goodness. And by goodness I mean badness. And by badness I mean douche.
She’s got one of those cute little mouths I could crawl into and hide for a weekend or three. And fantastic sexy eyes. I know I always write about boobies being, well, boobies. But the eyes are important too. Because I’m magnanimous like that.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Link
Will you put on a shirt? Put on a shirt. Will. You. Put on a shirt!
I used the second pic we’ve seen of Link because it further confirms the fantasticness of the brunette waif’s perfection as well as introduces a mysterious second femme angling to steal the Glendouchey leads.
But really, a plastic chain necklace + ginormous mandana? Shirtless, hoop earring, annoying tatt and smug douchey expression? Fantastic. Pure, uncut HCwDB-ery.
Yet there’s something performative about the pic. Like they’re starring in the off-Broadway production of Douche Man Group. But that is no determent. This pic is pure fantastic hottie/douchey wrongness. It deserves respect. And by respect I mean spew.
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: The Raccoon
You never open your mouth until you know who the ‘bag is.
What else can be said about terminal stage-4 D.J/Rockerbag wrongness? The hair, the eye shadow, the Japanese tatt which, roughly translated means, “I bow to your cereal.”
And hottie’s award winning young-Sheryl-Crow goodness can not be ignored. She is country rocking pink bra sporting cleavite revealing DB1 inspiring happy town. She is essence of hotness. A bouillon cube of sex.
Oh, and he’s got black fingernails. And is fondling her abs while staring at you as if to announce where he’s going to be spending the rest of his evening spreading his unholy greasitude.
Are you going to take it?
Yes. Yes you are.
On the rage factor, this pic is overwhelming. On the hot factor, her Daisy Dukes kill puppies. Cute, furry puppies. Who didn’t do anything wrong.
So there’s your three choices. These are the new ‘bags. These are the Glendouchey ‘bags. Remember, first prize is a douchebag with hottie. Second prize is a set of steak knives. Third prize is, well, another douchebag with hottie who happened to come in third.
Mitch and Murray remind you to vote, as always, in the comments thread.
Sunday 'Bag / Not a 'Bag
At first I wanted to push this steamy college pigeon turd down a slip n’ slide filled with leeches while ska dancing to Fishbone. But then I had a moment of introspection.
Is he really ‘bag?
I posit this hypothetical in the strictly purest sense of the definition.
Surely shaving initials into your concave chest while sporting a triangular hair pattern and quasi homoerotic Top Gun sunglasses would stamp one as choad steam.
But the dude just looks so happy to be there. No overt hand gestures. No anoying douche-face. Just happy go lucky collegeness on display.
And since that delightfully soft wonton noodle thinks it’s amusing, maybe my desire to ska-dance while choad tossing was an incorrect impulse. So I figured I’d open it up for a vote.
What say you? ‘Bag? Or happy go lucky college dude on spring-break?
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Aquabag
Ladies, when partying it up in the jacuzz with a bottle of Jack and impending tri-makeout on the horizon, beware of lurking aquabags.
Here we see one of the rarer aquabags, the Aquadouchus Grungus, a mutant hybrid from the early 1990s. He is poised in simultaneous attack/mating position.
In their natural habitat, the aquabag will often swim up on unsuspecting females and bust a variety of hand gestures, facial expressions and primal mating calls. These usually involve variants of the, “Pretty sweet jacuzzi, huh?” and “My parents won’t be back until Sunday” noises, followed by extensive grunting and scratching.
Pity these three floating cuties. For who knows what happened when Aquabag struck.
Fish Slap
If New Kids on the Bag here looks familiar, he should. This old friend, and by friend I mean staple-gun to my uvula, appeared previously on the site last summer. I’d track him down to figure out just which pic he appeared in, but the image of his douched out chin has blurred all higher function and forced me to slap myself repeatedly with a dead fish. How the dead fish got into my pajamas, I’ll never find out.
Note stylish unearned dog tags and 10 degree hat tilt, two classic signifiers of extreme douchebaggery. Not that you needed me to point that out. I can hear your screams and dead fish slapping from miles away.
Hmm. “Dead fish slapping.” That sounds like a vaguely euphemistic something or other…. Oh yeah, that’s it. My ex-girlfriend. Probably needs no further elaboration. Moving on…
She’s got that perky 3rd grade schoolteacher thing working. The type whose skirt you used to run over and look under while she was writing on the blackboard. Or was that just me? I’m sorry, Mrs. Russell. I was only nine. But your granny panties scarred me for life.
No More Club Douche
Unfortunately, the ambiguously Persian hottie from Club Douche’s brick wall inspired bottle party has written in and demanded that her pic be removed. My attempts at assuaging her by offering to rub her thighs with chicken grease were not met with the positive reception I’d hoped for.
——-
Please remove
“HCwDB of the Week: Club Douche”
from your website. and also my bf’s head from the headlights on that car.
If you do not remove us we will have your website removed.
Thank you
(Ambiguously Persian Hottie Dating Club Douche)
-------------
Well, at least she said thank you.
Since Club Douche was not able to fulfill the duties and standards expected of the HCwDB of the Week Winner, this means the runner-up in last week’s contest, Purg Hottie and Rogue Choad, will assume the crown.
Geez, you’d think mercilessly mocking her boyfriend as a total and complete douchebag was upsetting or something. Come on now. Have ya looked at him?
Hands
I keep trying to focus on the smirking scroad in the middle of this pic, but I find myself distracted, befuddled and confused by all the hands floating around. I can’t tell if this is a bar or a performance by the theatrical mime troupe, Mummenschanz.
So many hands. Only one, however, expressing what we all feel.
I would love both of these Long Island Iced Teas for a solid thirty seconds each before running out of breath and going to the kitchen for a Gatorade.
The Gangsta Bag
One of the dangers of observing the Gangsta Bag, aka Hip Hop Scrote, in their natural habitat is the off chance that you’re actually mocking a real life gun toting homie. As the designer brands and legit hoodlum looks converge, distinguishing between the various phases and stages of the douchebag impresarios and the real bust-a-cap-in-DB1’s-ass homies becomes an arduous task indeed.
Is this one of the many wannabe Miami Beachites cutting porn star patterns in their facial scruff and home-made alien landing strip acid wash clorox jeans in a desperate attempt to pull hottie tail with embellished stories of “Scarface” inspired drug deals on the south side? Or is this dude about to put a contract hit out on my family?
It’s hard to tell. When the various branches of douchebagus scrotae and gangsterus badassus converge, we are left only with chaos. We face confusion, anarchy and existential crisis left in our muddled wake.
The same goes for the heavily makeuped hottie. I can’t tell the hotties from the trannies anymore. I’m like Joe Buck lost on 42nd Street. Is she a sexy wild thing? Or a man, baby? Either way the matching furry bracelet and leggings are choice.
Friday Haiku
Smashing Pumpkins ‘Bag,
In the Matrix? Or just Westside?
Hottie clutches water.
Why wear two watches?
Irony is turtleneck
On no-neck douchebag.
— douche vader
Scrotey Shield Boy Blows
HC trapped in chair.so does
Vodka on the rocks
— voiceboy
Creepy West’bag scum.
Gross, your whole head is pasty.
It’s called sunlight, man.
— Amerigo Vesdouchey
Indoor sunglasses
can’t hide the fact that you’re bald.
you smell like Old Spice.
— .pfah.
Truman Capote,
The 80’s called and they want
their turtleneck back.
— baron von goolo
