Friday Haiku
Sha na na greasebag,
The 50s are over, choad,
Hands off my night nurse.
The Holy Douche Spirit
Once, when I was about twelve, one of my best friends had the wind knocked out of him while we were playing kickball during recess. As he lay on the ground gasping for breath, we stood around unsure what to do.
Finally, he coughed up a bit of phlegm. Not a lot. Just a small wad. And then he was able to breathe better.
Why do I bring this up? Because in an amazing coincedence that rivals Moldy Toast Jesus and Tree Stump Mary, this Jersey Toad resembles the exact formation of that phlegm.
And in an even more unbelievable miracle, his visage has again been spotted, this time in a bowl of pea soup. Witness the miracle of the “Pea Soup Scrote” image here.
It is hard to believe, and were it just the phlegm on my 8th grade kick-ball field, I would chalk it up to coincedence. But two appearances in viscous materials is enough to convince me: This is the Holy Douche Spirit himself.
Inconthievable
Princess Bride Hottie needs saving. Fezzik ‘Bag has kidnapped her and the Dread Pirate Roberts is nowhere in sight.
Someone seriously needs to spear this Rodent of Unusual Size, stat, before I down a few shots of iocane powder laced wine.
Okay, I’m about out of Princess Bride references.
Options for ironic observations in the comments thread: As You Wish, The Six Fingered Douchebag, Inigo MontScrota, etc.
Reader Mail
A reader sent in this pic of his girlfriend trying to lick his douchey neck. Not sure what to say other than I loved his performance as Mowgli in “The Jungle Book.”
And she appears to be a fantastic porcelain doll even if her alien brain eating abilities are somewhat scary.
HCwD of the Week: No Exit
Exremely tight, evenly balanced contest this week. I have “No Exit” winning by just one vote. However I didn’t count the hanging chads that were Yellowtail’s saggy man-boobs. But in the end No Exit’s accessories, bizarre hair and finger rings put him over the top.
However Yellowtail will definitely find a place in the Senior Scrotizens section of the Hall of Scrote.
All three of our finalists won their share of love (and by love I mean “spew”). There were a couple of write-ins for Ben Grimm ‘Bag, so I’ll be including him in the next HCwDotW contest even though that might not be for a few weeks what with the Yearly Scrote-Off coming on Monday.
This week’s dilemma seems to come down to the classic problem of Old-Douche. When grandpa is still out trolling the clubs for young poon, there seems to be an inverse correlary — we begin to gain respek for their ancient douchitude. Like they transform from young balls of scrote into wise Zen-Douche Masters. Even with the cheese odor of Yellowtail, this seemed to flip enough votes to take the cake for No Exit.
Don Juan de la Douche tosses in with the Creature from the Blond Lagoon by factoring in the luscious hotties:
I gotta go with 1, Blondenstein. The hotties are the hottest out of the 3. The girl in the middle is top shelf, and the blondie to the right ain’t no slouch either. Frankenbag doesn’t have much going for douchiness other than his goofy hair. But Frankenbag was there in that picture and I wasn’t. That pisses me off more than the other 2 pics.
douchestar runner sums up this week’s conflicting douche-motions, however D.R. tosses in with the old git:
I was already to go with Yellowtail, hands down–I mean, any ‘bag that has more leathery skin than George Hamilton (and who’s also about as old) and leaves his also leathery shirt WIDE open just can’t be topped, right?
Then I started reading the arguments for No Exit, and I started to have doubts. And I started to examine his picture more closely. From the accessories alone we can tell this guy’s a big time douchebag–throw in a creepy molester-grin and you’ve got some considerable ‘baggery going on. And his wholesome looking spring-break coed hottie definitely makes you think “what the hell is she doing with him?”
But I have to ask myself–which one of these guys would be more unusual to see in real life? Which one is more delusional? And without hesitation, I say it’s #2. Dudes that look like No Exit are a dime a dozen at the club–his accessories may be ridiculous but his shirt and hair are pretty tame.
But even though Oldie’s power of puke was overwhelming, #3 took the cake. As the ever present anonymous formulas it out:
Let’s do the math: Douche-smirk + ethnically incongruous hair dye job + ((sunglasses x number of hairs cascading over them)/price of the sunglasses) + pucca shell necklace + dogtags + finger acknowledgment to the Big Douchebag in the Sky +(finger accessories x 3) + (open shirt x number of open buttons) + bag headbutt and all multiplied by a Hot Chick factor of 8 = one of the rankest scrotes ever to ooze his way into these hallowed pages. If he were a little greasier and had a more flamboyant shirt, we’d all be lining up to crown him Proto-Bag of the century.
Hard to argue with cold hard math.
Source Douche #06
I hear your thoughts. You’ve been thinking, “DB1, those are some great hotties and some truly freaky scrotes, but where’s the sourse douche? Where’s the primal ‘baggery from which all tertiary douchiness eminates?”
Your wish is my command.
Here’s a little pure uncut 100% Jersey douchebaggery and hotness mixing in just an offensively wrong way.
Feel the douche warmth eminating from the spikey hair and zoot suit. Pity the sexy avacado. She has nowhere to run.
The Amazing Douchini
Not sure if you’ve caught The Amazing Douchini’s act yet down in Vegas. He performs nightly at 7pm, 8:30pm and a raunchy 11pm show at the “Vegas Motel 6” in the Shecky Green Ballroom. Tickets are $19.95 but you get five dollars off if you eat at the “Ribs, ‘Dibs and ‘Nibs Buffet” next door at the Food Fantasmagoria.
Watch The Amazing Douchini astound and delight your friends with his psychic “‘Bling Reader” act, as well as his ability to magically make grease float in mid air. Enjoy his famed red headed assistant, “Zebra,” as she performs the “Linking Hoop Rings” followed by the famous magic levitating 10 Degree Hat illusion.
The Amazing Douchini got his start playing strip clubs in the midwest before moving to Vegas after a failed shotgun wedding in 1989. His dream is to someday see his name in lights like Lance Burton or Penn and Teller. For now he’ll have to settle for the dry eraser placard outside the check-in desk at the Motel 6.
The Beanscrote
Oh dear God. Halloween pic or no, Thug Life just kicked me in the nuts. But like the beauty that is a great HCwD pic, Catwoman brings me back to life. But no, this shirtless freak of nature shreds my will to live like a cheese grater hopped up on crack. Ah, but the Holy Cleavite warms my soul and reassures me like “Goodnight Moon” did when I was five.
It is heaven and it is hell. All mixed up in the blender of scrote that is a HCwD pic.
Enjoy it. Revile it. Let that swirling emotional cocktail fire you up and cool you off. And then punch this skeezy old douchebag in the digital face.
The Pud Wacker in Purple Heaven
Not sure what to make out of this twosome. I could make a broach, or a pteradactyl. Or I could set Gallagher ‘bag’s Oasis on fire. All I know is that the Lilliputans used to build tiny shrines to worship ambiguously Asian hottie’s derriere. And can you blame them? Wars were fought over an ass that fantastic.
Man, this dude is just killing me. Literally killing me. Flop combover, vulcan eyebrows and douche smirk make Homer go something something.
Happy Feet
I don’t know when penguins started cross-species comingling with hotties, but this is definitely leading to global warming. What the hell is Happy Feet doing with his hand? Is that supposed to be a “Westside” hand gesture? Or a sign of douche palsy?
I am pleased to see “Ubiquitous Red Cup” make yet another cameo here on the site.
And when the Council Elders ask me, “DB1, whither six pack abs?” I will simply nod sagely and point at white bikini hotness.
