Fabioliscious
I’m thinking of putting this pic on my Christmas Cards. I’ve never seen such Scrote so happy.
I actually sort of feel bad for this swarthy Fabio. Other than his hair, chin fungus, gypsy moth eyebrows, large collared shirt and bizarre necklace, he’s probably not that bad a guy.
Then I look at the way he’s tackling this Persian Princess and I want to ride to the rescue in my recently acquired De-Bleether costume (red spandex, blue cape, giant sparkley cumberbun). I’m a’comin’, Princess!
Pepe's Mustache: The Interview
Pepe knows what the ladies want. Pepe knows how to accent his head with the appropriate positioning of sunglasses. Pepe digs on the two toned suit with matching vest. Pepe is a sexual mustachioed dynamo.
And now, for the first time here on HCwD, Pepe’s Mustache is speaking out. In a rare interview, DB1 had the chance to sit down with Pepe’s Mustache and ask it a few questions:
DB1: So, Pepe’s Mustache…
Pepe’s Mustache: Yes! Challo!
DB1: What’s it like perching on the face of a midget scrote?
Pepe: Well it’s no so easy, let me tell you. I have to make up for the lack of hair on the head, you know? And that’s a lot of pressure for a mustache! Even one as sexually magnetic as myself.
DB1: I understand. So what kind of adventures do you and Pepe get into?
Pepe’s Mustache: Oh we have lots of fun! We sit around and watch T.V. And sometimes Pepe drinks a Corona and gets little bits of beer foam stuck in me. We laugh and laugh about it for hours on end!
DB1: That does sound hilarious. What else?
Pepe’s Mustache: Well, sometimes Pepe like to eat soup, and that’s no fun, let me tell you. All sorts of goo gets stuck in me and it takes me hours before I lose the smell.
DB1: That’s really sort of gross.
Pepe’s Mustache: You have no idea.
DB1: So tell me about the hotties. How do you work with Pepe to overcome them with your douchey powers?
Pepe’s Mustache: Oh, it is easy. We go to where they must embrace us and take a picture because they are getting paid to do it!
DB1: That is clever.
Pepe’s Mustache: Yes thank you. We know.
DB1: Any advice to fellow Mustache ‘Bags out there?
Pepe’s Mustache: Rock on, fellow ‘staches! Pepe and I will see you at the next public event where attractive women are paid to pose with us.
DB1: Thanks for the interview, Pepe’s Mustache. You take care.
Pepe’s Mustache: Shave me. Please. Just shave me. Put me out of my misery. I beg of you.
DB1: Sorry… I gotta go…
Pepe’s Mustache: At least comb me! I lied. It is not all fun and games and sexual pleasure. Pepe neglects me. You have no idea. It is a sad life I lead. Please to do something!
DB1: Thank you for your time, Pepe’s Mustache.
Borat says "He is, how you say, Scrote."
Forgot to include a pic with UCJC’s request to have his pic taken down, so instead I’ll post a pic of Borat from his upcoming movie. This flick is officially “the only movie DB1 is so excited about he might even sober up before seeing it.”
no more UCJC
UCJC writes in:
Can you please removed my pics from your site?……funny though!!
But how will we raise awareness about this terrible disease if we can’t feature a dorky scrote with upturned crew jacket collar?
Mangina
In knighting this douchebag “Mangina” it wasn’t any literal attribute that brought him his moniker, it was simply the sum of his parts.
His orange leather skin. His coral necklace. His white teeth. His silk shirt with cryptic alien patterns on it. And of course the fact he’s with a scrumptuous after dinner mint.
Add it up and he’s Mangina. And really, isn’t that just the perfect nickname for this oily bohunk?
EuroBag #423
Between Sven and this pale Dieter looking douchebag, we seem to have hit a pocket of EuroBags lately during our HCwD digging. Here he is infecting two of the tastier cuts of blonde featured on the site of late. Rumor has it one (or both) are Playboy playmates.
Nothing says scrote more than, when given the chance to embrace a playmate or two, making sure you clutch a used napkin and nearly spill a beer on their shoulder.
This wank kind of reminds me of the tall dude in “Fargo.” The blondes remind me simply that I suck. That I’m sitting here on my dirty carpet, hung over, with sixteen Glinty heads dancing around my peripheral vision. Stupid Night Train. Maybe I should go back to bed.
UCJC
PIC DELETED
One of the rarer members of the ‘Bag genus is the douchey hitchhiker knob. Key identification factors for this type of ‘bag are not only the various hitchhiking douchebag hand gestures, the classic ‘Bag Head Butt seen here, but one of the rarest of all ‘bag attributes: Upturned Crew Jacket Collar.
Like many douchebag diseases, Upturned Crew Jacket Collar (UCJC) receives scant attention from the mainstream press. There are no Jerry Lewis telethons to treat UCJC. No “give a quarter” kiosks at the local deli. No pleas from Sally Struthers to help “turn down the collars of the less fortunate.” Yet it is a plague that affects us all.
Won’t you contribute to the cause?
Do you part by smacking scrotes like this the next time you see one.
Double Pink
Okay, I’m scrounging for pics because I just flew back from NYC and have a huge backlog of emails. So if you sent in a pic far better than this one and are thinking, “That hottie-douchey combo isn’t remotely the head exploding hottie-douchey combo in the pic I sent in!” hold your water. I’ll get to it.
First things first. A little Night Train to take the edge off the ole’ JetBlue JFK-to-Burbank jaunt. There were even a few L.A. douchebags on the flight swarming their Reese Witherspoon looking hotties like they’d just caught a delicious bass. I wonder if I tossed a can of Tag Bodyshots into the forward cabin if I’d have started a riot.
Sven
Laugh it up, Sven. That silk aqua-blue shirt shows off your hairless chest in oh so sexy a way. Your John Denver charm is a hit with the ladiez in Amsterdam. You go with your Danish self!
And remember grasshoppers, if the Holy Cleavite speaks to you, you’re not crazy. You’ve reached enlightenment.
The Scrambler
Hoo boy, where to start, where to start…
The 163 degree hat. Scrote Boy here couldn’t content himself for the lesser degrees on the Douchebag Hat Tilt. No simple 10 degree or 90 degree functionality for this picnic table shirt wearing, dimple douched ‘bag ghoul. Nope. He’s got higher scrote heights to scale.
Blonde on the right sort of scares me in that Darryl Hannah “I will break you” way, but cotton candy on the left is just all sorts of sweet taffy popcorned goodness. I can’t tell whether I want to jump on her or tuck her into bed after reading “Good Night, Moon.”
