Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Friday Haiku

Mongo, shirtless wank
Spreading scrotey douchebag seed,
Like Johnny Appledouche

Boingy writes:

no shirt in fur coat
fag hags circle like buzzards
who will be his beard?

Anonymous:

Shirtless sack of puke
Die Die Die Die Die Die Die
Sack of puke, die die.

iowabagslayer:

It is just damned wrong
That a Friday brings more man
Cleavage than hottie’s.

Flame

I can’t leave that last greasy pic up as my final pic of the evening, so here’s Flame, a douche so ridiculously annoying he actually sports a mohawk in the shape and color of fire. Why, oh unholy Demigod of Douche, do you allow your minions to prowl the earthly lands in search of innocent young cuties with which to pollute?

Toss in the chin pubes, the “Trust Me, I Do This All the Time” shirt, and the fact he’s staring at this chick’s rack, and I want to punch this Bennington type undergrad going through his “phase” right where he hides his stash.

Shlub No More

The Shlub writes in:

hey im the guy with the two pics on your site the shlub guy with memphis monroe the pornstar i reaaaaaaaaaaallly dont like it when you just let people you dont dont know let you have those pics please take them down and i really hatethe comments later

Well, since he “reaaaaaaaaaaallly dont like it,” then I dedicate this oily greasebag on the left here to haunt his shlubby-ass dreams.

Feel free to tell him what you think of his wussy-ass douchitude in the comments thread.

Sheer Madness

I don’t quite know what the backstory is in this travesty of a pic. I do know that my future ex-wife is being ‘bag headlocked by a furry garden gnome with a bright red plastic earring and some inexplicable stain that is either self applied lipstick or a runaway herpes sore. Adidas putz on the right rounds out the scrotey fumes.

I want to extricate these two sisterly blonde cuties immediately, but I’m convinced this vaguely Lenny Bruce looking turd might try to eat my brains.

I do have to say ladies, the see-through sheer top is absolutely painful in all the right ways. The DB1 likes. Oh yes he does.

The Shlub II

PIC DELETED

I can’t tell if this is a real guy or a cardboard cut-out that hotties carry around with them to scare away flies.

Either way this pudgy middle aged scrote hovers somewhere in that gray zone where he’s clearly human on a number of distinctive levels. He has arms. He has two eyes. He even has a chin (or three.) And yet I can’t comprehend that he and I share the same genus, let alone same species.

She is all sorts of barbie doll goodness. Her fleshy abs promise rainbow dreams with 3D unicorns and a wizard named Tim.

His fleshy abs raped Dakota Fanning.

Jesus Christ Doucherstar

Forget the acrylic diamond studded cross. This unholy scrote’s shirt is like Jesus Bling to the 10th Power. It is the douche-Jesus himself.

Because nothing says fidelity to the Holy Trinity like ‘bag headlocks, popped collars and shaved facial pubes.

As to the ball of inflated goodness, God damn I’d like to virgin those Marys.

Cubist 'Bag

Look at this utter scrote. Busting ‘bag headlock position #05, he’s mauling his hottie so badly she’s turning abstract before our eyes. It’s like this skeezy wank represents a profound shift in the douchebag plague. Ushing in a new era of douchebaggery signification far removed from the literal bling/collar look of earlier douchebag movements grounded in a literalist and realist aesthetic.

I would dip my brush in primary color paint and make bold strokes just for the chance to canvas this hottie’s outline. I’ve always had a thing for the cubist librarian look.

Not to mention that fantastic cleavite in the middle there.

Bug Juice

In the October 1976 the Rodale Organic Gardening and Farming magazine reported the use of ‘bug juice’ by a commercial farmer. He reported a cost saving of $5,000 per annum on his chemical bills and that after three years no further applications were required.

I kg of insects will treat 30 Ha.

Liquefy the bugs (slugs, caterpillars etc.) in a blender with about 1/3 the volume of water. Strain and use 4-5 ml per 100 l water.

Fermenting slugs after killing them with dry sugar also works. The dehydrated slugs are put in a container of water in a warm place for a few days, strained, diluted and sprinkled around the garden.

Various theories abound as to why this works: natural pathogens, attraction of predators, confusion of insect communication systems (they rely a lot on pheremones which are detected by smell).

Tater Tots

Since we’ve been on a Mandana kick lately, here’s a nice greasy ‘Bag Sandwich that’ll chew like week old gristle scraped off a year old grill.

Taste that squishy douche bread with that fantastic jelly center. Mmm, mmm good.

I would massacre a Lexus full of penguins for the pleasure of tongue washing that blue garment. She is, how you say,… good.

And then there’s the bi-Mug stereophonic douche orchestration that makes my psyche’s metaphorical eardrums bleed.

Muscle tees and 80s Adidas tracksuits. The Class of Douche ‘Em High makes me want to chew on a plastic spork until my tater tots get icy cold. And by “tater tots” I mean, well, those tasty tater tots you get in a school lunch. What’d you think I meant? Mmm… tater tots.

Mega Man

Ah, Mega Man. How far you have fallen since your heyday on Nintendo’s NES system. I used to watch you battle blocks of primary colors with small balls of other primary colors while melodic three chord tones sang your praises from my T.V. speaker.

Now I watch you douchebag.

Oh, Mega Man, tell me it isn’t true. Tell me that your “Behind the Music” cliche fall from grace after the Playstation was released didn’t lead you to this sorry state you now find yourself in. Cashing in on your late 80s fame and hoping you can still get the occasional hottie like The Feldman or The Haim.

Say it ain’t so, Mega Man.

You were glorious in your prime. A digital pixelated killing machine. And now you are scrote. And with it, another hero of my childhood dies. Like Alan Thicke and Screech, you are my post-modern media saturated Rosebud sled. I weep for you Mega Man, because I weep for my lost childhood.