Late Nite 'Train
Late nite post and the DB1 is hungover like a pickled cactus. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds good. Probably because I’m hung over. Alls I know is an evening spent krunk dancing with Malaysian flower girls while urinating on cats is all sorts of good. At least I think that’s what I did tonight. Not sure if the Malaysian flower girls were really there or not. I could’ve imagined that part. But urinating on cats? Was definitely real.
This grinny tool is just enough to set me off into fits full of rage before I pass out. And this shiney, slightly manly but still extremely attractive waif will send me off into a restless sleep of existential contemplation.
What will the DB1 be contemplating in his subconscious as he sleeps off that bitch of a ‘Train hangover?
The simplest of questions: Does this douchebag’s chin disprove the existence of God? And is it bad that I’m attracted to this slightly manly hottie mainly because her body makes me feel funny in inapppropriate places?
Spike and the Sultry Vixen
Oh sultry vixen,
Whither the spikey douchebag?
Lo, my psyche aches.
Yup, I’m still inspired by all the Haikus we did earlier this week. Anything to help me process Spike The Spikey Haired Knob who’s actually managed to bust upturned collar on a leather jacket. That’s a pretty heady ‘bag accomplishment.
Sultry Sarah Silverman hottie makes me feeble in the knees. God damn she’s award winning.
Morning 'Bag Meditation
Okay class, everyone go to LotusBag position.
Close your eyes.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Center your ‘bag energy. Allow it to pass through you.
Now open your eyes and stare at this pic.
Let the pain of the HCwD enter your consciousness and fill you with rage.
Breathe in. Hold it.
Meditate on the scrote. Observe his unbuttoned greasy shirt and smug half-grin that makes you want to spew. Note the grip he has on this lovely female’s right side.
Hold that rage. Hold it….
Now breathe out.
Breathe in. Hold it.
Study the female goodness. Appreciate the smile. Appreciate the curves. Now quickly glance from her face to his douchey-ass expression.
Hold that rage. Hold it…
Now breathe out.
Congratulations! Another HCwD pic has been digested.
Hey, it beats coffee to get that morning going, am I right?
'Bag Farm
If conditions are just right, the climate is arid, and you put four healthy strips of Cleavite together and add water, you too can grow your very own Douche.
Here’s a pic of an early growth douchebag about to bud. Note the scrotey tongue, greasy head and facial expression that makes you want to punch walls with your forearm until you break a humerus bone. And to think he’s just a sapling. Imagine what he’ll look like fully grown.
To grow a ‘bag takes patience and skill, but if the climate is right, the cleavite is fantastic and you wait long enough, you too can grow a rank and unholy scrote.
Now if only I had a weed whacker.
Campus Scrotum
PIC DELETED
(sung to the tune “Camptown Ladies”)
Campus scrotum’s sing this song,
Douchebag, Douchebag,
Campus scrotum’s got no dong,
Oh, de douchebag day.
Lime-Green Skeeze needs Tag,
Lime-Green Skeeze needs lube,
Tie this wank to a bonfire pole,
And burn his facial pubes.
Oh, the long blond filly and the cute lil’ peach,
Douchebag, Douchebag,
Caught between them is a fat big leech,
Oh, de douchebag day.
Lime-Green Skeeze needs Tag,
Lime-Green Skeeze needs lube,
Tie this wank to a bonfire pole,
And burn his facial pubes.
And burnnnn… his…. faciallll….. pubesssss!!!
The Earwig
Remember those summer-camp late night stories about the earwigs that would crawl into your ear while you were sleeping and try to eat their way into your brain?
And you thought it was just a campfire legend.
Here is proof that earwigs not only are real, but they grow up to be giant pink shirted spikey haired douchebags.
Tell me you don’t want to strap rubber bands to this scrote’s lips and fling him off a cliff using a giant Acme slingshot until he disappears from view, only to be followed by a small “whump” cloud of dust.
Ute here is all sorts of Slavic goodness. Someone needs to liberate her from being mauled by this rank summer camp insect before he crawls into her ear and we have to remove him with a q-tip.
DouchleFly
I used to know douchebags like this in highschool. Usually named Chet, Chazz or some other “Ch”, their monoslyabbic douchebaggery always pulled a cheerleader into their greasy name-brand-du-jour orbit of “Woo!” culture and 18 packs of Miller Lite.
But in the past ten years, times have changed. Along came the mutant jockbag/rockerbag monstrosity you see here. 180 degree ‘cap ‘bags with earings to proclaim their “stylin'” side. Hand gestures and longish emo hair.
They’re like a genetic splice experiment gone wrong. Think Jeff Goldblum’s BrundleFly in the 1986 masterpiece The Fly. They’re a fusion of emobag and fratbag into a completely new hybrid douche creature: DouchleFly.
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Where's Waldouche: Devil Edition
Gather round the pixelated hearth fellow ‘bags and hotties and let us play another round of Where’s Waldouche.
Somewhere buried deep in this sea of devilish hotties is a rank pile of steaming panda poo.
Can you spot him?
Click on the picture if you’d like to examine it in greater detail and find the gummi bear.
And as to the sea of satanic cuties, I would flagellate myself with six pronged scorpion tails until gangrene set in just to cuddle with their discarded furry ears. I have issues. It’s true. Major issues. I blame high school.
Tidy Whities
I’m not sure I can classify bandana boy as a true douchebag because this is just sort of pathetic. But, since he’s roped a couple of cuties, I’ll tip the ledger on the ‘bag scale and call him scrote.
Although Skeletor/Iron Maiden shirt is kinda bad-ass in an over-the-top midwestern cry for help sort of way.
But then there’s the undies. Those white, Fruit of the Loom, middle aged, saggy sacked quasi-“Depends” brand, wraparound undies. They just scream “wedgie.” Clearly J-Lo hottie here is thinking the same thing as she gestures towards this scrote’s scrote.
Winning HCwD Haiku: D Lee Hakumasa
There were a bunch of solid entries in the haiku contest, but I gotta go with the straight and to-the-point ethos of D Lee Haikumasa’s simple, yet oh so emotionally touching, entry:
oh lovely lady
why choose a douchebag boyfriend?
my penis sheds tears
— D Lee Haikumasa
And honorable mention to Jem for engaging the always popular sapphic angle:
I may be a girl
But I would still smash this guy
Then lick her on her…
The wrongness of the unholy communion between a sexy lithe gazelle like this hot shiny gold belted hottie and this uber-douche can sometimes be better expressed through ancient Japanese arts.
Like Haiku. Or perhaps hari-kari.
