Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

SunDouche

It’s like staring directly into a bright summer sun with dilated eyes. If that sun were a spikey haired douchebag with Hasselhoff chin.

I stare, and I can’t look away. It is destructive, damaging, horrifying, yet transfixing. I feel the dancing sparkles of decaying vision as my cones and rods are fried by the radiation, yet I can’t tear my eyes from the spectacle.

Make it stop… someone make it stop…

No More "Confusion"

EmoBag, from yesterday’s “Confusion” pic, writes in:

———
Please, remove the following photo/ commentary. The people featured in this image (Myself and my friends) are professionals and don’t appreciate the
publicity… Although it was pretty funny…
——–

Yeah but professional what? And then this email came in, 10 minutes after the first:

———-
This pic is me. Please remove it.

Thanks a billion!
————-

Look at Mega Man here, EmoBag. Learn from Mega Man. You don’t see him complaining.

You do, however, see me complaining. That he exists.

La Bambag

Lou Diamond Phillips has hit hard times. From his career breakthrough, La Bamba, all the way down to the Sci-Fi original, Attack of the 50 Foot Greasehead. Times are tight, man. Times are tight.

Still, ya gotta give it up to La Bambag. That’s gotta be one of the more creative ‘Bag Hand Gestures we’ve seen on the site. Either he’s making the devil’s horns or he suffers from a terrible case of palsy.

Dammit. And my momma always taught me not to make fun of douchebags with palsy.

Either way, Bambag, your senorita makes me want to mojito my cucarachas.

WARNING

WARNING: Extended viewing of this pic may cause convulsions, whimpering, jabbing ice-picks into your eyes and involuntary screams of “There is no God!!”

The owners of Hot Chicks with Douchebags deny any responsibility over any bodily, spiritual or metaphysical injury that may result from viewing this pic.

Consult your doctor, psychiatrist or blood pressure medication before continuing to view, comprehend or even vaguely acknowledge that this pic exists.

Kung-Poo Fighting

Everybody was Kung-Poo Fightin’…

Kung-Poo here achieves a state of Zen Douche merely with shirtlessness, bandana, tongue, and grease. Mix them up and you have poo.

Kitten wants me.

I can tell.

All hottie kittens who want me like to rub up against Kung-Poo douchitude. Or, at least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

Her mammaries could feed a small army.

Freshmen Fratchoad

I don’t know why freshman Fratchoads bother me so much. They’re generally harmless. But then I see a choadmunch like this, cuddling up to a ball of 18 year old perfection, and I think, “Oh yeah. That’s why.”

Note the trimmed stubble line and ultra-douche revelation of his 1.5 pack abs. That’s one unopened bottle of Schlitz and a half drunk can of Miller Lite. The plaid underoos take the whole thing into douche overdrive.

She is a tiny ball of hot that I would take on trips in my travel case, even as she clutches the infamous Ubiquitous Red Cup. Come to me, tiny Bertinelli. I will be your Van Halen.

Reservoir Bags

Nothing gets a hottie hotter than a Reservoir Bag featuring the Jane Fonda in Klute haircut.

Someone turn on K-Billy’s Super Sounds of the Seventies and get a gallon of gasoline for Mr. Douche here. I need to go to work.

Confusion

PIC DELETED

So much confusion in one pic, I hardly know where to start.

We have Emo Eyeliner Bag summoning the ghost of Morrisey by way of Ferris Bueller. Nice bracelet, choadbag. Because nothing says deep existential pain like drinking a Bud.

We have a boozy future cocktail waitress hottie in the middle giving me a look that says, “I want to defrost frozen hamburgers for you on a camping trip after rutting like penguins in the tent for sixteen hours straight.”

And we have a terrified little O.C. minx who just looks confused, reaching into the largest rucksack this side of Inga from Sweden. What are you going for, O.C. Minx? A switchblade? More eyeliner for Emo Boy?

Toss in creepy StalkerBag in the background and I’m just confused.

HCwDB of the Month: Night of the Creeper

As we weigh, dissect and parse the various manifests of a truly superior hottie/douchey pic, it is rare that we settle upon one that only features a tight semi-closeup. Usually the qualities we look for in a classic HCwDB pic — the rage factor, the douched out bling, the hand gestures, the hot hottie with deer in a headlights fear as her douchey man tackles her for the photo — must be seen at least in medium shot to take in the full essence of hottie/douchebaggery wrongness.

Not this time. Total domination. The Creeper by a mile.

For the rare feat of winning a Monthly simply on the utter skeezyness and rancid wrongness of his alien lizard tongue, as well as his innocent doe-eyed hottie, The Creeper marks an impressive first here at HCwDB. A Monthly hottie/douchey pic that transcended with relatively close framing. The eloquent ‘bag slayer, Vinny Scumbaglia, makes the case:

the Creeper’s sole positive attribute is that someone drove a nail straight into his tongue. It is a sad fact but undoubtedly demonstrable through focus groups that the strumpet pictured with the revered Twins is trounced by the Creeper’s Valkyrie.

So, puhleeze, staple this bastard, hard, onto the Post Office Wall of The Most Douchey that is the Hall of Scrote. I want to remember his face in the off chance I see him Crossing the Street, I can Run Him Over.

Well said, V.S. Well said. It seems the puka+pony+tongue-stud were the winning adouchremenets that took the Creeper over the Twin Bags, ChandlerBag and The Mack. As kellybelly reminds us, the neglected Chandlerbag does feature an important ‘Bag Mark on his forehead:

I’m voting for Chandler Bag and the Bump and here’s why: PENIS. ON. HIS. FORHEAD. Thank you.

’nuff said.

Summoning up a small but dedicated audience, the Twin Bags also found some love. And by love I mean twinkies. As Lone Scrote McQuade put it:

The Twins are a cold and unfeeling duo of disease that reels in and destroys men of lesser character with the dark lady of scrote. They are the real threat for now. And so are they crowned.

In any given month, The Twin Bags would be enough to take the crown. But the Creeper just overpowered all competition with that tongue. That creepy disgusting tongue. As Zen ‘Bag Master chozSun sums it up:

That said, whereas I can seek calm and balance in towards some type of resolution that is Chandler and Bumper, the picture of The Creeper stops me in my tracks. Whatever energy I can pull from wanting to destroy Creeper to save the hottie, it goes for nothing when you take in the entire picture the Creeper, the connection of tongues and the look on the hottie’s face. The Creeper’s expression is that he has won not only the battle but the war itself. Next, if you look closely enough, you can see the hottie’e soul being sucked dry via tongue. Finally, the look on the hottie’s face is not of “help me!” but of “there is no hope for me, save yourself”. But by the time you were close enough to take in the wrongness of what you were actually seeing, her warning came too late as you are keeled over in sheer agonizing misery and hopelessness. This picture shows that not only there is no hope for mankind but there is nothing you can do about it.

Very eloquent smackdown, ChozSun. Or, as Mistress Julie more succinctly puts it:

Again I vote for the Creeper. That guy oozes gross.

Yes, Mistress J. Yes he does.

Raise The Creeper’s ponytail/puka/tongue to the rafters. We have one of the most genuinely creepy, sleezy ‘Bags in awhile, polluting a hottie with an alien zombie tongue that lays eggs in our brains. I’m actually a big frightened that that tongue is out there. And you should be, too.

Sling Blade

Hey! Sling Blade! Some people call it a Keiser blade. I call you a douchebag.

Now get out the pic so I can celebrate performative lesbianism without your doughy ass mucking up the view.