Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

'Bag / Not a 'Bag

And while you’re mulling over the HCwD of the Week, weigh in on this pic. Again I face myself with the conundrum that is douche-face, ie: the expression on a dude that causes me to involuntarily want to smack him in the nads with a five iron. Is douche-face enough to qualify one as ‘bag?

There is nothing inherently douchey about this putz, except for his douchey expression. Which is pretty damn douchebaguous. But enough to qualify? That’s up to you.

And no, we don’t need to vote on Captain Jack in the background. Sailor hat + stripey sub Izod Walmart shirt definitely qualifies for the ‘Bagling / Budding ‘Bag stage.

Dark haired sexy nurse type sends shivers up my lower torso like an overpriced Sharper Image device.

HCwDB of the Week: Scubadouche Edition

Another solid week of submissions, and I’m pleased to see the pics have been refocusing on two of the international capitals of hottie/douchey pairings, the Miami and the Jersey. Two fetid swamps that, while occasionally producing excellent Cuban food in the former, and the occasional singer/songwriter in the latter, have been grease generating douche powerhouses during the past fifteen years. They are Cities of International ‘Baggery. And in their honor, we dedicate this week’s HCwDB of the Week contest.

For that reason I dub this week’s contest Scubadouche. Before you cast your vote I want you to clear your mind and ask yourself this simple question: If you were about to go scuba diving, and could drag only one of these three to the bottom of the ocean with you on your dive, which one would it be?

Hold that thought, and lets get to the finalists:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: NewlyBags

NewlyBags are pure classic grade HC and DB swirl, right off the soft serve ice-cream truck of douchebaggery.

It’s not enough that Diamond Nick here sports the plucked eyebrows, muscle shirt and two tone stubble of a true Jerseyite ‘bag, nor that hottie makes me long to hear her talk about the sale at Nordstroms while lying next to me after we’ve performed coitus. It’s the dude stripping down in the back.

And this is an important subfactor of the merits and values of a HCwDB pic as we move forward. The ancillary cast of ‘bags. The action in the foreground and background. Not just the joy/pain of the gut-smack of the HC and DB, but what else the picture brings to round out the spew. And by spew I mean Puma arm bands. This is a worthy entry in the contest, and naked guy sends it to another level of wrong entirely.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Cowlick

I used the genius of the Cowlick for my “Welcome” email for newbies, but the merits of this unholy scrote and his gorgeous beau are well worthy of finalist status in any week’s HCwDB smackdown.

Look at that rancid tongue. It speaks to me.

Cowlick tongue: Hi there, everyone! I’m the tongue of a raging douchebag, in case you couldn’t tell. His hair smells like musty socks and his cologne causes sparrows to convulse and drop from the air in mid flight. Also, when nobody’s looking, he makes me lick his own kneecaps. Please, cut me out. I beg of you. I can’t take much more of this!!

Sorry Cowlick tongue. I wouldn’t approach you with a ten foot clamp.

Hottie’s utter obliviousness to the saliva spew heading towards her iris suggests tragic Bleeth infection. But her cleavite is pale, warm and inviting. In fact, her cleavite speaks to me as well.

Cleavite: Love me, DB1. Lick me. Nuzzle my soft pillowy charms. But first, kick Cowlick in his mishapen and asymmetrical scrotae.

I would if I could, Hottie Cleavite. I would if I could.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Kevin McScrote

PIC DELETED

What more can be said about the pumped up genius that is K. McS? They still sing folkloric songs about his legend from Daytona to Key West.

And the Woo Girls make the pic all the better. I would twelve pack their Coors Lights with a free cozy from Best Buy, then take them to the Outback Steakhouse and feast on sirloin.

Honorable mention must go out to the absolutely metal filling melting fantastic corset wearing hottie and her neo-punk emo brother in last week’s Punk Rock ‘Bag. Good times.

Okay ‘bag hunters and cuties, this is your assignment.

Pick one of the three, and only one, who rises to the top, who induces spew, rage, vomit, arousal and the desire to feast on sirloin enough for you to call that pic “HCwDB of the Week.” Then post your vote, with your explanation why, in the comments thread below.

Revelation

And lo, the Lord said, let the Hottie’s consciousness awaken, and she shall see what she has beheld. And she shall see that it is douchebag.

3:52 The Book of ‘Bag

St. Patty's Douchebaggery

I like to view St. Patty’s Day as sort of the gender reversal affect seen at Halloween. Whereas Halloween allows the covert hot chick to let out her inner slut, St. Patty’s Day is when covert douchebags are allowed to trumpet their inner scrote. If only we could merge Halloween and St. Patty’s Day, now then we’d have some fantastic HCwDB-ery.

Count the stage-1-2 ‘baggers on display:

Butch, the Green Shirted Jock ‘Bag, wouldn’t be ‘bag except for the bizarre need to punch himself in the groin. And the fact his girl is busting ‘Bag Hand Gesture #32. Not a good sign for ole’ Butch’s douchey ways.

Wez, the Australian outback hunter pictured at bottom, douches out Mad Max style.

Mandana boy gets away with at least busting the green, but the ginormous size of that thing suggests early onset scrotitude.

The dork on the left has yet to learn that his t-shirt is longer than his coat. His application at Starbucks is pending his learning to successfully foam a latte. His parents are pulling for him.

Blonde in the striped shirt makes me want to Guinness my James Joyce until my cabbage is corned beef. She is Abbey’s Irish Rose perfection.

The Baseball Thwack

Remember being whacked in the head and knocked on your ass back when you were a kid?

You’re eleven or twelve years old and you’re running around on the playground, and you distantly hear some older kid yell out a “heads up!” only to catch a whirling blur out of the corner of your eye moments before,… THWACK, a baseball to the side of your head. You weren’t even playing, just jogging across the field to meet a few friends. Your friends saw the whole thing, they’re not sure whether to laugh at your sorry ass or call a teacher to come help.

Okay, perhaps that extremely specific anecdote just relates to me. But conceptually I’m sure you’ve had similar moments. Moments where you find yourself knocked over on your ass of the school field, your temple throbbing, your stomach on the verge of puking, and a few 9th graders staring at you, smirking, wondering if you’re dead or not. Stupid 9th graders. Get back to physics class before Mr. Henessey catches you.

This pic is the adult version of that childhood head thwack. A mixture of surprise, pain, confusion, discombobulation, a touch of humiliation and the vague desire to throw up. It is a digital pixelated baseball to the side of a twelve year olds head.

Trenton 'Bag

The question is not one of ‘bag.

Merely one of paper or plastic. Garbage or kitchen.

Keeping with the Jerseyesque tone to the pics over the past week I give you, Trenton ‘Bag: Average Everyday Douche. Hero to budding scrotes everywhere.

And a sexy drink of paisley love. I would offer her those fake flowers on the end table, then take her down to Sizzler and feed her popcorn shrimp by hand until she fell for my wily charms.

Speaking of, anyone seen my blue jacket? Can’t remember if I brought it home last night. Stupid vodka.

The Dharma 'Bag On the Road

The Dharma ‘Bag, still smarting off his photo finish loss in this week’s HCwD of the week, wanted to come by and remind everyone to have a douchey weekend. And by douchey, he means douchey.

Proving once again, that even the pudgiest choad can attract hotties with space/time bending gravitational pull provided they adopt the douchebag tropes, Dharma ‘Bag’s holy and Zen transcendence remains inspirational, even in light of the Douche Platoon taking him down, Miami style.

But it’s all good. His blue eyed doe will be sure to simultaneously keep Dharma ‘Bag on the meditative path while glancing at us mockingly, her eyes saying it all, “Where is your God now?”

Nowhere to be seen, blue eyed doe. Nowhere to be seen, lest locusts smite the meditative Siddharta ‘Bag inspired Dharma ‘Bag. Either way, it’s one holy hell of an Eastern religious inspired douchebag mess. But at least it’s Friday. And there’s alcohol. Which proves at least something about a God. Or at least, ask me in six hours.

Beer Boy

I’m not sure Beer Boy is more than a stage-1 ‘bagger or so, but that slender stalk of hotness makes me want to climb into a soft, goose-down filled umbrella made out of candycanes and chocolate covered cherries and nuzzle those boobies with my chin for a weekend or three. She’s like a fine dark and sultry wine, a taste of Sherilyn Fenn mixed with a slice of Rosario Dawson. I would jump into a bathtub full of electric eels wrapped in tinfoil just to rub her bobby-socks on my inner thigh. Of course, why electric eels would be wrapped in tinfoil is something I haven’t figured out.

It’s true. I need help.

Oh, and douchebag? Put down the beer, take off the cap, and set your eyebrows on fire. I say this not due to any personal malice. You simply need to have your eyebrows on fire. It’s not an individual thing. It’s a societal imperative.

Kevin McScrote and the Woos

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Don’t be angry at Kevin McScrote. It is not his fault he’s been blessed with perfect oily abs that resemble an HR Giger Landscape. It is hard work having chest muscles that resemble gothic post-modern painting.

Instead you should cheer for Kevin McScrote. Out of college for at least seven years, he packed up his entire collection of shirts (two) and shorts (three), and drove down to Daytona to hang with the spring break hotties.

Here Kevin is, demonstrating his gothic Swiss Art inspired muscle tone for a gaggle of Woo!! Hotties, none of whom seem remotely interested. But does that deter Kevin’s posturing? No. Nor should it deter you in whatever inspiration you draw from this short journey we call life.

So for inspiring Alien 5 with his chest, for busting the 10 Degree Hat Tilt, and for the best pair of aviator goggle sunglasses this side of a 1979 Farrah Fawcett shoot, we should all give it up for Kevin McScrote here with as much energy as the Woos are ignoring him.

It ain’t easy maintaining stud dominance in one’s late 20s. That takes work. And by work I mean living out of a van and oiling one’s chest.

Friday Haiku

Facial Pubes, Faux Hawk,
Douche of rancid grease, so wrong.
Fishnet, soft. So soft.

Douchebag Trawler:
You’ve had a good day on the nets
Now catch and release.

— bmt

The sparkle from your
Gigantic forehead blinds me,
Soul-patch assface douche.

-Good Will Doucheing

mark mcgrath douchebag:
is she really going out
with him? flesh pillows.

— vinegar water sack

i don’t like fishnets
but the lust pillows look real
which saddens me so

— lower case bag