Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Under the Spreading Chestnut Tree

The great George Orwell once wrote, To see what is in front of one’s nose needs a constant struggle.

I would caveat Orwell’s words with one simple addendum: Except when what’s in front of one’s nose is a smelly-ass greased up douchebag.

I’m sure Orwell would understand if I gouged my eyes out with a spoon in this one case.

Tick McBugman

Here’s the thing. When you’re a blind, genetic mutant Brundlefly splice between a cucumber, a Eurodouche and Riza from Wu Tang Clan, the last thing in the world you should be doing is attempting the combo cel-phone + water bottle move. It’s just wrong, Tick. Get thee home before I Raid your insect ass.

Librarian Girl Next Door seems to know not what she beholds. But Rob Schneider in the back does.

See Crustacean

See Crustacean.

See Crustacean douche.

Douche, Crustacean! Douche!

Eric the Viking

Eric knows he’s the Mack. With his tricked out studio apartment and part time gigs playing bass in “The Ratt/Poison Experience” tribute band, Eric’s got it made.

The ladies love Eric. And Eric loves the ladies.

Eric is a modern day ‘bag Viking. He conquers All with the power of his power chord soul and with scrotey mandana as his flag of Nation. His tiny lower lip facial pubes tell the hotties: “Yo, I would spike every follicle individually and play you Pantera’s greatest hits if you’ll cuddle with me and call me Captain.”

Inflated Cutie’s got a kind of crazy eyes Terry Hatcher thing, which works for me. She’s like a balloon filled with helium on top of a stack of pancakes.

I have no idea what I’m saying. Look kids, Big Ben! Parliament!

The Crustacean

Hot, Bedroom Eyes Hot, mutant douche crustacean horseshoe crab douchebag, Junior Librarian in Training Hot, Hott, Girl Next Door Hot.

The Freshman Lottery Winner

Enjoy this moment in your life, Freshman Lottery Winner. Once the hotties wise up, it’s all downhill from there.

Is he ‘bag? Not really. Just the Luckiest Freshman in State School. And she inspires tropical plant growth in hott houses. So I’m going with it.

In an unrelated and developing story about to hit the gossip sites, Lindsey Lohan has broken out of rehab and is now taking up with the Grieco Gecko. Ole’ firecrotch loves the LizardBags. Props to reader pfah for the pic.

EDIT: Also a reminder that if your ability to access this site is getting blocked by work firewalls, you can also get here using www.HCwDB.com.

Douche Soup

What do you get if you mix a muscled up Guidodouche, a heaping spoonful of shirtless early 40s dimpled choad, and slowly stir in two unredeemable stage-4 Douchebaguettes?

Douche Soup.

It’s like that famous fable about the two travelers in the small town, “Stone Soup.” Only instead of teaching important lessons about community and sharing to ten year olds, it neuters ferrets.

Everybody was Doggie 'Baggin

All the douches are Doggie ‘Baggin!!

Nice cigarette storage method, J.C. Douchez.

HCwDB of the Week: Air Bud Edition

Due to last week’s monthly, this is a two week hottie/douchey face off, or a fortscrote if you will. As hard as it is to cull down even a week’s worth of samplings, sifting through two weeks requires a fine attention to detail. As well as a vibrating scrotum.

Like a Spidey Sense, my vibrating scrotum has never guided me wrong. Either when deciding which port wine goes with a twinkie. Or in selecting a swamp douche grabbing on to a hottie’s boob like a wounded kraken. So here’s to you, vibrating scrotum. May you continue to guide me with the power of Delphic Oracle mixed with iocane powder.

In edition to my vibrating scrotum, this week’s edition is dedicated to the hippest dog of the 90s, Air Bud. Yes, the basketball playing super dog who switched over to football in the genius cinematic epic, Air Bud II: Golden Receiver. Here’s to you, Air Bud. May all your owners walk you frequently.

What? I like Air Bud. Excuuuuse me. On to the finalists:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: The Crystalline Snowflake

The hottie factor may not be of the overwhelming variety, but when you introduce a douche with this many levels of absolutely absurd ridiculousness, it’s hard not to book him a slot in the Finals.

A greasy forehead that refracts light to a space/time bending curve.

The douche-face. The unbuttoned shirt. And that hair.

Between this pud and Wheatstalks, we’ve seen some fine top-hair lately. A coincedence? Or a trend?

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Choadmonster
Choady is a ‘bag that grew on me. Like a half finished arm tattoo, there was something about the frozen moment of douche-face that just personifies a personal rage moment.

Tiny Lithe Dancer in front also makes it happen with the efficiency of a robo vacuum cleaner.

There’s a pinwheel being sold at a small fair somewhere in rural New England that if you blow into and put your ear to its spinning plastic petals, will slowly buzz the name, “Chooooaddddmonsterrrr.”

A definite contender.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Pocahontas II: Electric ‘Bagaloo

It’s hard to argue with exotic beauty, especially when it comes with two swollen and angelic nectarine tats worshipped by the ancient Fryan sect, The Monks of Aberboobies.

As it is important to remind us on our journey into the darkness of hottie/piercy douchitude, the rage factor must come from the energy field created between both hott and scrote.

This pic has that rage factor with electocharged static cling.

Toss in the vaguely downtown Miami Beach key club, and I don’t know whether I want to save Pocahontas from the evil Barbarian Dutch settlers who don’t understand her earthy culture, or set my nipples on fire with a blowtorch.

My vibrating scrotum raised the anger/hott factor in each of these three pics to finalist status. As with any fortscrote sampling, the two weeks of pics had lots of finalist worthy entries. Sloth Jr. just missed the cut. but these are the three. And three shall there be.

But only one can become victorious. And by victorious, I mean contribute negatively by polluting our culture with visual blight.

Which of the three? That, my friends, is up to you. Vote, as ever, in the comments thread. Yeah, you. Step up and vote.

G Dog

G Dog says, “Yo, wassup? You like my tats? Well, I like your boobs!”

You go with your bad self, G Dog.