Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

The Douche Vodka

Among the many givaways of encroaching oblique douchebaggery among the ‘bag/hot is what is now being referred to as The Douche Vodka.

The Douche Vodka is the maneuver in which a ‘bag simultaneously gropes a firm lower back while also proudly displaying his giant Grey Goose as a form of alcohol phallus substitute.

Scrotologists working deep underground in radiation protected douche-labs in Provo, Utah, remain perplexed at the spontaneous emergence of the Grey Goose signifier in the summer of 2006.

And yet it remains a crucial part of the puzzle as we seek to parse the mystifying mating patterns of hot/scrote commingling. Much like the outbreak of crotch rash among the wildebeasts of the Serengeti, the rapid spread of Douche Vodka maneuvers among the American Douchebagsus Scrotsus remain deeply troubling.

Ketel One, as we all know, is quality. Grey Goose, guilty by association, is now ‘bag.

Friday Haiku

Fish Slap Douche returns.
The goggles, they do nothing.
Pumped up ‘bag. Kill me.

Motor boat motor
boat motor boat motor boat
motor boat I’m done

— huskerbag

The Fish Slap denied!
He makes self-love, habit leads
to carpal tunnel

— baron von douchehausen, club promotions helper

Havasu calms him.
His restless soul hides behind
his terse, angry mouth.

— boatbutter

Kelly Kapowski’s
Bellybutton vomits jewels
A one-star d-bag.

— please hammer, don’t douche ’em

Star-bellied Fish Slap?
Seus is rolling in his grave.
Stars are the new lame.

— kellybelly

As The Douche Turns

If daytime Soaps ever want to find the rank equivalent of that Luke n’ Laura coupling, I think we have a contender. Just think of the dramatic dialogue possibilities:

Douche-Luke: Uhm. hey.

Hott-Laura: What’s up?

Douche-Luke: Nothin.

Hott-Laura: Me neither.

Douche-Luke: Word.

Hott-Laura: Haha, you’re such a sweetie!

Douche-Luke: Yo.

Regardless of their linguistic limitations, I would burn cherokee incense in ancient Buddhist temples to honor Hott-Laura’s ancestors. For they provided the genetic materials to assemble a quality nectarine flavored scratch-n-sniff bed bunny.

You know a cutie offers fertile loin when the curvy form of hidden boobs transcends even a plastic garbage bag dress.

Keep on 'Baggin'

Ah, the Oldbag.

Among the many permutations and variations of the douchey/boobie comminglings, there’s nothing quite like the middle age crisis ‘bag hanging on to fading glory with every graying follicle. Wearing giant blinged up necklaces around the ever expanding gut in a desperate attempt to coopt the signifiers of youth to hide the existential crisis of mortality.

Hang in there, oldbag.

You’ve got two cute young popsicle hots by your side. Add one more giant bling necklace, and you’ll be there. Eternal youth, baybee. Eternal youth.

Thursday Limerick

Shaved chest and Tag Bodyshot shirt.
Douche gestures like moldy yogurt,
Her curves are divine,
A vessel of wine,
But the douche makes me want to drink dirt.

Fire Douche

When attempting an upper level ‘bag hunt like the aristocrats used to do in England, to hunt the truly repugnant ‘bag/hott duality, there are some test cases worth avoiding entirely.

Beyond even helping through the benefits of the collective mock that we provide here at HCwDB on a daily basis.

Can’t help save ya, perky ski slope nose brunette hottie with ample bosom. Your proximity to Fire Douche means any attempted saving would result in my whiskers getting singed by the sheer force of uber-scrotology.

But the choke necklace is choice.

Greasy Reader Mail

Greaser #1 from the winning HCwDB of the Week pic The Greasheads, posts in the comments thread:

—-
I’m the douchebag on the left! Thank you for this award! I am sure you are all total winners and probably sleep with way hotter girls, so congratulations on being such a badass!
—-

To respond, I’ll turn it over to King Douchuous the IV, HCwDB Weekly Winner, July 2007.

King D: Yo man, even I think that forehead is greased up to the bejeesus. I’d hose you down myself but I’m planning to use my All-American mandana and fantastic popped hair to charm the hell out of the two award winning tatines to my right. But seriously dude. Hose the ‘head down before it kills someone.

Listen to King D the IV, Greaser #1.

Try not to think of it as losing a hair style. Think of it as gaining a matted forehead.

Billy is Special

Billy is not retarded, and please don’t refer to him as such. Billy is what we like to call “special.”

Billy can’t figure out how to shave certain parts of his face, and his constant need to make ridiculous douchey “metal” hand gestures while groping at his Asian sesame noodle cutie are simply involuntary “special” muscle spasms.

So do not mock Billy, for he is a Douche Awesome.

Instead, simply whack him in the face. With a giant stuffed panda bear dipped in kerosene.

Douche-Face #294

Ah, the douche-face.

That key early signifier of encroaching douchebaggery in one lacking the obvious markers (10 Degree Hat, Pink Popped I-Zod, etc.)

I missed you, Douche-face.

And by missed you, I mean I didn’t miss you.

And by I didn’t miss you, I mean you suck like monkey poo.

Poindouchester

And if you’re not up for reading my extended look back at “Better Off Dead” you can simply mock this wannabe tat-choad desperately trying (and failing) to live up to the Pumpy boob grab.

Nice try, Poindouchester.

She’s all sorts of cuddle-hott cheesecake cavity sweet goodness. I’d dip her in cool whip and serve her for dessert at the Epstein’s Bar Mitzvah.