Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

HCwD of the Week: PooBag Edition

I’m not sure what exactly PooBag means but it’s my new favorite word. It just summoms up the douche essence of poo that so many of these ‘bags feature, while at the same time sounding like a cuddly character from a children’s novel. That being said, lets get to the scrote:

HCwD #1: Greased Lightning

Whoever made the comment about the spindley T-Rex arms, I can’t get that out of my mind. Maybe this douche’ll dive in and save his hottie if she gets attacked by velociraptors. Generally he doesn’t look like that much of a ‘bag, but then there’s the frosted hair. Which equates to at least a level one douche-alert.

And of course, the fact he’s cuttling an extremely sexy hottie and I’m sitting here watching my fruit of the looms lose elasticity by the day.

HCwD #2: Low Collars and Dirt

When you’re attemping to show the same amount of cleavite as your date, you are officially a giant poo’bag.

Those collars alone merit inclusion in the HCwDotW contest for this ball o’ scrote. His hottie does have a bit too much chin, but with legs that award winning I’m willing to bow down to the hotness and beg to lick her third toe.

HCwD #3: Bubble Couch ‘Bag

I’m not sure why this smug little jelly stain is still bothering me. Maybe it’s how bright eyed happy his sweet cucumber seems to be in his presence. The way she perches on his leg. Eagerly. Excited. Maybe it’s how fantastically cute she is. This is a great example where the HC side of the equation outweighs the DB side, although this putz definitely qualifies as scrote.

Or maybe it’s just that douchey bubble couch.

Have at it folks. Vote by entering your winning selection in the comments section of this post. You can vote anonymously if you haven’t created a profile. And if you’re wondering about Rack of Lamb and Gassy McBling (a definite finalist), they’ll be in next week’s contest.

What say you?

Rack of Lamb

And as if the last few pics weren’t enough to wake the dead with their powers of unholy hotness and douchebaggery, we have another fantastic pic of HCwD balls electrocuting torture. This Harley dog-tagged great dane summons all that is wrong with greasebaggery in this cruel world. Just look at that forehead oozing oil. Nice job tucking in your shirt, Paul Walker Fast and Furious wannabe douche boy.

And on the flip we have the best rack of lambchops I’ve seen since, well, dinner. But the question does remain, who wears that kind of bikini in a club? Or maybe a modern art showing judging by the painting in the back. Or maybe a kennel, judging by the simian douche she’s embracing.

I weep a thousand tears that I’m not in the presense of those abalicious abs. And I send Paul Walker scrote off with the harshest condemnation I can muster: You’re a… big…. uhm… douchebag!

Man, I need a shot of the ‘Train.

Doogie Howser: D.B.

Doogie Howser, DoucheBag.

Not much more to say on this pic other than I hope he dies in a fire.

What?

I meant that in the most positive way possible. I want him to die painlessly in that fire. A simple, sweet death. From like smoke inhalation or something.

Because I care.

Earwig III: EarWigga Style

Yup. He’s back.

Just in time for a little douchey monday morning cup o’ joe and some HCwD. Earwig gets around almost as much as his hair tries to flee his head.

And now, a HCwD tribute to Earwig inspired by the late, great, Rodney Dangerfield:

I wouldn’t say Earwig was an ugly kid, but his mom had to tie porkchops around his neck so the dog would play with him.

On his last date, a girl called him and said, “Earwig, come over, there’s no one home!” He went over. There was no one home.

Baddaboom…

Gassy McBling

Gassy McBling here is the type of guy you cross the street to avoid. He is uber-oil. He is ur-scrote. His forehead’s runoff could power processing plants in much of the Subcontinent.

Observe Gassy’s classic douche headbutt into Tara Reid hottie, who remains remarkably oblivious to the fact she’s standing next to a giant Bennihana waste product. This wigga’s Jesus bling is the capper of rank douchitude. It causes great art to spontaneously combust and Trappist monks to silently scream in agonizing protest. It kills insects and euthanizes the African jaguarendi. It melts velveeta and cures headaches. It is the spirit in the douche sky.

What kills me is the sweetie on the right. Able to smile without flinching from the odor of Gassy’s gas.

Double 'Bag it

Next time you’re in the supermarket and you’re buying your scrote supplies for the week, don’t forget to order a bottle o’ douche, and a glazed doughnut. To go.

And make sure they double ‘bag it.

Sunday Explosion o' Douche

I got yer Sunday douchitude right here.

There’s so many levels of wrongness exploding in this pic it’s like a Roman Caligula inspired orgy of hottie/douchey insanity. A giant inflated water-balloon of douche exploding in your face like some giant squashed tomato of ‘baggery. It is unholy decrepit Grieco virus expanding like digital slime across the pixelated wasteland of your screen.

And for that, I toast my bowl of frosted mini-wheats to it. For it is truly HCwD worthy.

Note the hand gestures as these stage-3 Hotties circle their toilet-bowl of douchitude, pulled in by his vortex of scrote like they’re caught in the currents off Kalalau Beach. Disinfectant is needed, stat, at which point I would take hotties #1, #2 and #4 of for reeducation, leaving hottie #3 behind to tend to douche-face here. Because even a ball of rankness like Sneery needs love.

Natalie and the Billionaire 'Bag

Natalie Portman, the future ex-Mrs. DB1, is apparently dating some Eurotrash billionaire douchebag who’s real name, for the purposes of this blog, will simply be “Eurotrash Billionaire Douchebag” (EBD).

While there’s not yet any photo evidence of the two of them together, it’s enough for me to condemn this douche to eternal douchitude simply for considering looking at my future ex-wife.

Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you, billionaire boy. Other than having money, being charming, and not being an unemployed alcoholic hooked on cheap wine, what do you have over me?

Nat, dump this tool and come sit with me on my rug and enjoy the tasty treat of Hostess Cupcakes and Chocodiles while we sip red plastic cups of Night Train and listen to my Genesis CDs. And if you’re lucky, I’ll show you my moles.

Big Yellow Attacks

The dangers of provoking Big Yellow are demonstrated in the following pic of exploding douchitude. You can even see the ‘bag virus sucking this poor youthful cutie into its orbit of scrote.

It’s enough to cure the DB1’s viscious hangover right now.

Actually no it isn’t.

I’m gettin’ some asprin.

Friday Nite

It’s Friday, so you know what that means. Time to kick back and relax with a cutie and a hookah.

Thanks to all for some great emails and submits this week. Remember, if you have a great photo of a hottie and a douchey posing together, send it along to me at douchebag1@hotchickswithdouchebags.com. Because I may make fun of the scrotes, but I’m the biggest douche of them all.

I’ll be updating sporadically this weekend, and then next week we’ll crank up our exploration of the continuing phenomenon of the inexplicable attraction between hottie and ‘bag. Toast a cup of Night Train tonite, and may all your hotties be Grieco-Free…