Double D Supreme
Like a fine oak barrel aged Bourdeaux, Donkey Douche and his delicate captive fawn just keep getting better with age.
Really, there’s not much else your humble narrator can add to this pic, so I will simply step aside, and let you stare at the genius…
Erno
Some people were wondering just exactly who the “Erno” was that I was referring to in my hypothetical marriage/divorce from quasi librarian hottie in Wednesday’s Truck Head pic.
Here’s Erno in all his technicolor performance art glory. But be warned. The Erno experience is not for the faint of the heart. Like the possessed videotape in Ringu, witnessing this clip has unholy and supernatural side affects. Beware. Austrian dance steps and douchey hats may spontaneously grow from your face after viewing.
Is Erno a douchebag?
Hard to say.
He does, however, frighten little children and small woodland animals. Which has to count for something. But more importantly, his adventures in the world merit YouTube immortality, even if I’m the one of the first to “discover” his uncomfortably awkward Finland Germanic genius.
So lets all light an incense stick of Grieco inspired tribute to Erno. For without Nordic nihilists, whom would chase Lebowski?
The Ghost of Pumpy
It’s not enough that Pumpy won the HCwD of the Month contest. Now he’s poking his ginormous head and blocking an otherwise fantastic example of what I like to term “Performance Art Lesbianism.” PAL was a welcome off-shoot of the rise of douchebaggery in the late 1990s in which otherwise sweet and innocent hotties turn on their inner sluts for the amusement of a choady FratBag who’d rather look at the camera and smirk than observe the sexy goodness going on under his stubbly chin.
Stupid Pumpy. Blocking the breast licking goodness like a ‘roided up apparition.
However he’s not blocking the red lace slip that Anniston Hottie is firing up my synapses with. Also note Pac-Choad on the left, gnawing a goobie boobie like the starving Fat Baby.
Heck, lets all get in the spirit. Hey everyone, it’s Boobie Feed Friday!! Grab a boobie and chewbie!!
Holy Grieco, I’m getting goofy. Must be still hung over from too many PBRs last nite.
Westbank Side
Yo yo yo, keepin’ it real Falafel style!!
I shouldn’t make fun of Salman Douchdie too much. His book “The Satanic Scroteses” was unfairly reviled and deserves critical reevaluation. Besides, adopting to American douche culture takes much practice, and he employs the “W” hand gesture with the dexterity of a thousand chickpea based sandwiches and soups.
Pocahontas needs rescuing before the Dead Sea gets even saltier from the residual runoff of Douchdie’s greased up goatee. That tongue gesture is pure shawarma sandwich lamb goodness.
Camo Bag
Even the Salvation Army would reject Camo ‘Bag based on a Code #423 — Douching Without Officer Permission. He’s what we like to classify a D-203 HFRPT — Human Firing Range Practice Target. Unfortunately the 10 Degree Army Hat Tilt rendered him unfit for active duty, so instead he’s been dishonorably discharged. And by discharged, I mean thrown in with the dishtowels and washed with a powerful bleach. And yet. His stench remains.
Where’s Private Pyle when you need him?
I long to dance the salsa with Princess on the right until she tires and I’m forced to carry her home to her brownstone on Main Street where we’d sit on a couch by the fire and I’d salivate uncomfortably on her ankles while staring at her boobs until she asked me to leave.
Red in the middle shows dangerous signs of sinking into the morass of female douchebaggery, the douchebaguette, stage-3/4 Bleeth infection. And it’s hard not to see why. Stand too close to a supernova Camo ‘Bag army scrote like Sargent Douchebag, and even the strongest willpower can’t stop the Stockholm Syndrome ‘Baggery from taking root like a deep foot fungus. And sweetie, not even Fast Actin’ Tinactin can cure that infection.
Friday Haiku
I stepped in poo. Hark!
Angelic Blonde, do not weep,
Poo can be scraped off.
Indiana Scrote
Inside thy temple of douche
I hope thy face melts
~ Doucharellious
Portugese bag says
Po Po Po Po PoPoZoa
It means “I’m a douche”
-DuckDuckDouche
Creepy Joe Friday
Sluthing for a little love
Try guy behind you
— the alpha douche
Beutiful Blondie..
Even if thyne roots are brown..
My penis cares not.
— douchebag out!
Hamlet Bag
To skeeze: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the scrote; / For in that sleep of douche what dreams may come, / When we have shuffled off this muscle t-shirt, tonguey douchebaggery and creepy ‘fro, / Must give us pause.
I anoint thee Prince Douchebagus.
I would Macbeth Ophelia with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. And then lick her face repeatedly.
The Tendril Bouquet
Since ‘Baggers Day isn’t too far off, call 1-800-FlowerDouche and ask for the Whitesnake Tendril Bouquet.
Because there’s no better way to tell your skeezy, aging douchebag friend how much you appreciate his smirking ooze and slimy hair.
Arty McTardy
All I know is Kelly Osborne’s let herself go to hell since that show went off the air. Here she is rubbing up and down on a sweet spongecake who may or may not be in high-school, so I will refrain from any lascivious comments and simply say “nice cans.” Because I’m classy that way.
As to this Black Sabbath of douchitude, I would take Arty McTardy out back and read him passages from The Bell Jar until he Cobained himself.
Then I’d fly off to Antwerp, where I would study 17th Century Flemish folk dancing for six months. Upon the date of these two cuties turning eighteen I would fly back to the States, read them Tolstoy, and nuzzle their feet while spanking myself with a rubber ping pong paddle.
Chucky
It’s bad enough that uber-scrotes are out there patrolling the clubs and polluting the hotties, but possessed demonic dolls? It’s one thing to star in cheesy 80s horror films, it’s another to dye your hair black, put on a suit and mack on a gorgeous ball of blond love who may or may not be related to a famous party girl actress.
Seriously Chucky, didn’t a scream queen machete you in the face in the last installment of the series: “Chucky VII: Chucky Douches Out”? Or is this like a “Freddy Vs. Jason” thing where Chucky takes on an uber-hot party girl with fantastic steak tar tar ta tas, only to be forced to fight Pumpy in a made for ancillary XBox sales duel to the finish?
I’d love Party Blonde in ancient Greek ways that would get me thrown in jail in Texas.
