Turdburger
I’ve never been able to deduce where purple lips come from. Is it genetic? Is it a form of douchebag lipstick? Is it cold in the room? Turdburger here makes me ponder these metaphysical inquiries as I munch my Kelloggs Frosted Mini-Wheats.
Mullets. Mullets. ‘Bags love the Mullets.
This couple makes me queasy. All that is wrong in life in pixel form, and it’s not even 8am on a Friday. That ‘stache is hypnotic. It’s telling me to go back to bed.
Toasting the 'Train
As always, thanks to all the ‘bags, ‘bag hunters and hotties sending in pics so DB1 doesn’t have to get off his sorry butt and do some real work for a change. Instead I toast my cup of the ‘Train in your honor. Not a red cup, as you can see, but quality plastic-wear nonetheless.
As mentioned, I’m posting exclusively 100% pics that get sent to me these days as I now find entering the unholy cesspool of MySpace to be too much for this pathetic ‘bag’s stomach to take. MySpace is like an awkward first group-date where the main form of conversation is “Woo!” And while I’ll tolerate a hottie shouting “Woo!” in my ear at a club, I ain’t going to no website to experience that pain in digital form without at least the prospect of a 3am sloppy makeout session.
But I digress. “Hogan Knows Best” is on, so I’m calling it a night. Just wanted to shout out all you ‘bag hunters doing the hard work that keeps the great HCwD pics flowing. Some good ones for tomorrow. If I’m not too hungover that is.
Gulping down a big swig of ‘Train
Ahhh… Even Spike likes the ‘Train…
Skynyrd-o-San
This Asian Lynyrd Skynyd member, Skynyrd-o-San, is apparently some hotshot L.A. concert promoter/DJ type, which makes me doubly angry as I know he pulls hotties like this on a nightly basement while I work on getting rid of my toenail fungus.
I would explore that cleavite on the macroscopic level. I would play naked twister with Devo just to burp in her parking garage.
Bleeth Warning #402
Let this pic be a warning for all the hotties out there reading this site. You play with douche-fire, you get douche-burned.
There is no recovery from stage-4 Bleeth infection. None.
Like Fair Maiden Yasmine Bleeth, you get too close to the source-douche, you end up like this lost former sweetie right here, polluted in every pore with uber-Grieco mutant ‘bag virus.
Mourn her, people. A life spent in a state of “Woo!” and douchebag hand gestures is a worse fate than hell itself.
Green Canopy's 'Bag
And for those who doubt the douchitude of white-t-shirt ‘bag groping Green Canopy in the previous pic, here is revelation of his full douchosity.
Let there be no doubt.
Douchebag.
Lost in Chambeshi
Once, when I was in lost near the Chambeshi river in Zambia on a covert-ops rescue mission to find the Key of Solomon, I ran out of rations and became delirious. My native guide, Grak-Uuu had died of dysentary the night before after we were raided by Baka pygmies in search of gold dust. Compounded by a week old injury I’d incurred when we’d stumbled on a pack of vipers hidden off the cliffs of Moher in Ireland, I was in no mood to fight and escaped by following the mating cries of the pink-backed pelican.
It was an ugly wound, all fallow and swollen from the heat and jupiter bugs. Not since the rain forests of Belize during Monsoon had I seen such injury. I tried to patch it with a mixture of Vincristine that I extracted from a Periwinkle plant and mixed it with koala droppings. But the salve didn’t take hold.
I was in trouble and I knew it.
For shelter I located a large imported sequoia tree and found solace under its giant green canopy. There I convalsced while local Djenne brought me tea tree oils and dried mackelfish. They danced healing prayers to the Gods while I recovered from my wounds.
Which leads me to this pic.
Where I again seek solace under its giant green canopy and bask in its healing powers.
Hippie Chick Solo
And just to counteract the unholy pain of the double Dung Beetle pic, here’s Hippie Chick, one of the fan faves from a few months ago, all by her sexy lonesome.
Spike: Ahhh…
Is Raymond "Dung Beetle"?
It appears that eagle eyed ‘bag hunters have exposed Raymond’s true identity — none other than Dung Beetle itself. Raymond is merely a construct, a cloaking device if you will, meant to conceal D.B.’s true secret uber-douche identity. Without glasses, mild mannered Raymond is simply a white-clothed everyday ‘bag, scrotey and foul, but not overpoweringly so. But with giant black sunglasses, Raymond transforms into Dung Beetle, black-clothed SuperBag, able to grab hotties in his G.I. Joe grip with a single grope.
It’s not 100%, but utilizing my mad photoshop skillz, I think I’ve proven beyond a reasonable doubt that Dung Beetle moves among us as Raymond, a mild mannered flaky shirted douchebag. An ordinary everyday pile of poo.
But as we all know, Dung Beetle can never be ordinary. He is one of the hallowed ‘Bags of the Month. And as such, his source-douche makes us all tremble in its unholy power.
Everybody Thinks Raymond's a Douchebag
Ray Romano ‘Bag’s shirt seems to be shedding. But Kelly Preston hottie looks like a fine wine, even though judging by the background she’s starring in the douchebag remake of “Logan’s Run.”
And the recent trend for cuties to walk around with unbuttoned hotpants is definitely a thumbs up movement.
Spike: You can say that again.
Pipe down, Spike.
White Chocolate and Spike
I’d like to introduce you all to someone who will occasionally be commenting on the site, my penis, Spike. I named Spike at summer camp when I was 14 and since then Spike and I have had a very friendly but occasionally cantankerous relationship as Spike has gotten me into trouble many times. So please give a warm handshake welcome to occasional HCwD commentator, my penis, Spike:
Spike: Hey there, thanks for having me.
DB1: So Spike, what do you make of White Chocolate and his hottie here?
Spike: You know, I can get around some of the douchebaggery in these pics, but W.C. just pisses me off man. It’s bad enough I live two inches from an a-hole and every so often you make me do pushups in a cave until I throw up.
DB1: C’mon Spike, we read that joke back in 7th Grade in our well worn copy of “Truly Tasteless Jokes Volume VII.”
Spike: Hey, what do you want, original humor? I’m a penis.
DB1: So tell us, Spike, are you able to overcome White Chocolate and enjoy the busty red Jersey hottie here? Or is the power of douchebaggery too much even for you?
Spike: Well DB1, as you know, I’m a pretty hardy organ. Did I complain when we dated that overweight girl from Iowa in college? No. I soldiered on through because I’m there for you, man.
DB1: That you are.
Spike: So I’m a pretty easygoing shlong, I’d say. I can tolerate a lot. But can I get around a pink silk scarf wearing douchebag with teeth bling to enjoy that hottie? Dude, I’m not a miracle worker.
DB1: Yeah, but I give you the Where’s Waldouche pics. And what about that blondie in the black lace from a few pics ago?
Spike: Yeah. That was good times.
DB1: Okay, so no more White Chocolate pics. It’s too much for you?
Spike: Meh. I can work around it. So long as there’s cleavite and nice abs, I’m all good.
DB1: Well I’m glad to hear that Spike! You know how much you mean to me.
Spike: Hey one, request if I could.
DB1: Sure, what’s up?
Spike: Can you uncross your legs? I’m choking down here.
DB1: Oh, sorry.
