Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

The Pitts

I’m a Patriots fan by day, but given this gorgeous ball of cute, I’d cheer for the Steelers. Heck, I’d cheer for the Peoria Plant Potters if this cutie wanted me to. Is my sports allegiance for sale to a cutie in a jersey? Absodamnlutely.

As to wanky tonguebag, life must be tough in the post Superbowl dog days of February. But I’m sure he’ll occupy himself by vacantly staring at a wall, making random “woo!” noises, and drinking beer.

Surf and Turfbag

When surfing, ever head down to the “Chin Pubes n’ Grease” restaurant just off the PCH? This guy sure does. I’d make more fun of him but I’m terrified that coral snake around his neck might bite the hottie.

We’ve been on a roll with the brunette cuties, and this vanilla Hostess cupcake has cream filled goodness all around. This pic almost makes me wish I’d gone to Evergreen State. If smirky surfbags like this can score a pepper while sucking nitrous from a can of Reddi-Whip behind the poly-sci building, then so can I. So can I.

Monkey Straw

There comes a time in every douchebag’s life where the urge to take a straw and attempt to feed at his girl’s bosom like a famished infant takes hold. For Monkey Straw here, that time is now.

HCwD of the Week: Scratch Ticket Edition

I played a $3 scratch ticket yesterday, and after figuring out the labyrinthine math equations involving symbol matching and cross referencing pattern recognition, I finally realized that I’d won the amazing prize called “TICKET.”

Yes, I’d “won” my money back, in the guise of another ticket.

Last time I checked, that’s called a “PUSH” not a “WIN.” But whatever. I took back my three bucks and bought a cherry slurpie. Mmm… cherry slurpie.

Since last week’s HCwD contest was a monthly one, we have two weeks of backorder scrote, so boiling it down to a top three was tough. I open it up to the Hall of Scrote Committee, if there’s any eggregious errors, let me know quickly and I can revise voting by early afternoon. That being said, lets get to the scratch ticket nominees:

HCwD of the Week Candidate #1: T ‘Bag

Hard to argue with a more spew worthy HCwD combo than this pic of country bumpkin fratbag and his lovely ambiguously Maylasian compatriot.

She is tanned to perfection, and he’s a white tub of toothpaste. But not even the good toothpaste, that crappy generic brand stuff that your grandma would leave out when you came to visit. That half dried white crusty flake-goo that would crumble as your brushed your teeth.

That’s what T ‘Bag is. Crumbly generic toothpaste.

HCwD of the Week Candidate #2: The Chronicles of Riddouche

Pin Diesel is a worthy HCwD candidate if for no other reason than that cactusplosion hair. And she’s all that is good about Jersey, even if in real life she probably has an accent that tortures penguins on a sonic frequency.

Besides, “everyone loves an Italian something something,” and who can argue with that logic?

Greasy cheekbones and a hint of Holy Cleavite makes a nice finalist for this pic of skeezy classic guido scrote and sexy brunette hotness merging into one HCwD pic of wrong.

HCwD of the Week Candidate #3: The Pud Cactus

Looks like we’re going with three hottie brunettes in this week’s contest, which I personally prefer to the bleached blonde look myself. Not that I’m complaining about blondes. Heck, I’d take a feral inbred forty year old West Virginian mountain woman with a goiter if she had all her teeth.

Not that there’s anything wrong with West Virginian mountain women. Some of my best friends are West Virginian mountain women.

But back to the Pud Cactus, this pic definitely brings up the bile in the back of the throat, especially as this swarthy mediterranean skeeze looks like he drew in his facial pubes with a sharpie.

I would rhythmically tap out “Camptown Races” on my face with spoons just to get the chance to lick her socks for an hour while watching Oprah. She makes Angels fear to tread.

So what say you, fellow ‘bags, ‘bag hunters and hotties? Which of these three pics is worthy of winning the hallowed HCwD of the Week contest?

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

Gasface

Uhm… yeah.

Celeb Douchebag of the Month: The Kimmelbag

Another candidate for the future ex-Mrs. DB1, the lovely Sarah Silverman just started up her new and hilarious show on Comedy Central. As such I thought it was time to honor her other half with a long deserved Honorary Douchebag of the Month. The Kimmelbag has always verged on the cusp of outright douchebaggery, just nice enough not to cross over, yet manifesting on every program on TV like some Faustian celebrity “fame” contract with the Devil come true.

There is just no known physical universe in which Kimmelbag rises to prominence. None. He is the Michael Bolton of late night talkshows. Inexplicable success, and like the other Michael Bolton observes, is yet another no talent ass clown to achieve cultural supremacy. Kimmel is the Ryan Seacrest of comedy. A ubiquitious, multimedia bland corporate construction of vacuousness. He makes Dane Cook look politically opinionated. He is the celery stick of the vegetable kingdom, no taste, no calories, and looks vaguely green. Frat ‘bag stage-2, just generic enough not to show overt signs of douchebaggery, but annoying enough that his college years must have been filled with ‘bag hand gestures and leering lurker ‘bag bar crawls.

As to the Silverman, what can I say? I’d like her to dress up in red rubber and spank me while singing Prince’s “Darling Nikki.” That’s not weird, is it?

I don’t usually do celeb ‘bags, but watching Kimmelbag score this awesome Jewish princess while flubbing through another late night monologue of Paris Hilton jokes is enough to drive a douchebag to drink.

Jailergrrl

PIC DELETED
Longtime reader Jailergrrl writes in to offer her ode on the ‘bag phenomenon:

AN ODE TO SCROTE

Greasy man, all tanned and typically muscled
why do women fall for the scam that you hustle?
We know deep down in the core of our hearts
that we’d be better off smelling our grandpa’s deadly farts.
The oily stain that you leave on our scarred souls
can only be cured by smoking many many MANY bowls.

Jailergrrl

Pu-caca

I’m starting to feel like the pucca shell necklace is receiving an unfair slamming as a ‘bag accoutrement. I mean in tandem with a 10 degree hat tilt, a popped collar and a greasy forehead, there is no doubt the pucca is scrote. But by itself? At the beach? Calling pucca douchey may be a tad unfair.

But what gives away the inner douchitude of this pud is not the pucca, it’s the ‘bag hand gestures. And the poor cutie in green who knows she’s been trapped but can’t get out.

Thumbs up, Pucca ‘Bag. You’re like Fonzie if he were stripped of all cool by being placed in Superman II’s gamma ray ice-chamber. Yeah, I just referenced the Superman II gamma ray ice chamber. Because I’m cool like that.

T 'Bag

And you thought The DB1 was going to let you slip on off into a Friday night without at least one more spew worthy pic of a skeezy douche polluting a princess.

Of course not.

This red eyed satanic choad’s facial pubes look like a stripper pool party. You can literally see the Grieco drip like greasy gel onto this cute tanned ball of natural extract. It’s the perfect HCwD pic to kick off a weekend of debauchery. And by debauchery, I mean debauchery.

Retro Douche: Gerardo

Riiiiiicoooo….

Suuuaaaavvveeee….