Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

The Bouncing Shmoo

Another popped collar shmoo.

Maybe the ShmooBag should be an official category in douche taxonomy. I’ll consult with the judges. The judges being my scrotundium, and consulting them being fondling myself in inappropriate and highly unsanitary ways.

Wednesday Limerick

Superdouche was a ‘bag hero with powers,
To tackle the hottie that cowers,
With muscles so tough,
He grabs them so rough,
But his tats were of dainty white flowers.

The Chaser

I need something light after that intense Weekly. A ‘bag appetizer if you will. A tiny sampling of mini-scroad.

At first I thought this pudgy wank with a cuddly blond would be a nice chaser for the monstrosity that was The Trainwreck.

But the more I look at his Shocker, his chin pubes and his creepy football head, the more I want to cheese-grate my earlobes and dip them in vinegar.

It’s hard to tell from the side angle, but Blonde Doll makes me want to beat-box to 19th Century Irish jigs. So at least there’s that.

HCwDB of the Week: The Trainwreck

Last night I was meditating on all things ‘Bag at my temple, The Church of Latter Day Douche. While chanting Justin Timberlake lyrics and burning Tag Candles to honor The Grieco, I had a thought:

Performative douchosity finds meaning within the gaze of the spectator. It is within this moment, when a camera flashes, when a third party witnesses the Scrote/Hott in stylized douche-action, that ‘bag meaning is both created and validated.

This brings up important theological questions. Can ‘bagosity exist outside of a witness? If a douchebag scrotes in the woods, and no one is there to see it, did he make a hand gesture?

Or perhaps it’s both. Douchosity exists, but when elevated through spectacle, through the gaze, a foregrounded state of douche-meaning is created. A state of hyper-douche. The douchulacrum replaces the real. The spectacle supersedes the actual.

This notion came into play in this week’s voting. People seeemed to instinctively shy away from the singularity of the Johnny Blaze experience and gravitate to the hyper-real yet relatable travesty that was The Trainwreck. The Blaze just seems othered, and with Joey Porsche having stolen that thunder, less unique. Douche-meaning requires the gaze to root within desire. As rage against the douchine puts it:

Plus one for Trainwreck. Not that Blaze doesn’t put up a good fight but the JoeyPorsche look is weak – last week. JP took that look to such an extreme that although this guy is fingernails to my chalkboard, he isn’t “fresh douche”. Douching has a houte couture air about it and Johnny Blaze is last season’s fashion. Trainwreck is “it” right now. The right colors, cuts, and style – and by “colors, cuts, and style” I mean “mandanas, tats, and nipple piercings”. What a loser. The female is a fine candy apple treat that only elevates my diastolic blood pressure when viewing this photo. Douche on Trainwreck, douch on.

Well said, RATD. Another factor that helped The Trainwreck transcend was the the power of the wrist mandana, or “wristdana.” More than a few comments focused on this uberdoucuous accessory. As the vote for scrote lists off the overwhelming elements of the Trainwreck, we can see why it’s this week’s winner:

Wow. Seriously, wow. I can’t begin to point out all the hilarity ensuing in this pic. The double everything in the fridge; the Coke, the eggs, the orange Gatorade, the tits, two for one specials abound. But it comes down to this: back in my punk rock days I was into Suicidal Tendencies. Trainwreck is the evil twin of their lead singer. So I have to go with Trainwreck. And the flex. What an a@hole.

Although ‘Bagfoot came in a distant third, he still found his admirers. And by admirers, I mean revulsed and horrified spectators. anonymous sums up the ‘Bagfoot’s scrote, and in an average week, ‘Bagfoot would probably have won:

gotta go for bagfoot. his hair could pierce the walls of fort knox. his happy easter colors ensemble… his bling… his dogtags… his affected pout… and finally, his eyebrows. OH, the eyebrows. so groomed, so arched, so precise… so sad.

But while many are making the case for Johnny Blaze for the Hall of Scrote, and he may well get there (lets give it a few weeks), it was Trainwreck with a convincing win. And by convincing, I mean orange gatorade. As aging hippie liberal douche puts it:

Trainwreck wins, because I refuse to admit that Bagfoot exists.

And to think Trainwreck won before I posted his recurrance in pic #2, Boatwreck. That’s a pretty convincing victory. And over Johnny Blaze, no less. Good on you, Trainwreck. It’s gotta be the wristdana.

Excellent work once again in a hilarious comments thread. Was Johnny Blaze beaten by his echoing of the superior Joey Porsche? Did ‘Bagfoot’s freakishness simply place him outside of relatable douchuousness? And is The Trainwreck a marker that we should all lock ourselves in our basements and pray for locusts?

Raise the Trainwreck to the rafters, fellow ‘bag hunters and boobies, and we’ll see him in the Monthly.

The 'Bag Teleportation Device

How much would you pay right now to teleport into this room, throw a small beanbag dipped in soy sauce right into choad’s head, and then disappear?

How about if I said you could also have thirty seconds to ogle hottie’s side-boob before disappearing?

Do I hear twenty dollars?

Thirty?

Make me an offer.

Ask DB1

Reader Ryan writes in:

———-
We know of all the signs that show us the various stages of a douche bag. We know about the tight shirts, blank stare, orange skin, hand gestures, puckered lips, a new jersey drivers license, etc…

But what about the stage 4 bleeth? What must we look for to know that we are dealing with a woman that is infected with this terrible grieco virus?
———

Excellent question, Ryan. By focusing on the carriers of the Douche Virus running roughshod through our culture like Pamplonian bulls, we have perhaps neglected isolating the key factors of the stage-4 Bleethed out Hottie. While it is hard to precisely isolate exactly when a Hottie transitions from a still redeemable stage-1 or stage-2 early warning sign Bleeth into a stage-3 or stage-4, there are a few key guidelines to look for:

1. Douchebaguette Hand Gestures
2. Female Mandanas
3. Female douche-face
4. Overly skanky tattooage
5. Ridiculous sunglasses
6. A mysterious “twinning” affect between Hott and ‘bag counterpart

While exact classification cannot take place except on a case by case basis, these guidelines can help during the examination. And by examination I mean boobie examination. And by boobie examination, I mean staring longingly at those marshmallow pillows while picturing making a human S’more.

That being said, stage-4 Bleethage, while tragic, does not mean one does not still desire to explore the cleavite with the primal fascination of a monkey playing with play-doh. Such base instincts remain at all times, even as they face cognitive dissonance when combined with the intellectual awareness of unrecoverable Bleethage.

This state of simultaneous desire and revulsion towards the presence of a stage-4 Bleeth Hottie is referred to as paradouching. One must embrace such conflicting desires as part of the meditative path towards the spiritual understanding of The ‘Bag Within.

Charlie 'Bag

I swear, the sunday comics are getting more and more lifelike. The squiggle drawings making up Charlie ‘Bag here are an incredible cartoon facsimile of a real douchebagged out blinged up middle aged aqua bag.

Love the vertical stacking of Bud Light cans. It has that wonderful logic — if ONE can is 12 ounces of beer goodness, TWO cans stacked on top of each must be twice as good!!

Way to think it through, Charlie.

Lucy, however, is all grown up and lookin’ good. Wait’ll Schroeder gets a glimpse at those two Snoopys. I would Linus her Pigpen before stopping to dance in three distinct poses at 8 frames per second.

DB1 on Playboy Radio

I finally got the MP3 of my appearance on PlayboyRadio from a few weeks ago uploaded to the site, so if you’re interested in listening to your humble douche-narrator, The DB1, flirt with bunny Andrea Lowell, you can listen to it here.

Unfortunately I have no MP3 editing software, and the clip is a full hour of the show. I don’t come on until about 34 minutes into it. Apologies, but my audio technical skills do not match my triumphant photoshop mastery.

While you’re listening, here’s a pic of Bunny Hott Andrea getting macked on by one of the earliest progenitors of post-Grieco douchebaggery, the one and only Ice Cube. Boy, Ice Cube looks a lot paler than when he was in Boyz in the Hood.

Bagby Goes Down

Bagby’s not really doing too much to qualify for ‘bag status. Other than maybe his facial pube landing strip, he just looks like your typical creepy early 30s EuroBag hanging out in cafes near the Youth Hostel in Florence hoping to score with one of the 19 year old Australian hotties.

You know those guys. Youth HostelBags.

Porcelain Doe has a perfectly curved neck and shoulder that I would sully by pawing with my dirty workers hands as a sexual-political strike against the class system. Oh wait, that wasn’t me, that was a book by Nabokov.

Sing it, Sting. Don’t stand. Don’t stand. Don’t stand so close to douche.

The Garden of 'Bagen

And lo, when the clouds parted and God’s rays shone down, the waters receded to reveal hottie/’bag commingling had taken place.

And the heavens sang and the Angeles wept. And Douche/Hott took their first awkward steps into a new world.

— Douchesis 05:23