HCwD of the Week: Horror Bag Edition
Here’s a little HCwD of the Week chaser before next week’s uber-bag smackdown, the HCwD of the Year. This week’s collection of scrote falls more along the scarybag lines, those creepy crawly scrotes who are likely to send you crossing the street so as not to come into contact with them. And yet, here they are cuddling up with hotties. Go figure.
Then again, that’s why we’re all here. To figure out just how these noxious poo-vapors-in-solid-form somehow come to inhabit the proximity of sexy balls of spice. Perhaps we may never know. And, like all of humanity, what we don’t know, we mock.
HCwD of the Week #1: Blondenstein
This FrankenBag is all sorts of scary. Then again, so is his hottie who’s curves seem strangely out of order. Or maybe they’re just trying to flee Blondenstein’s mutant presence.
I’m also a little intrigued, what’s Isaac Hayes doing in the background? C’mon Chef, get back on South Park. Scientology sucks and you know it.
HCwD of the Week #2: Yellowtail
Really, what more needs to be said about 70s Record Producer / Porn Producer / Refried Bean?
Blondie is fantastic. Actually, brunette is even more sexy in that “real” way. And by real I mean her nose isn’t a pert little button.
HCwD of the Week #3: No Exit
No Exit may have been yesterday but I can’t tell what day it is anymore so we’ll throw him into this week’s contest. But then that brings up what we’ll do with “The Thing.” He’ll come back too. That pic is too priceless not to preserve in the still theoretical (but hopefully real soon) “Hall o’ Scrote.”
So what say you, people? Who deserves the first entrance into January’s HCwD of the Month contest?
Chin Pube's Wooly Mammoth
Another piece of upchuck that feels like he’s been on the site before, but that last pic has me so rattled I can’t tell if I’m on my sixth HoHo or am chewing on a cat turd.
Wholesome cutie looks vaguely 17, so I’ll confine my comments to chin pube boy. WTF is he wearing?
Forgot to do the HCwDotW yesterday so am gonna try and get it up this afternoon. Any requests?
And on Monday… the HCwD of the Year. Yikes.
Lady and The Thing
Holy sweet balls of flaming cheese, I haven’t felt this dizzy since the 10th Grade nitrous whippit experiments in my friend Evan’s garage. It’s like I’m being simultaneously punched and caressed by a boxer with a soft spongey feather in one hand and a brick in the other.
My brain can’t take this sort of abuse. It’s already mad at me over Saturday’s mohito-thon. Stupid mohitos.
This pic violates the rubrics of muon/lepton hybridity. It shatters the soul and rewrites history by inserting douchebags at key historical moments. The chapter on the assassination of Arch Douche Ferdinand is just wrong.
She is perfection. She is purity. She turns turds into gold. Well, except for the big turd she’s cuddling with.
And on that note, I’m having another mohito. The more braincells I drown in alcohol, the less will be left to contemplate this wrongness.
Def Jim
Holy God damn. That is some serious Willy Wonka I’ve got a golden ticket chocolate perfection. Her Oompa Loompas make me want to go to a world of pure imagination. Uhm… her snozzleberries… okay, I’ll stop.
As to Def Jim, ‘bag hand gesture #64 might send him into the world of scrote, but he’s still feasting on the finest Godiva chocolate in the western hemisphere.
(sigh)
I’m gonna go play my Superfly soundtrack and honor the memory of the late, great, vastly underrated genius, Curtis Mayfield, and forget Hip Hop here exists.
Billy Baru
In the immortal words of Judge Smails, “Ohhhh, Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy…. this is a big one, Billy…”
So much wrong. So much painfully not right.
I do enjoy what appears to be a “HCD” on the shirt, which is only a “w” away from plugging the site.
As to upturned, shocked out, Billy Baru, I’d like to chew on glass for an hour to get his mug out of my mind.
Hottie’s very perky.
The Face Eater
Does his shirt say “Coll,” “Cholera” or “Colitis”? Or is that simply base-15 code for “Douchebag”?
Mmm… enhanced cleavite on a monday morning to make the warm and fuzzies dance around my peripheral vision.
I want to lock this hairy thug up until he throws monkey poo at his trainers. Not to mention the fact he can get a cutie to munch on his face while I sit here flicking dandruff off my jeans. Stupid dandruff.
No Exit
Jean-Paul Sartre was right. In existentiality, there is no escape from the douchebag. They are omnipresent. They are everywhere. And there is ultimately no escape.
Dig Muto the Frog Boy’s rings, tags, glasses, and hair. Megods, look at that douche-face. Tell me you don’t want to punch an orphan after staring at this pic. And if that doesn’t scream nihilism, I don’t know what does.
Say what you will about setting a douchebag’s face on fire, at least it’s an ethos.
Where's Waldouche: Weekend Edition
Somewhere, hidden in this photo, buried deep among hotties, there is a skeezy douchebag.
Can you find him?
Mmmm… Beyonce clones….
Spam 'Bags
Apparently in honor of Saint Pat’s Day, some douchebag is using my email account as a front for spamming so my mailbox just filled up with a bunch of bounced emails. So we’re going to honor spammers with a rare, honorary “HCwDotM” award.
Blow me, email spambags. May your girlfriends hook up with this guy, get caught on video, and end up duped on a million websites.
If anyone emailed me and got a bounce-back, send again.
