Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Babaganouche BlueBag

I don’t know the backstory of creepy Babaganouche BlueBag. I don’t want to know the backstory of creepy Babaganouche BlueBag.

All I want to know is whether I can pretend to be interested in East Village Hipster Hottie’s ironic collection of Power Rangers action figures and lunchboxes before giving her the most mediocre thirty seconds of awkward dry humping she’s experienced since high school.

HCwDB of the Week: The Creeper

It wasn’t even close. A total doucheslide. A six inch tongue of utter rank spew domination.

While auto-HallofScrote JoeyPorsche charmed all of us into gouging our eyes out with rusty spoons and gargling with windex, The Creeps also managed a dominant victory. And by dominant, I mean herpes.

Why? It’s simple. That tongue. That alien creature from 1980s campy horror films tongue.That tongue enforces a bleak and nihilist world view. It kills philosophers. It ends all hope.

As feh23 puts it:

My first instinct was to vote for the Clown. Fish lips on an ass face always make me want to vomit out my eyes.

However, as a woman, I’m going to have to vote for the Creeper as the biggest douchebag of this week. He’s skeezy in a “oh, let Uncle Moe show you” way, and obviously smells of a combination of Axe and fetid balls. Where does a man that old get the idea to get a tongue piercing? Or does his douchbaggyness just make him seem older? No sober woman would take a whiff of those pants, and one can tell just from looking in those red, squinty eyes that (soon to be) herpes riddled chick with him is obviously no sober woman.

A verbal smackdown from the hottie side of the aisle. I like it. Nicely done F23. douchie howser, m.d. takes the verbal broadside even further:

the creeper is one of the most vile, douchespicable scrotephibians i have ever had the misfortune of encountering. this is an uncanny combination of all that is wrong with humanity. he has clearly drugged (look at those bloodshot glazed over eyes) and probably mortally threatened this poor girl in order to get her to offer her tongue to his filthy pierced serpent fork. i imagine she spent the next 5 minutes in the ladies room projectile vomiting while scrubbing her tongue with lava soap. lord knows i did.

Woe is the power of the Bleeth to destroy even the sweetest hottie in the presence of the uber-douche. As Ronald Mcdouchenald aptly puts it:

There is nothing worse than a 40 year old club promoter, except a 40 year old club promoter with that tongue and that hair.

The 40 Year Old Club Promoter. Sounds like a Judd Apatow sequel in the works. But instead of losing his virginity, he gets Douche Cooties and dies. Yeah. And, suffering from grief and dispair, his girl comes over and cooks me a lasagna, then gives me a backrup.

Hey, it could happen.

Toss The Creeps into next week’s Monthly and lets pray for all of our souls.

Fandouchego

Speaking of autodouche, combo mandana and 10 Degree Hat Tilt?

Fandouchuous.

Helen Hunt may be an unconventional cutie, but she still makes me want to cut out my liver and feed it to snails just for the chance to fact-check her autobiography.

Club Wank

I have nothing much to add to this pic of standard issue trendy club wankedness except to say I would spread mulch on her toes and wait for hottie flowers to grow.

And that’s a really big jug. The bottle is big, too.

The Buzzcockbag

There needs to be a clarification on whether the mohawk is auto-douche without exception. As a fan of punk, I’d be loathe to dismiss the haircut as solely the province of the choadmunchers of American male performative douchebaggery. Yet at the same time, this ain’t 1977. Sid Vicious is dead, Henry Rollins is on IFC and Steve Jones hosts a radio show here in L.A. (which is great).

Ruling: Punk is dead. Mohawk is autodouche.

You can thank The Prodigy’s insipid corporate punk douchitude in the mid 1990s for that.

As to hottie? Never mind the douchebag, she’s a sex pistol. And that joke alone means I deserve to get my teeth kicked in in the back alley by thugs in bomber jackets and Doc Martins.

Jean Claude van Douche

Jean Claude van Douche wanted to come by and remind you to scroll down and vote in the HCwDB of the Week contest if you haven’t already.

And just beboobies there are distractions like boobies, does not mean boobies your boobies when you anticipate the beboobtion with boobies while recovering from the spreading boobies on your boobies. Boobies.

Booger

Whew. That ‘Baggle Royale was intense. I’m pleased to see that the victor was arbitrary cut to black.

But enough Sopranos jokes. In honor of the great character actor Curtis Armstrong, star of Revenge of the Nerds, Better Off Dead and Risky Business, I present this heaping serving of fried choad as a sacrifice on the altar of ‘Bag/Hot spewedness.

So here’s to you, Booger. You made monster egg-nog out of lighter fluid. You introduced the Omega Mus to wonder joints. You taught Joel Goodson how to become a pimp. You held your own in the 1980s against Tom Cruise, John Cusack and, well, the Alpha Betas.

For that, I honor you in the only way I can.

By mocking a skeezed up douchebag and the hottie unfortunate enough to cohabitate within his personal space for at least 1/30th of a second. In this pic, hottie appears to like undead zombie oatmeal face on a stage-1 FratBag. Weep for her, Curtis.

Entering the Douche Ring: Cro Bagnon

Bob look who’s storming towards the ring!!

It’s Old No. 7 itself, Cro Bagnon, coming to settle this ‘Baggle Royale once and for all!!

HenryHyundai

Holy crap, Bob, is that?… it is! It’s HenryHyundai!

And he looks pissed, Bob. Looks like this thing’s about to get out of control…

TommyMazda

TommyMazda says, “Two can play at that game, ya digggggg?”

I would pour Jamaican rum on Jack Bauer’s daughter blondie’s abs and top it off with a butterscotch sundae.