Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

The Late Great Bill Hicks

One of the greatest standup comedians of all time, the legendary Bill Hicks, died on this day thirteen years ago. I will mock a ‘bag in his honor today.

Rest easy, Bill, if that’s possible for you. You are not forgotten.

Where's Waldouche: Torso Edition

Somewhere, buried deep within these sexy painted abs, I’ve carefully hidden a Waldouche. It’s extremely hard to find, so take your time and study every detail of the pic.

Look very carefully.

Can you find him?

Waldouche says, “Don’t forget to vote for HCwD of the Week down below!”

'Bag TV

For those fans of Tissue Wrapped Hottie from Friday’s Haiku, here’s another pic of her sultry goodness being macked on by Rocker Scrote.

Note to rockstars with hotties: You have 18 months to save your money before MTV stops running your video to launch a “Pimp My Ride” marathon. Save every penny, Onehitty McWonder. You’ll be changing oil at Pep Boys faster than it’ll take for those facial pubes to grow back in.

As to Maggie, there are no words to express the fantasies of curling up with your ankle bracelet under a pile of coats in the hallway while rocker ‘bag listens to Danzig in the other room. So I will simply make digital love to your image while laughing at creepy Rocker ‘Bag’s 2009 job prospects.

Ghost Ship

Rumor has it this is “The Ghost” making a rare appearance out of man-tan chemical treatment and without dark glasses.

Tribal tat? Check. Unearned dog tags? Check. Pair of Jams from 1988? Check. Face o’ douche? Check mate.

I would wrap Bella with prosciutto and melon and toast Tuscany with her abs under a setting sun.

Mugger

I term this creepy ‘bag “Mugger” not simply because he looks like central casting’s cliche street criminal. Not simply because he’s the type who beats up old ladies in alleys just to steal their laundry money, nor because he wears Paula Abdul’s outfit from the 1989 video, “Straight Up” like a washed up gay porn-star.

But because he mugs us of our souls. Our humanity. Our burning orphans (oh wait, that was the last post).

This soup dumpling makes me Beat Takeshi.

HCwD of the Week: Orphans on Fire Edition

Something about last week’s budding ‘bags made me picture setting orphans on fire. I’m talking the 19th Century Oliver Twist wide eyed scurvy suffering high voiced ten year old orphans begging for a second bowl of porridge.

I’m not sure why. What would setting orphans on fire accomplish, exactly? The good news is they burn just like regular children. Except the flame is slightly bluer.

On to this week’s ‘bag finalists…

HCwD of the Week Finalist #1: The Wifebeater

Classic greasy pudster with a sexy if strangely pale faced cutie on his arm, The Wifebeater inspires all of us to drink more water. And Rock Star Energy Drink, the choice of a Douchebag Generation.

His greasy underdressed chain wearing douchebaggery sets orphans on fire as we speak. Can you hear them crying for the mommie they never knew? Blame Wifebeater.

If you care about the orphans, that is.

HCwD of the Week Finalist #2: Maggie’s Baggie

This Friday Haiku pic brought lots of joy to the orphans down in Sister Jean’s convent. I’m talking bonfire level of joy. Crackling parentless nine year olds suffer so that Maggie’s Baggie can grin. Feel their pain.

Rod Stewart ‘Bag is all that is clubby and spiked in the douchebag “rocker” wing. And Tissue Hottie made an appearance in the comments thread. So maybe if I write more about how hot she is, I’ll have a better chance of Charlesing her Dickens.

Yes you, Maggie. You make lime shirted club promoters grease themselves up by the dozens just for a shot they’ll never have.

HCwD of the Week Finalist #3: Cheese

There’s no way I could leave out this sultry combo of exotic hotness and Shemp ‘Bag. It came down to this pic and Vienna Sausage but in the end I had to go with this fantastic pouty lipped beauty. And Shemp. Douchey Shemp.

Hey Moe, indeed.

So there’s your choices this week, folks. Won’t somebody please think of the burning orphans?

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

Angel of Choad

Oh sexy mature hottie with the medieval talisman that attracts Angel Choads. Venture not into the Forests of ‘Bag, for therein lie the Rodents of Unusual Douchitude. Be wary on your journey, for the Angel Choads haunt the darkness like grease stains on a fast food wrapper. Like pickled onions on a sesame bun.

In fact, you’re standing next to a pickled onion on a sesame bun.

Beware. The special sauce.

Harry Beaver's In Network

An eagle eyed reader spotted the following and sent in a camera phone pic as evidence. He’s convinced this is the one and the same Harry Beaver from last week’s HCwD of the Week contest. H.B. is in the small circle in the middle of the billboard.

Could it be true?

Is our very own Harry Beaver really one of this grinny clown’s “My Faves”? And is T-Mobile cornering the hairy douchebag cell phone market?

Cheese

Ever buy that fancy wedge of gourmet cheese at Ralphs, then forget about it in the fridge so it ends up hidden behind the baking soda and the jar of mayo way in the back? Then, six months later, you go to grab a can of PBR and knock the mayo over, only to discover a moldy ecosystem, a temperate biome of cellular diversity? I’m taking new forms of flora and fauna, cures for polio and little green mucus people with names like “Frank” and “Teddy” playing cards?

That’s this guy. Moldy, six month old fungal cheese.

She, on the other hand, is fresh cut brie. Smooth and mild. Pungent and aromatic. Even at $12.99 a pound, she’s a bargain.

Oh, and clean out your fridge. Slob.

Retro Douchitude: NKOTB

Y’all ready to get funky?

Uhm, no Donnie. No I’m not.

It’s like being awakened in the middle of the night with a horrible, long repressed memory of being touched by your uncle when you were nine. New Kids on the Block represent our shared collective trauma. Our ass raping uncle. Better to confront this atrocity from our past then to repress the memory.

Or at least share a good laugh at some retro-douche as we slide on into a Friday night of excessive binge drinking, extreme consumption of delightlful Hostess cupcake products, and of course, staring awkwardly at hotties while hungover at the local IHOP on a Saturday morning.

Not that there are that many hotties at my local IHOP. But there are a few. At least as far as I can tell, what with the blurred vision amidst the blueberry syrup.