Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Moonface

I’m as surprised as you are, Moonie.

I’ve never been a huge fan of surgical enhancements, but I’d launch a Lewis & Clark into them foothills.

Big Red IV: Electric Douchaloo

Big Red’s got a huge online fanclub as I’m getting tons of pics submitted of this doofy scrote in action. Here’s one more to round out the legend of this upturned collar eraserhead and the hotties who love him.

Enjoy that beer, ‘Red. You still ain’t gettin’ none.

Where's Waldouche: Cheerleader Edition

Once again buried deep in this photo of luscious cheerleading hotness, I’ve hidden a greasy slimey scrote of rank proportions.

Can you find him?

And can you avoid making the obvious bean’bag joke in the process? I know I can’t.

As to Pink Shorts on the left, I haven’t seen legs that great since Jack Diamond in the 1920s. What, too obscure?

Teeth

There are moments in life when gender ambiguous grinning balls of douche-white find themselves gripping two hotties on either side at the exact moment a camera flashes. Most moments in life, this doesn’t happen. And then it does.

This is one of those moments.

The curves on these two objects of adoration can not be understated in any meaningful way. Or, to rephrase: they’s hot as hell.

And then there’s this chicken necked white-on-white scrote. Grinning at us as if to say, “Hey, I may have no chest hair, and I may get mistaken for a raging bull dyke on occasion, but this is still me. And you’re still you.”

I would take him to the local amusement park, strap him to the Tilt-O-Whirl and set it on “High,” then take these two for ice-cream and popcorn while we watch the new season of Battlestar on my portable LCD wristwatch T.V. While Oompa-Loompas play Turkish fighting songs on trumpets while riding shetland ponies. Damn my fantasies are getting esoteric.

HCwD of the Week: The Dung Beetle

Well it was a landslide this week, with this creepy fanged douche taking the cake largely on the strength of the painfully hot hottie he’s tackled with his ‘baggy charms. As L’ Douchebago Venezolano sums it up:

It’s a done deal, HCwD #3: Morning ‘Bag Meditation, aka “The Dung Beetle” takes it all!
I would go down to Mexico, with 500 pesos buy a burro and take it to the hottie’s house in order to see those big mountains of health she carries on her chest in a donkey show. As to the mango-faced, rico-suave @#$@ pie, well, I’d leave him in Mexico with my friend Nachoooo so he would do the flight of the eagle and kill him immediately.

But there was some love thrown at The Earwig and Khan’s Insect. And by “Love” I mean regurgitative spew. Big Bag of Douche sums up the Earwig’s overpowering douchitude:

#1 is clearly a no-brainer. C’mon.. he got the most hair gel and spikiest spikes of the pack.. hair vote. The pink shirt secures a win for douchiest clothing selection. And the bluetooth… that’s the icing on the cake! He’s such a greasy douchebag he even needs a bluetooth to take calls at the bar and pretend they’re important business communications when it’s really mom yelling at him for using up all the AquaNet again.

As PunchingBag waxes poetic in near iambic pentameter:

Senor Dung Beetle
You’re creepy and sick
It’s obvious you paid for this photo op
With this super hot porno chick

PunchingBag

Count Douchula tackles Khan’s Insect:

That smug look and the point to the camera just scream “I am king @#$@.” It makes me want to destroy the Earth. This hottie makes me very happy in the pants. She’s got this look on her face that says “I’m drunk and ready to @#$@,” which is A OK with me. And the way that she is just grinding on that piece of @#$@’s crotch just proves that God is a malicious bastard who thinks it’s fun to torture the people that he created.

(Sorry C.D., as much as I love the epithets, this is a family site and I gotta think of the kiddies)

So lets raise Dung Beetle to the rafters. We’ll see him again for another uber-scrote smackdown when we do the HCwD of the Month contest in a few weeks. We’ll see how well his douchitude holds up on the rage-o-meter then.

Greased Lightning

Greased Lightning here is creepy. Stalkerbag creepy. I could land airplanes on that head. Opec is hoping to drill in his right temple to assist with the futures market.

And yet…

He’s grabbed this blonde twinkie in his meaty arms and moved in for the classic ‘Bag Head Butt.

While I sit here watching The Home Shopping Network. Thank you, thighmaster!

It just ain’t fair.

More Fun with Mangina

We first featured The Mangina on the site a few weeks ago, and here he is again, back to announce his douchitude in yet more scrotey ways.

Now I suppose if I had the Facehugger from Alien: Resurrection living inside my chest, I might want to show it off in a club, too. Then again, if I had a giant orange potato-head, I’d never leave the house.

Seriously, if we planted this turtle turd’s head in some soil, could we grow orange potatoes? Or would they be yams? Or would a giant douche tree grow which would sprout gel-flowers every spring with that lovely odor of Tag Bodyspray mixed with Old Spice? Or maybe we should just pour a bucket of herbicide on his spud and be done with it.

The Fungley Mohawk

And while you’re deciding who to vote for the in the HCwDotW contest below, here’s a little stubbley mohawk douchiness to touch off your Monday with.

HCwD of the Week: Insect Edition

Since Big Red rides on a higher plane of Zen Douche, this week’s HCwDotW contest will focus on the insectbags of the last few rounds of scrotey pics and the hotties who love them. This week’s contest is also brought to you by Bagbalm, a loyal ‘Bag Hunter who requested I get off my lazy ass and get the weekly contests going again.

So without further ado, here are the finalists for this week’s HCwD of the Week contest. Remember to vote in the comments section of this thread. Votes must factor in not just the douchey douchitude of the smelly poobags, but the hot factor of the various cuties. In combination. Mixture. Overall wrongness. Here are the finalists:

HCwD #1: The Earwig

This pink shirted greasy abomination can’t even be bothered to take out his bluetooth while cuddling/molesting his sexy fiery hottie.

And while I usually look for outward signs of douchebaggery (tilted hat, bling, etc.), in this case douche-face is all the qualification this ‘bag needs.

HCwD #2: Khan’s Insect

Inspired by thoughts of earwigs in the previous pic, I termed this greaser Khan’s Insect after the greatest villian in film history’s evil alien brain eaters. And if you think that’s just hyperbole, imagine glancing into a motorcycle helmet and seeing a version of this dude crawling around inside it. Would you put it on?

I didn’t think so.

This sexy floozy doesn’t know she’s cuddling up to an alien insect, suggesting the ‘bag viruses have taken deep hold. She’s likely incurable at this point. Very sad.

HCwD #3: Morning ‘Bag Meditation, aka “The Dung Beetle”

I didn’t knight this turd with insect status the first time round, so for the purposes of including him with the other insects, lets call him “The Dung Beetle.” Anyone sneering with such douchey pleasures in the presence of this sexy, if likely enhanced, hottie, deserves our jealous rage.

It’s not just the glasses, Dung. We’re also including you for the slightly aggessive way you’re grabbing her waist. That finger-grip suggests you know you ain’t gonna be holding her much longer. And for that, you are douche.

So break out the Raid, grab a flyswatter, and vote for which of the three insects, and the hotties who love them, combine to destroy all higher motor function and render you a babbling, incoherent mess. Or is that just me?

Caesar's Scrote

Caesar here is just so many sorts of douchey wrongness it’s almost enough to shake the DB1 out of his brain addled Saturday afternoon stupor. In fact nothing makes me angrier than seeing a skeezy muscle-boy grasping my second favorite beer (behind PBR). If I ever catch this poobag with a bottle of the ‘Train, I might need to fly to Provincetown and track his metro ass down where I’ll drown him in Axe Bodyspray and six gallons of Vidal Sassoon Extra-Hold Hair Gel.

Princess Hottie makes me believe in the Tooth Fairy, Frosty the Snowman and Suri Cruise. She’s as fine as a shiny El Dorado on a dusty southern highway.