Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Taint

PIC DELETED

This old friend of HCwD, and by “friend” I mean spike-toed kick to the taint, decided to drop by and say hi again.

And he’s brought two friends with him. How nice.

As to the evolving ‘bag look of 2007, it seems that unearned dog tags have replaced Jesus Bling as the necklace of choice for the scrote underbelly. That and horseshoe shaped chin pubes.

Shes a little too skinny and inflated for my tastes, but the look she’s giving the camera suggests she wants to study Proust and Heidegger over candlelight one evening. And really, who am I to turn down a young scholar?

Tri-Hot and the YoYo

And if the Friday Haiku didn’t fire you up for the weekend, this classic Yo-Yo should. Three absolute cuties who do not appear to be paid performers (but I could be wrong), draped all over his facial pubed, ‘bag hand gesturing, army shirted douchebaggery. And what’s with the club marking on lower left’s pixie? Did they use a paint gun on her hand? Whatever happened to the subtle stamp? It’s like they’ve been branded for tomorrow’s cattle sale.

Almost as bad as the HCwD couple I saw at Trader Joes last night. There I was, innocently buying my weekly supply of Joe-Joe’s cookies in the cookie aisle when, pushing their cart with utter self importance, was a greased up rocker ‘bag, and his stage-4’d Bleethed out cutie. Coming right at me. Making lots of “Woo!” and “Grunt” noises as they approached.

The problem is, once you spot an annoying HCwD couple in a supermarket, you have to spend the next twenty minutes trying to time your cart to go up one aisle while they’re going down the other aisle to avoid the awkward cart lineup in the same section. It’s like an intricate slow moving ballet of avoidance.

So I managed to generally avoid their douchitude (and minimize my exposure to the Grieco virus), until checkout, at which point they planted their cart filled with annoying vegan foods and alcohol directly behind mine.

Nowhere to run, I had to endure a solid five minutes of douchebag’s breathy talk to his annoying cutie about how “hot” she was looking. It was almost enough to make me try to commit suicide-by-Charles-Shaw-Wine, which if you’ve ever seen it, is an ugly way to go.

What does that have to do with this pic? Not much. I do love it when Midwestern college girls try to get freaky and it’s so very awkward, like it is for the brunette standing in this pic. There’s something hot about that awkwardness. It’s the sex appeal of the clueless amateur.

Friday Haiku

Somewhere a baby,
Shrieking in his mother’s arms,
Knows this is out there.

Designer mohawk
From nineteen eighty seven
Prince wants his beads back

— douchebag out!

HoS Committee Vote: Labor Day 'Bag

I left out the highly popular Labor Day ‘Bag pic as part of the initial induction class in the Hall of Scrote. So rather than just add the pic to the list I figured I’d convene the first meeting of the HoS ‘Baggers to vote. This is probably a slamdunk, but this’ll be a nice test of our newly formed Scrote Jury and the induction process itself.

So what say you, committee members? Mitch Meats, Baron Von Douchausen, Douchestar Runner, douchebag out!, doc, greekbag, bmt and danny bonnadouchey, vote aye/nay in the comments thread.

Anyone else is welcome to comment as well on whether this pic should be raised to hallowed and supremic induction into the canon. But only the ‘Bagger Votes will officially count.

Also if you’d like to be on the committee, I take bribes. And by bribes I mean naked pics of your hot 19 year old sister. Either that or a package of HoHos. Because I’m cheap and sleazy like that.

The Philistine

I’m thinking of starting up a companion blog to this one, “Hot Chicks with Oily Mutant Pudwackers.” I’m not sure if HCwOMP will find as many pics to post, but we can start with this one.

This whole tight v-neck grey sweater thing is just disturbingly douchebaggey lately. On this oily, pubed out goggled piece of horse chew it’s fifty times more headache inducing. Where’s my supply of “Head On”? Apply directly to the douchebag. I’m calling him the Philistine. I’m not sure why, but the name seems to fit.

Dark haired Princess Leia has rather bizarrely inflated hoohas rendering her slightly scary. But I’d still enjoy her with an orange juice chaser.

Navajo Mud Toy

The Navajo Tribe of New Mexico used to make mud toys for their children to play with. These intricately constructed figurines were some of the most beautiful folk art ever produced.

Here we see an apparently life sized Navajo Mud Toy come to life, perhaps animated by the legendary Najavo spirit, Runs With Douches. Runs With Douches has somehow found his way into a nightclub, where he’s attempting to eat the brains of a lovely bunny with two fantastic strips of Cleavite sending up smoke signals of surrender.

Someone call a Shaman to ghost dance purge the douche spirit from this large pile of animated clay before he’s able to gnaw bunny’s head off. He is the evil douche spirit run wild with life. He must be stopped. I’d stop him, but I’m busy eating a tasty frosted strawberry Pop Tart. Then again, so’s he.

Pumpy

I gotta hand it to Pumpy here, he knows how to mark his territory using clear and unambiguous physicality. Factor in some primal grunts and the neighboring tribe will know not to approach his female, share his drinking water or urinate on his trees.

Later he plans to stare confusedly at a mysterious black monolith while triumphant classical music plays. Suddenly it will come to him, in a flash of recognition. A bone can also function as a tool. A douche tool.

'Bag / Not a 'Bag

Is a douchey faux-hawk enough to classify a stage one ‘bagger? Or is The DB1 simply looking for an excuse to post this smiling blonde cutie-on-a-beach as part of his active fantasy life?

What say you? Should Sandy’s douchier half receive ‘bag status or not?

Robodouche

Rounding out today’s Jersey theme, I thought this inflated chinned Peter Weller Robocop looking shart would be an appropriate concluding image. That chin would fill the Robosuit with appropriate douche gravitas. Now all we need is the dad from That 70s Show to start shouting at him, and we’d have the douche-remake ready to go.

Robodouche is Bridge and Tunnel “cool” and his hottie makes my fillings melt. She’s all sorts of Russian accented chocolate cherry filled goodness. She’s got the smooth after-dinner port wine quality of a young Kari Wuhrer.

What, too obscure? No one remembers Remote Control anymore.

New Jersey

New Jersey in the Twentieth Century

Through both World Wars, New Jersey was a center for war production, especially in naval construction. Battleships, cruisers, and destroyers were all made in this state. In addition, Camp Kilmer, Fort Dix (originally called “Camp Dix”), and Camp Merritt were all constructed to help American soldiers through both World Wars. New Jersey also became a principal location for defense in the Cold War. Fourteen Nike Missile stations were constructed, especially for the defense of New York City and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. PT-109, commanded by Lt.(jg) John F. Kennedy, was built at the Elco Boatworks in Bayonne, and the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise (CV-6) was briefly docked at the Military Ocean Terminal in Bayonne in the 1950s before she was sent to Japan to be scrapped.

New Jersey became a prosperous state through the Roaring Twenties but fell from prosperity under the Great Depression. Begging licenses were even offered to the unemployed by the state government in order to provide money for those who could not be helped by the exhausted state funds.^[5] During this time period, the zeppelin Hindenburg went up in flames over Lakehurst.

In the 1960s, several race riots sprang up in New Jersey, the first of which occurred in Jersey City on August 2, 1964. Several other riots ensued in 1967, in the cities of Newark and Plainfield. Camden also dealt with race riots in 1971. The 1960s race riots in Freehold are mentioned in the Bruce Springsteen song “My Hometown.”

By the early 1990s, Jersey was teaming with scrotey douchebags polluting hotties (see pic).