Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Oldie

Since we’ve got kind of an old ‘bag thing going today, lets celebrate Old Bag, puttin’ on the ritz with a delectable piece of pie.

I can’t tell if he’s doing some form of Halloween performance or if he really does bust a red silk tie, giant fake stogie, and Jesus bling on the lapel on a daily basis.

But what I do know is sideburns are rad.

Old Bag, who looks vaguely like Aaron Spelling, may actually be Aaron Spelling. But either way he rivals last summer’s Gramps for sheer balls-out sleaziness into his octogenarian years. And for that, we tip our collective red cup of the ‘Train to the original O.G., O.B. Keep on rockin’, Oldie. Keep on rockin’.

Honorary HCwD of the Month: Bowflex Bag

Maybe you’ve seen Michael Polinko.

He’s “in the best shape of his life” and “forty-nine years old and living the dream!” in those awful Bowflex home gym ads that play in heavy rotation on The Sci-Fi Channel.

Every time I DVR Battlestar I gotta fast forward through that greased up mug’s homoerotic workout.

Hey Bowflex Bag, I’m not impressed by your greasy douched-out abs, your age, or the fact you’re proud you play in a “rock and roll band.” I’m sure your rockin’ Bob Seger covers are fantastic to the drunk waitress at the local Wings n’ Things, but I don’t need to stare at you pumping iron every six and a half minutes while I’m waiting for that blonde cylon uber-hottie in the red dress to come back on.

Now get the hell off my T.V. before I frak your ass.

Hawaii 50

And while you’re mulling over the HCwDB of the Week, here’s a skeezy OldBag to cheer you on.

Like most non-Yellowtail old ‘bags on the site, Hawaii 50 here may acquire a sort of folk-hero glow. Any ancient pud still able to score balls of candle wax hot like this tight bodiced piece of pizza deserve a sort of inverted ‘bag status.

But at what point does a douche cross over and become folk hero anti-douche for still being in the game even as the scrote hangs lower and lower? 50? 55?

Either way, she’s lovely. In fact I’m going to clip my toenails in her honor right now. Yes, even the big toes.

HCwD of the Week: 'Baggers Day Edition

Since it’s the one year anniversary, and I’m still recovering from that shot of absinthe, I thought we’d mark this week’s contest the ‘Baggers Day edition. Which basically means it’s just like any other weekly vote except I eat an extra moon pie.

Mmm… moon pie.

Speaking of moon pies, now is a good time to announce that I’ve set up a site redirect at www.HCwDB.com for anyone at work who fears the douchebaggery of my regular URL might offend the delicate sensibilities of those untrained in the ‘bag arts. I’m also trying to get my RSS feed to work but I hear it’s spotty thanks to Blogger’s assitude, so bear with.

But enough of my ramblings, on to this week’s finalists:

HCwD of the Week Finalist #1: Indiana Scrote and the Temple of Blonde aka Friday Haiku

Throw me the hottie, I throw you the gel!

This monarch of the sea is definitely a finalist worthy entry, not just because that blonde could melt the frost off Marion’s ass. Indiana Scrote needs to have his heart ripped out by offensive Hollywood “primitive” stereotypes while the director hits on his co-star.

There’s also the genius appearance of a James Bond villain henchman in the background, Odd Face, which lends the pic a certain intertextual echo.

Did I mention the hotness of the Temple of Blonde? She is my Hebraic Covenant. Her ass is a transmitter, a radio for speaking to God. I would Belloq her bad dates. Watching Indiana Scrote rub up against her is enough to make me shove the Staff of Ra six kadam’s up his douchey ass.

HCwD of the Week Finalist #2: Westbank Side

There’s something glorious about seeing the douche Grieco Virus go global. And by glorious I mean soul crushing ball smashing wrongness.

Westbank Side busts all the classic ‘bag attributes wrapped in a grape leaf hummus package. Those glasses, those facial pubes cut in landing strip formation. those braids, and of course ‘bag hand gesture #57.

Red on the left is sexy suburban housewife covert hot. She’ll wear a sun dress to church, then tie you up with black licorice at night. Never underestimate the stealth sexiness.

But Pocahontas just warms the cockles of my heart. And by cockles I mean… uhm, yeah.

HCwD of the Week Finalist #3: Wee Willy Wanker

Wee Willy Wanker just has that feel of an iconic HCwDB pic. His expression. The coral snake of douchitude around his neck. His earring that 1989 wants back. And of course his curvy, if slightly plump, little turkey of hot.

The combo of hottie/douchey head assploding wrongness just works. I’m not sure why as it’s more than the sum of its parts, but it’s definitely a spew worthy finalist and well deserving of consideration to move on to next month’s monthly douche-off.

It was tough to eliminate Plastic Man, Rooster Wank, Coffee Bag and Insane in the Douchebrane, which also has a certain iconic flair. Coffee Bag was eliminated because I heard from Mr. Coffee, and he wasn’t too thrilled about being featured but grudgingly allowed us to keep the pic up after careful international negotiations between myself and the Coff. So better not to rattle that cage.

And of course Truck Head, whose hottie alone makes me think this pic should get a bump to the hallowed Hall of Scrote as The Future Ex-Mrs. DB1’s Wife #2.

But enough digressions, it’s time to vote. And this goes for all you lurkers too. Time to step up to the plate and cast in with one of our three lovely finalists. And by lovely I mean moon pie.

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

Happy 'Baggers Day!!

Today marks the 1 year anniversary since I started HCwDB, and so I thought we’d celebrate by marking today ‘Baggers Day.

I thought about celebrating like I celebrate all my holidays, two moon pies and a shot of absinthe. But then I thought this special first anniversary of a new holiday called for something more.

So I ate a third moon pie. Cuz I’m crazy like that! Crazy like a douche.

Thanks to all of the fantastic regulars whose ‘bag hunting skills find the most incredible pics featured on the site. And major props to the commenters in the threads who crack me up and keep me going as we continue to hunt down the hottie/pukey combos that fill the MySpace universe of douchitude like so many stars in a constellation. If that constellation were poo.

Special props to all the soldiers who’ve been emailing me and who read the site (you guys know who you are). Stay safe over there. We need you guys to get your asses back to the states so you can rescue these hotties from the ‘bag plague that’s been infecting our country while you’ve been gone.

This site’s just getting fully up to speed, and if I can finally get my douchitude together long enough, we’ll be unveiling some new features in the next few months that should fire up the HCwDB combos and take us all to the next level of ‘bag slaying.

So crack open a PBR and celebrate. I’m one years old, douchebags!! Douche-on!!

Weasel Choad

Real hair?

Fake hair?

Wig?

Who gives a rat’s ass. That could be chocolate pocky covering his head and I’d still kick him in the nads. The dude is essence of weasel choad. And as the Navajo know, essence of weasel choad is one of the rarest and most potent toxins of the plant kingdom.

Which is why I worry for Polka Hottie. It’s not because I want to nuzzle her lower back horse/salt-lick style.

It’s because I genuinely fear for her exposure to weasel choad.

Because I’m a humanitarian like that.

Douche Springsteen

There is something inherently astounding when a rocker scrote can wear a bandana the size of an H3 on his head. There’s something even more impressive when that same scrote can have his douched out “Obey” shirt ripped off by two sweet nutri-grain cereal bars of wholesome 140 calorie goodness.

There’s something even more impressive when I can sit on my ass, pick crumbs off my shirt, chug a PBR, and only get midly annoyed that this wonky greased up ball of pseudo-rocker tan-in-a-can stomached bud lite sipping ferret occupies the same temporal time/space axes that I do.

It’s not that I’m a bitter and angry wanker, as the Brits say.

Oh wait, yes it is.

It’s exactly that.

The Frog

(Pic Changed — See Below)

I know. I’ve written previously on the manifestation of Douche Spirit self actualizing through the use of bling, hand gesture, forehead grease, facial douche and various articles of ‘bag clothing. And I’m not saying this choady blob doesn’t warrant douche status based on the shirt, the cig and the general facial scrote.

But none of that is what intrigues me about this pic. It’s that this dude just looks like a frog.

It kills me to violate my own dictum, as I’ve often insisted one must take action to be douche, and not simply “be.”

Yet here’s Froggy. Oh sure, the shirt is uber-douche and she’s a sultry, dark haired hottie with a sexy overbite. But, well, Frog.

Frog.

EDIT: Well I’m not sure about Froggy, but some of the commenters thought he might’ve been actually “challenged,” so I’ve swapped out his pic with one from the classic z-grade Roger Corman flick, YellowTail-Frog. Because when I pick on the ‘bags, I want to pick on real ‘bags.

As to YellowTail-Frog, that wacky Roger Corman strikes again. Trying to rip off “The Fly” with the genetic splicing between frog and skeezy old ‘bag. Not one of his better knock-offs. Stick with Carnosaur.

Where's Waldouche: Disco Bag Edition

Okay kids, it’s time for another edition of everyone’s favorite online game, Where’s Waldouche?

Somewhere, buried deep within this lineup of gorgeous if overly stylized kumquat hotties, I’ve carefully hidden a white suited Disco ‘Bag.

Look carefully. Study each corner of the pic. Feel free to pause at those two beanstalks of hot that tall dark haired vixen on the left calls her legs. I would fry them in buttersauce and argue politics with my family while chewing on them during a national holiday. But I digress…

Look closely.

Click on the pic for closer examination.

Can you find Waldouche?

Weekly HCwD Open Call

Because of last week’s Pumpy rampage, we have a two week backlog of HCwD of the Week pics to choose from for this week’s contest. Before I winnow it down to a final three I figured I’d open it up to the floor for any requests. I’ve gotten emails requesting Soc and his Will-Ferrell-in-Zoolander friend, but Soc is already pantheon and I like to keep the weeklies open to newbie douche ascension.

So what do you say? Which pearls of douchedom from the past two weeks deserve finalist status for this week’s douche-off? Enter your top three rec’s in the comments thread and we’ll put up the contest itself this evening.

Man, I need a bowl of the ‘Flakes. And by Flakes I mean Frosted. And by Frosted I mean sugar crack.