The Paradox
Okay, enough with my Bollywood fetish, lets get back to the good stuff.
Here’s your classic stage-4 all-American douchebag. Apple Pie is to America what Douchechoad here is to Douchebaggery.
You get all the markers of classic ‘bag/hott wrongness. Creepy tats. Simultaneous ‘bag hand gesture and beer hold. The smug douche-face of ownership. And, of course, the ‘bag headbutt into Creamed Corn Hottie.
She is shiny cheeked perfection. That dark sultry ambiguously Spanish hot tamale hott. Healthy bosoms that promise to feed and nourish all of humanity. Large swells that whisper poems of water trickling over rocks, metaphors of hope, peace and a better tomorrow. I would bury myself betwixt their health and dream of flowerpots and sugarplum pancakes.
She is sexpot. He is choad.
It is the perfect HCwDB weekend pic to fire all of us up and keep us going. It’s like a shot of spiritual Red Bull. You rage. You desire. You rage some more.
The paradox is life itself. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds good. And the DB1 is hungover.
