Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Todd the VII

A little known legend about the great King of England, Henry the V, remains in English lore. The story goes that Henry the V had a much less famous and lazy younger brother, Todd the VII. Todd the VII would continually embarrass and shame the great warrior king during his rise to the throne.

When Henry the V finally ascended to the Crown in 1413, much of his court was deeply concerned. How would the new King of England handle the douchebaggy antics of his clownish and slothful younger brother, Todd the VII?

Henry tried to endure, but Todd’s continuing need to grease up and “Mack on the Harem” proved too much for Henry to tolerate.

Finally, by 1419, Henry had had enough of Todd’s greasy antics and sent him to the far East as a token of good will. When Todd reached Beijing, Todd was quickly taken in by Chinese guards and put on trial for being a “Barbarian Invader ‘Bag.” Emperor Ming the Choadalicious quickly took a liking to young Todd and allowed him one bar wench of his choosing before confining him to the Forbidden City. And so Todd the VII chose Katharine the Hott, pictured here.

Back in England, word of Todd’s bravery quickly spread, and by bravery, the jesters meant douchey. Todd the VII was quickly renamed “Todd the Douche,” and he lived out the rest of his life in the Forbidden City with Catherine the Hott, feasting on mutton, mead and Applebees chicken and ribs takeout.

Pearls Jam

Nothing says 1970s, balls out, Sid Vicious, puking into an empty pizza box at 3am, CBGBs wall grime, essence of punk rock like wearing pearls in suburbia.

Pearls in suburbia. I like that name. It’s like a late 80s punk band meets an Eric Bogosian play meets a 2007 teenage uberchoad. And the Dr. Seuss socks just take the whole thing over the top.

I guess I gotta give it up to Pearls, here. At least he’s original. Now where’s Dee Dee and Joey to throw down.

She is Marisa Tomei from “My Cousin Vinny” goodness. I would pretend to be interested in cute furry animals and charity work if it meant we’d retire to her dorm room to make out to Bon Jovi’s greatest hits while her roommate studied Intro to Economics on the bunk bed above us.

Choad Patrol

And while you’re mulling your vote for the HCwDB of the Week, here’s a toxic spill to help cleanse the palette.

In staring at the Choad Patrol here (and I’d be careful not to stare too long), the revelation of Ab Crustaceans brings up an important discussion. Is this simply an attempt at affectionate playfulness? Or aggressive posturing bordering on hostility and latent anger?

I’ve always found a certain linguistic irony in the fact that the words “aggression” and “affection” are so similar. And by linguistic irony, I do not mean pretending to enjoy your pasta at the Olive Garden.

What constitutes over the top douchebaggery posturing as aggression instead of affection? Where do we draw the societal lines on ab revelations and hottie headbutting?

And would Mira Sorvino Cutie let me lick her earlobes like a cracked up ferret?

HCwDB of the Week: Trenton Edition

Three enter. Only one advances.

Yes, ‘bags, ‘bag hunters, hotties and choadscrotes, before we get to the smorgasboard of new pics I have in the hopper for this week, it’s time for the HCwDB of the Week contest. And we’re going it Trenton Style. This week’s ‘bag-off features three surprisingly classic selections of hottie/douchey wrongness. Well, two classics. And one pic that’s just, well, absolutely surreal. I speak, of course, of the legendary Oompa Prompa.

But I get ahead of myself. And by get ahead of myself I mean my shirt smells like moldy cheese. That’s what I get for a three day weekend. Speaking of cheese, Lets get to the goods. And by goods, I mean cheese:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Syndrome

It’s not just that he looks like a Pixar animated bad guy, or that his mug is smirking with the greased up chin stubbley half-grin we have long established on this site as what I like to call “Classic ‘Bag.” And like any classic, it still delivers. And be delivers I mean makes me slam my head in a car door. But it’s not just his choady swill that makes this a worthy pic.

It’s that tall glass of Hot Chocolate. Megods she makes my toenails curl.

Sexy dress, sweet smile. As always in the Weekly we must weigh both the douchitude of the douchebag and the arousing aroma of hotness. This pic has both. All that and a douchetacular wrist-band on Syndrome’s “gun” hand. A worthy competitor for the Weekly, indeed.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Oompa Prompa

Oompa Prompa is very orange.

His visage is already iconic and legend here at HCwDB and will grow moreso with every spiked follicle.

And while I worry about contract hits on my life for featuring potentially “connected” offspring on the site, I’ll console myself with the fact that Tony Soprano seems to have a pretty good sense of self deprecating humor. And since I believe everything I see on T.V., I’m going to assume others have that same ability to laugh at all things douchey, even the self inflicted kind.

So again, please do not hurt me. I have deep and profound respect for New Jersey. I’m a huge douchebag myself, only without hot chick. Do not seek violent retribution on my face. Instead, pity me. For I am Douchebag #1.

That being said, Orange. Orange.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: The Luck of the Baggish

Frost-tipped Douchey Charms, they’re Baggishly delicious!

It seems like all three of our ‘bags this week have left the realm of realistic human portrayal and entered a new zone. The only word for it is the “Douchetoon Zone.” They’ve slipped off the reservation and gone into pure drawn character mode.

‘Baggish is fantastic Jersey shore A-List scroad. The type that even Bruce Springsteen couldn’t write a nostalgic song about. Hottie on the right may be inflated, but has a sweet smile and looks like the type I could discuss Proust with over a glass of Pino Noir. And by Pino, I mean something something.

So there’s they are. Which’ll it be? ‘Baggish? Oompa? Or Syndrome?Line ’em up, and pick one.

I put it to you, Greg. Isn’t this an indictment of our entire American douchebaggery? Yes. Yes it is.

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

SwimDouche

Memorial Day is a pretty somber holiday, so I wasn’t sure I should post anything. But then I figured SwimDouche might be okay. Because he’s sort of red, white and blue. In a HCwDB sort of way.

So since mocking douchescrotes and the hotties who love them probably isn’t too appropriate, regular posting, as well as the HCwDB of the Week contest, will resume tomorrow.

Have a sober and reflective Memorial Day. But if you want to sneak a comment in mocking tight vinyl scrotae here, and the perfection of his hottie, it might be okay.

Sunday Stan

Sunday Stan, the Douche Warrior, goes into battle with full ‘Bag armaments. Like the killer awakening before dawn, he puts his ‘bling on. Multicolored faux hawk. Carefully plucked chin pubes. Assorted ironic t-shirt collection. Expensive designer coat.

When Sunday Stan is ready, he walks on down that hall.

“Hottie?”

“Yes, Stan?”

“I want to headbutt you.”

He makes his move, stashes the Corona behind his back. And like a wildebeast in the jungle, she falls under his douchey powers.

I would ice skate naked to Mozart just for the chance to share sno-cones in a thunderstorm with her older less attractive sister.

Spot Pumpkindouche

Since there seems to be a bit of a clamor for an A-List HCwDB pic this weekend, I’ll post this genius pic that I was saving for Monday.

Back to basics, baby.

A maelstrom of boobs and choad. Pillows and poo.

A brunette hottie on the left I would drink iocane powder for while fencing left handed. Two more slices of hottie bread at the bottom that I would lightly toast with powdered sugar and jam. Two peroxide blondes who may be a little large for my tastes, but would still break me in half and leave me asking for more.

Oh yeah, and Pumpkinbag.

Doctor Evil ‘Bag.

Eurodouche Austrian prince ‘Bag.

There it is. The faint hint of bile in the back of my throat.

All the emotions come together to form the perfect nexus of Hottie/Douchie wrongness. Arousal, rage, confusion, disorientation and a glass of iced tea.

Why iced tea? Because it’s delightfully refreshing.

Ask DB1

dogboy writes in:

——
DB1,

dogboy
——

Solid question, dogboy. As we seek to parse and classify the various stages, levels and permutations of ‘Bag in the increasingly fetid swampland that is the modern hottie/douchey plague, we must understand that our endeavor is not majoritarian but scientific in nature. The democratic process aids and abets the boundries of the discourse through a Millsian framework of competitive argument, but the proofs require a more detailed and objective list of criteria. In other words, once the parameters of the douche manifest have been established in each subcategory, those systems of ranking become fixed as defining tropes.

This is not to say that there isn’t an aesthetic component to the analysis. Some ‘Bags feature an unclassifiable quality, an essence du baggage if you will that rises above any specific signifiers, like Bling, facial pubes, popped collar, etc. In this way, ‘bag hunting becomes a form of artistic expression of equal importance to any scientific classification.

So in this sense, tagging the perfect Hottie/Douchey combo is both scientific classifiable but also artistic and aesthetically driven. But not necessarily majoritarian or democracy based as a driving trope of the study.

The Douches of Hazzard

Hoooooeeeyyy!!

Someone call Boss Hog!! Looks like we gotta oursels’ a coupla choads on the loose scarin’ up Daisy Duke and Mary Ann somethin’ fierce!!

Yeeeehaaa!! Where’s my rifle when I need it!!

Get ‘er done, douchebags!!

Crab Hands

Expression you never want to hear a hottie say, like “My pee smells funny.” or “I just put my tampons in the toaster by accident.”

Add, “Don’t look now, but Crab Hands are sprouting out of your back.”

I would read Kafka to orphans until they whimpered for the mother they never knew just for the chance to nibble on brunette’s car keys.