Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Fri Nite

It’s been a good week of getting drunk and mocking douche. I’m gonna kick back and smoke a butt like Tribal Wig ‘Bag here. Ride the sunset into a pleasant weekend of Thunderbird and rum raisin Haagen Daaz milkshakes. Hey, don’t knock it ’till ya tried it.

And to think some of you questioned this scrote’s douchitude in his first pic. For shame. He was simply douche-cognito in that pic.

So whose going Hottie Hunting tonite? Any good stories?

Friday Haiku

Tribal tat freak-bag,
Please do not rip off my nads,
for calling you douche.

Here’s ‘Mos Douche’s from the comments thread:

Ape man douche bag scrote:
Lame tats, smirky jawed ‘bag die.
Or make yourself scarce.

Seattle Bagslayer lays the haiku smackdown:

Shoulder bumps of war
Like a Klingon Bird of Prey
Two chickas now “owned”.

And kanthor the hung:

voluptuous babes,
die in a fire man waste,
you’re not Spartacus

Turdburger with Fries

Okay, I realize this dude is trying to construct a parody image to promote some form of music career, but seriously, WTF?

Who are you, Turdburger? Who are you really? Who are you underneath that mullet and mustache? Who are you that sports purple lips and hires hotties to circle vacantly? In what ironic self reflexive world of douchitude do you exist?

Are you for real, Turdburger? Or do you simply mock me with irony? And does it matter. Even if you’re putting on the ritz, you’re still a total ‘bag.

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…