Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Soc and Friends

You gotta give it up to the legend. Not only can he maintain the oiliest head this side of Halliburton, but his hair is neatly organized for harvesting in the Fall.

And his friend.

Wow.

It’s hard to put this pic up with a HCwD of the Month contest going on because it’s douchitude might overwhelm the senses of all of us (and prevent voting), but what the hell. It’s Monday, and I need a good ‘bag slap in the face.

What’s that?

Soc, you want to say something?

Socrates: All we are is dust in the wind, dude. Just like my D&G chained up douchitude. And while my Nordic flat topped friend may overwhelm, that’s no excuse not to vote for the HCwD of the Month.

Well said, Soc. Well said.

HCwD of the Month: Olive Garden Edition

For kicks and hiccups some friends dragged me to an Olive Garden last night to observe the suburbanite Housewives of Douchebag County riff-raff in their natural habitat.

We ate the all you can eat breadsticks and salads. I had a bowl of oil topped off with some lasagna. Good times were ironically had, even as I slid home.

But what I do know is that what toe fungus is to the toe, Olive Garden is to the great food and wine of Italy. And having spent an incredible two weeks eating pasta, gelatto, proscuitto and melon, while chasing 19 year old Italian hotties on the south island of Lido a few years ago, Olive Garden offends me far more than any Jersey Guido does. So it is in Olive Garden’s douchey honor that we hold this month’s HCwD of the Month contest.

And really, is there a better way to spend a monday than voting on scrotey/hottie immoral, unholy and just plain icky comingling? This four pic smackdown of headache inducing douchitude and the hotties who love them is brought to you by Olive Garden.

When you’re there, you’re douchey.

HCwD of the Week Finalist #1: T Baggin’

One of a series of furry hipster bags to appear on the site over the past month, (see Beaver, Harry) T Bag represents the non-shaving Scruff Bag movement to a, well, a T.

And that perfect Malaysian hottie makes me long for sticky rice and papaya at Indochine on Lafayette Street back during my New York days. Mmm… good times.

I would wrap her in a grape-leaf while practicing tantric mandala sand painting. With each colored pebble I place during the excrutiating ten day process, I would chant my mantra to honor her boobie greatness.

Then I would watch as the currents blew the sand away, reducing my art to mere dust once again. And within that impermanence I would learn two enlightened notions:

1. I really love boobies
2. I really really love boobies

Namaste.

HCwD of the Month Finalist #2: Pumpy

A rapidly growing douche legend. But that rapid growth could be due to the ‘roids so potent my nads just shrank to the size of pygmy marmoset monkeys.

Pumpy won the HCwD of the Week contest on the pure strength of his roided up douche-face. And, of course, the primal boob grab, a rapidly developing douchebag tradition.

Hottie is cute and sweet and innocent. Sure when she opens her mouth she probably sterilizes infants with her pitch, but in pixelated form, she’s all good.

This pic is definitely a HCwD legend, and whether it wins the monthly douche-off or not, probably deserves a place in the Hall of Scrote. But that’s a vote for another day.

And by day I mean twinkies.

Mmm… twinkies.

HCwD of the Month Finalist #3: Stewbag aka Rod Stewart Douche aka Maggie Hottie

It’s hard to argue with Maggie’s utter lusciousness, and unlike some of the regulars, I’m thrilled she stopped by to say hi to everyone in the comments thread. And I’m not just saying that on the off-chance hope that she’ll get drunk and hook up with me when she comes to L.A.

Okay, yes.

Yes I am just saying that.

But I would punch hipsters at Sky Bar just for the chance to rub my shins on her tissue dress.

Rod Stewart ‘Bag is so many levels of wrong, I can’t even think of an appropriate metaphor for what I would do to that ‘bag. I would punch him in the face, then punch him in the face.

HCwD of the Month Finalist #4: Beastie Bag

So what-cha what-cha what-cha want?

Not this douche.

This is clearly a case where a stage-2 beastie bag hip hop wigga got a bump in the finals (over Ghost no less) simply due to the utter adorability of dark haired cutie. I’d slather her with mustard and enjoy with a side order of fries while watching the BoSox gear up for a spring training game on DirectTV. She is all-American hotness. I would love her perfect white teeth from afar, writing Patrarchan sonnets for each bicuspid.

There is something enjoyable about the trashy Motel 6 feel of the background. I can’t tell if it’s a halfway house, a z-level porn set or a University of Peoria field trip to see the biggest ball of yarn.

But enough of my rantings. Like the faux Greco-Italian fresco plaster of the Olive Garden, we can choose one, and only one, to rise up and accept the hallowed mantle of HCwD of the Month.

And I entrust that important vote to your hands.

What say you? Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

Grilled Cheese is a Douche Awesome

Well I took the pic down as per Grilled’s request, but can anyone figure out what this email means?

———
POSTED MARCH 9, TITLED GRILLED CHEESE. TAKE IT DOWN. IM A DOUCHE AWESOME
———–

Pez Head

Art Bag

Remember those high school “art” ‘bags? The “too cool to care” crowd who always seemed to pull cheerleaders without the slightest effort? Or course the appearance of lack of effort was their effort. They were like anti-bag douche. And like anti-matter, they punched holes in the space/time continuum.

That’s Art here.

Drifts into the club like a toked out stoner Tommy Chong. Busts the anti-‘bag aesthetic, only to douche out in so many subtle ways. Anti-‘bags are still ‘bags, let there be no doubt. They simply invert the scrote, and douche from within.

I would love Rene Zellweger Twins while playing legendary punk-rock band “Bad Brains” at full volume and using body lotions illegal in most western countries. I would then repose with a cup of earl grey and the latest issue of Harper’s Weekly whilst my stamina recovered.

Rooster Wank

Cock-a-doodle-douche!

Dread Pirate Doucheberts

Once again there is no chance in Holy Grieco I’m going to let you slip off on a Friday night without one more spew worthy pic of liver calcifying wrongness.

Dread Pirate Doucheberts is everything Eurobag greasy. He’s got the Seinfeld Puffy Shirt. He’s got bling, including the rare four fingered uberscrote. He’s got douche-face.

And he’s ‘bag headbutting a confused, somewhat feral looking cutie, with a perfect half-sphere globe poking out from that bizarre Mayan sun-dress.

Punch the screen. It will feel better.

Retro Douche: The Dice Man Doucheth

Andrew ‘Dice’ Clay has always been a troubling nexus point in our douche time-line. Originally created as an ironic character commentary on the late 50s greaser loser douche, the Diceman somehow bought into his own hype and became actual douche.

I’m not sure where the transition point was. But from a mid 1980s performance art satire a la Pee Wee Herman, to rock star arena entrances in 1991, the Dice Man definitely douchethed.

But it’s hard to rip on Andy Silverstein too much. The dude is over the hill and pimping his own irrelevance in some new reality show, so I almost feel bad for the guy.

Still, there can be no doubt that back in the dawn of douchitude, Holy Grieco Year 1 (1990), The Diceman was a part of that emerging aesthetic of scrote in its infancy. We must factor in this comedy angle on the blinged up, loud, greasy phenomenon that began in the early 1990s and blossomed like a raddish turd into maturity in the past few years. So for that, lets raise The Dice Man into our celebrity hall. And by celebrity, I mean Baio.

Blaine Bag

I can’t tell if she’s hot for hip-hop David Blaine Bag or hoping he’ll freeze himself in a block of ice.

A note to all the hotties reading this right now: black lace undergarment with green silky slip that’s barely there? Bonus points. Serious bonus points. And by bonus points I mean mmmm.

I would crest the salt flats of Madagascar for the chance to fell a tree boa in her honor.

Friday Haiku

Donkey, pray tell me,
How can my soul recover,
Post douche perfection?

Orange puckered clay,
too many carrots? odd hue
Wascally douche bag

— DuckDuckDouche

Thy scowl sinks ships
While your lady sends thousands
Homer would be proud

— Pandora

Time at gym paid off
Chest is larger than her’s, but
How do lips lift weights?

— the alpha douche

Liquid embarrassment
Squirting on my Izod
Collar flip with gratitude

— ultra doosh extravaganza