HCwD of the Week: Donkey Douche
It was a fairly close vote all around this week, with Donkey edging out the fantastic and magical pillow love of the waitress Clay wanks to, and Turd and Swan finding some love even without the Swan showing any boobs, proving there are still ‘bag hunters who value the pretty face (as I do).
But in the end, I mean come on. Look at this caveman. Look at that gorgeous ball of wax. There was no way this pic didn’t elevate to a hallowed spot in the Hall o’ Scrote.
As metalmilitia puts it:
Donkey Douche is a monumental douche, and the enhanced wet dream next to him is all kinds of hot. I’d commit seppuku with a greasy monkey wrench just to see the dress on her right side moved further to her right by two inches. And as for the fake-baked Cro-Magnon, the most enraging part for me is that his lips are the same shade as hers! Most likely he just applied some lipstick he bought at Claire’s, but the thought that he may have stolen a smooch from those heavenly lips just puts me over the top. Is that Jesus bling hiding under his conveniently unbuttoned shirt? I fried a bacon-and-egg breakfast on my head while looking at that picture, and had plenty of rage left over for hash browns after I stopped looking at it.
And then there’s Jewy Mcbagger, who observes the problem with voting for Clay Wankin’:
2. Clay: Fabulous, real, G-d made mammys. But the problem is that Clay isn’t a ‘bag. At least not yet. He’s got a couple of years of forehead waxing, bling buying, and sunglass inside wearing to truly qualify. The good news for Clay is that hotties won’t be afraid to take pictures with him because he is clearly not interested in fish. He’s a strictly sausage kind of future ‘bag.
And douche be montreal brings home the case for the Donkey:
To help me decide, I asked myself which picture, if I saw it without the benefit of the always-excellent commentary, would convey most iconically the essence of HCwDouchery, in such a way that upon viewing it, in a *fraction* of a second, the absolute necessity of returning to this site every single day would be forever imprinted in me. And Donkey Douche’s soul-searing combination of instant loathability, ginormous brutishness and numbing unawareness along with his girl, who is hot in ways I could never even begin to comprehend, seals it absolutely. This picture contains the essence of every argument for the existence of the HCwD site, as well as every rebuttal of every counter-argument imaginable. And given how much time I have spent on imagining running my finger up the inside of hottie’s right arm, very lightly brushing my wrist against the side of that dress, I have not come one iota closer to believing it is possible to experience such an event during our time here in this earthly realm.
But don’t you worry, Clay Wankin’s ethereal boobage will find a place in all of our hearts. And by “hearts” I mean screen humping.
Great comments all around this week. It sucks to pick when we have three great options like these, but in the end, three enter, and only one may rise. And by rise I mean “spew.” Welcome to the next level, Donkey Douche. You’ve earned it.
