Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Miami Moe

People often ask me, DB1, can you give us a short-answer definition of the douchebag phenomenon? And normally I hate to reduce our complex and far reaching journey across the spectrum of philosophical douchitude to a simplistic series of approximations. But for today’s lesson, Professor DB1 will try to give at least a roundabout philosophical talking point. Don’t think of it as an answer. Think of it as a starting point for further discussion:

At its essence, if I were to attempt to make a generalized definition, douchebaggery is simply about the affected performative role-playing of the peacocking male in an utterly false and constructed way. It is about the adoption of cultural signifiers of “the stud” as an attempt to woo the female by inverting attraction, by making the male douchebag perform as the object of the female’s gaze — to feminize himself. This attempt at gender inversion, an almost mythic reinvention, allows the male to become the object of attraction through invocation of the tropes of gender masquerade. In this way, the male douchifies himself in the hopes of hiding his true self. Douchitude is the mask, the role being played, which hides the douche from his true reality in hopes of, well, getting jiggy with the hot.

I offer this rather cursory and simplified definition for meditation and contemplation, and will be taking questions shortly.

As Miami Moe (Hawk) here demonstrates, douchebaggery cuts across all racial, gender, cultural and ethnic lines. Anyone can be ‘bag, be they white, be they black, be they Arab, Asian, Latino or be they Pumpy. Douchitude, like any pure zen art practiced by the Trappist monks of the Orval Abbey in Florenville teach us, comes from within. It is not identified by physical genetics but instead it radiates from the soul and the bling with the power of a thousand Griecos.

And like the wicked blue flame of an electric bug zapper, it attracts the hottie with its bright douchey glow.

As to this gorgeous little minx, she is everything that is righteous and holy and sacrosanct in the physical, metaphysical and theological worlds. She’s Lisa Bonet in The Cosby Show hot, and I would gnaw off my ankles just to Theo her Huxtable.

Double D Supreme

Like a fine oak barrel aged Bourdeaux, Donkey Douche and his delicate captive fawn just keep getting better with age.

Really, there’s not much else your humble narrator can add to this pic, so I will simply step aside, and let you stare at the genius…

Erno

Some people were wondering just exactly who the “Erno” was that I was referring to in my hypothetical marriage/divorce from quasi librarian hottie in Wednesday’s Truck Head pic.

Here’s Erno in all his technicolor performance art glory. But be warned. The Erno experience is not for the faint of the heart. Like the possessed videotape in Ringu, witnessing this clip has unholy and supernatural side affects. Beware. Austrian dance steps and douchey hats may spontaneously grow from your face after viewing.

Is Erno a douchebag?

Hard to say.

He does, however, frighten little children and small woodland animals. Which has to count for something. But more importantly, his adventures in the world merit YouTube immortality, even if I’m the one of the first to “discover” his uncomfortably awkward Finland Germanic genius.

So lets all light an incense stick of Grieco inspired tribute to Erno. For without Nordic nihilists, whom would chase Lebowski?

The Ghost of Pumpy

It’s not enough that Pumpy won the HCwD of the Month contest. Now he’s poking his ginormous head and blocking an otherwise fantastic example of what I like to term “Performance Art Lesbianism.” PAL was a welcome off-shoot of the rise of douchebaggery in the late 1990s in which otherwise sweet and innocent hotties turn on their inner sluts for the amusement of a choady FratBag who’d rather look at the camera and smirk than observe the sexy goodness going on under his stubbly chin.

Stupid Pumpy. Blocking the breast licking goodness like a ‘roided up apparition.

However he’s not blocking the red lace slip that Anniston Hottie is firing up my synapses with. Also note Pac-Choad on the left, gnawing a goobie boobie like the starving Fat Baby.

Heck, lets all get in the spirit. Hey everyone, it’s Boobie Feed Friday!! Grab a boobie and chewbie!!

Holy Grieco, I’m getting goofy. Must be still hung over from too many PBRs last nite.

Westbank Side

Yo yo yo, keepin’ it real Falafel style!!

I shouldn’t make fun of Salman Douchdie too much. His book “The Satanic Scroteses” was unfairly reviled and deserves critical reevaluation. Besides, adopting to American douche culture takes much practice, and he employs the “W” hand gesture with the dexterity of a thousand chickpea based sandwiches and soups.

Pocahontas needs rescuing before the Dead Sea gets even saltier from the residual runoff of Douchdie’s greased up goatee. That tongue gesture is pure shawarma sandwich lamb goodness.

Camo Bag

Even the Salvation Army would reject Camo ‘Bag based on a Code #423 — Douching Without Officer Permission. He’s what we like to classify a D-203 HFRPT — Human Firing Range Practice Target. Unfortunately the 10 Degree Army Hat Tilt rendered him unfit for active duty, so instead he’s been dishonorably discharged. And by discharged, I mean thrown in with the dishtowels and washed with a powerful bleach. And yet. His stench remains.

Where’s Private Pyle when you need him?

I long to dance the salsa with Princess on the right until she tires and I’m forced to carry her home to her brownstone on Main Street where we’d sit on a couch by the fire and I’d salivate uncomfortably on her ankles while staring at her boobs until she asked me to leave.

Red in the middle shows dangerous signs of sinking into the morass of female douchebaggery, the douchebaguette, stage-3/4 Bleeth infection. And it’s hard not to see why. Stand too close to a supernova Camo ‘Bag army scrote like Sargent Douchebag, and even the strongest willpower can’t stop the Stockholm Syndrome ‘Baggery from taking root like a deep foot fungus. And sweetie, not even Fast Actin’ Tinactin can cure that infection.

Friday Haiku

I stepped in poo. Hark!
Angelic Blonde, do not weep,
Poo can be scraped off.

Indiana Scrote
Inside thy temple of douche
I hope thy face melts

~ Doucharellious

Portugese bag says
Po Po Po Po PoPoZoa
It means “I’m a douche”

-DuckDuckDouche

Creepy Joe Friday
Sluthing for a little love
Try guy behind you

— the alpha douche

Beutiful Blondie..
Even if thyne roots are brown..
My penis cares not.

— douchebag out!

Hamlet Bag

To skeeze: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the scrote; / For in that sleep of douche what dreams may come, / When we have shuffled off this muscle t-shirt, tonguey douchebaggery and creepy ‘fro, / Must give us pause.

I anoint thee Prince Douchebagus.

I would Macbeth Ophelia with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. And then lick her face repeatedly.

The Tendril Bouquet

Since ‘Baggers Day isn’t too far off, call 1-800-FlowerDouche and ask for the Whitesnake Tendril Bouquet.

Because there’s no better way to tell your skeezy, aging douchebag friend how much you appreciate his smirking ooze and slimy hair.

Arty McTardy

All I know is Kelly Osborne’s let herself go to hell since that show went off the air. Here she is rubbing up and down on a sweet spongecake who may or may not be in high-school, so I will refrain from any lascivious comments and simply say “nice cans.” Because I’m classy that way.

As to this Black Sabbath of douchitude, I would take Arty McTardy out back and read him passages from The Bell Jar until he Cobained himself.

Then I’d fly off to Antwerp, where I would study 17th Century Flemish folk dancing for six months. Upon the date of these two cuties turning eighteen I would fly back to the States, read them Tolstoy, and nuzzle their feet while spanking myself with a rubber ping pong paddle.