Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Sneery

PIC DELETED

The auction to smack Sneery McDoucheface with a sock filled with poo starts…. now.

Do I hear ten dollars?… Twenty?… A case of Miller Lite and an awkward ten second grope of your girlfriend?

Make me an offer, kids. Make me an offer.

Douchestrology

I’m wondering if maybe there’s a correlation between astrological readings and the various stages of the tilting of the baseball cap in the study of douchestrology.

For instance, 40 Degree Hat Tilt can be read as Douchini Rising, while 80 Degree Hat Tilt is the Dawning of the Age of Scrotarius.

Muscle Choads like the simian wank on the right mean the moon is between choad and fratbag.

And of course, I spy four large solar globes hovering delightfully. And a pixie stick of zodiac hotness on the right.

Three signs say hott. Three signs say douche. It’s a mixed douchestrological chart for a Thursday.

The Peach Point

A wily and dexterous ‘bag hunter knows to approach the hottie/douchey coupling not simply as a unique event, but as part of a larger grease stain. In other words a ‘bag can’t simply be mocked on his own. He must be mocked intertextually. Across the vast douchiverse.

In this case, we see the tropes first introduced into the discourse by our very own “Hall of Scrote” member, Peaches. The legendary douchuousness of the famous Peaches point can also be observed here and here.

When any douche innovation comes along from a Zen ‘Bag Master of Scrotology like Peaches, we quickly observe its development spread, mutate and morph ‘bagologically. As with Russell Choad here.

Note also the delightful Ball of Pout, clutching her Bud Light with Freudian frustration. Pout Hottie knows her boyfriend is ‘bag. So I feel for her. And by feel for her, I mean feel her. Until she pours her beer on my head and storms out. Dammit, I just got beer on my new shirt.

Shaggy

When trying to impress a confused doe-eyed hottie with enhanced jello torpedoes, you should:

A) pierce your lip in multiple places
B) Cut strategic rips in your metal shirt to show how punk rock you really are
C) Blow smoke up her nostrils until she gags
D) Cut your hair to look like Ashton Kutcher and Shaggy from Scooby Doo’s love child
E) All of the above

F) Kill yourself. No really. Kill yourself.

The Weeble

Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down. They do, however, wear douchey mandandas on their heads the size of Utah.

The important thing to remember is to stay young on the inside, Weebs. The cactus hair and amoeba mandana tell the kids, “Hey, I might work as an office manager for Applebees corporate, but I can still party like it’s 1988.”

Somewhere in suburban Arizona, a Subaru minivan misses its owner.

Wednesday Limerick

The once was an Elephant Head,
Who grabbed at a hottie and said,
“My skull might be big,
And I’m hung like a twig,
But I’ll pay you 50 bucks to go to bed.”

Man my limericks suck.

BuddhaBag

Note to all aspiring BuddhaBags: When the hotties are paid to pose with you, do not make the douche-face. You are not a badass. You did not score four cuts of hott any more than the waitress at Hooters wants you.

And yes, we all have the friend who thinks the stripper/Hooters waitress/paid promotional hottie actually “likes me dude!”

Hint: She doesn’t. And you’re a tool.

Also receding hair fauxhawk is impressive.

I would suckle Anne Hathaway Hottie’s Princess Diaries until she wore Prada.

Crusty says "Thanks!"

The Crust wanted to thank everyone who voted for him for HCwDB of the week, and promised that if you’ll keep watchin’, he’ll keep douchin’.

Looking at this Vegas douchebaggery (or is that Atlantic City?), I can’t help but ask that age old joke: “Facial pubes say what?”

HCwDB of the Week: The Crustacean

An absolutely superb round of analysis of all three finalists in this week’s comments thread. A virtual bottle of L.A. Looks hair gel goes out to everyone who chimed in with hottie/scrotey deconstruction.

This was one of the hardest weeks we’ve ever featured, as all three slices of the boobs and the choad were toxic spew and worthy of some form of victory, and by victory I mean all of us losing by creating an understanding that these simulacrums actually took place.

But the power of the Crustacean’s douchery was too much to overcome, even by an armpit shaving innovative douche like GMD.

bagologist deconstructs the latest sea creature to offer up his abs as proof of early dinosaur development:

Definitely the crustacean. It takes a full hand to count the unfathomably hot beauties on your fingers.

Fingers which then curl into a fist and sock this sneering scumburger in the solarplexus for giving you the unpleasant mental image of him twiddling in his navel with his nosehair trimmer. The punch glances off his greasy abs and you stumble off balance and fall on top of center-closet librarian-sex-goddess, and your rage melts away into bliss.

Beautifully stated, bagologist. scroteface killah concurs that the power of the multiple choice hott surrounding Crustacean was too much to overlook:

Crustacean is a journeyman bag who’s been working at his douchey craft for years and seems to have somehow put it all together to a transcendent degree. (He’s like Douche Rocky working the douche bag.) The main thing to me is the commitment he shows to his work. He has no other job than being a douche. It’s his calling and his art.

Oh, and though Fawn makes me weep slow hot tears of remorse that I’m apparently too hairy in my pits for her, there’s something for everyone in that Whitman’s Sampler of tail arrayed around the Crustacean.

While Lip Tat came in a distant third, the perfect beauty of his dazed and confused doe was enough to gather some fans. LoRok makes he case for the uber-hott:

Hot w/ Tot is who I vote for. All other items on the site just sort of disappear, I cannot even notice any douchery. She just makes the world ok. And since I know that pic isn’t featuring me, it fills me with rage. So, hot/rage in it’s purest form.

Well said, LoRok. Although Crustacean crawled over the competition with his creepy sea creature abs, Gillette Mach Douche had his many proponents. George W. Douche keys in on the wrongness of the armpit shaving metrodouchual:

Under International Douche Law, the highest crime is that of shaving one’s armpits and then flaunting them for all to see.

Thus, the International Criminal Tribunal for Crimes by Douche Bags rules that Gilette Mach shall be sentenced to two years of forced consumption of propecia and rogaine.

Exactly, President Douche. Exactly. Bagglio Ordonez also keys in on what separates GMD from the usual scrote:

In the end this battle comes down to inovation. While the Crustacean is unarguably a vomit inducing mess of scrote we’ve really seen it all before. Gilette Mach-Douche however, is on the fore-front of scrote with his ground breaking shaved-pit-showoff-bag-move.

1 vote GMD – he’s the next in the evolution of the Grieco virus.

Yes he is, Bagglio. But when you’ve got five uber-hotts and you’re showing off creepy abs, nothing can overcome the power of the scrote. As Sir Scrotsley excellently summarizes:

Bronzed Lioness touching Crustacean’s abs has a figure that could give a eunuch a hard-on. I don’t know how, but I’m sure it could happen. I would spend about thirty seconds giving her a shiatsu massage wearing Zubaz pants while whispering sweet nothings into her ear before surrendering all control and humping her like a sex-starved rhesus monkey.

And let’s not forget the Crustacean himself. A true seafood surprise, with meticulously-ripped jeans, oversized Puma armband, ‘bag hand gesture #23, and a facial expression that aptly reveals what a profoundly vapid crotch-maggot he is. And is that a fauxhawk?

Yes. Yes it is a fauxhawk, Sir S.

And with that, we raise The Crustacean’s ab-revealing banner to the rafters and punch him in the face, then punch his ticket in the Monthly.

More Basics: The S.O.D.

Continuing this afternoon’s trip back to our earthy hottie/douchey roots, and by earthy I mean cowpie and by roots I mean bleached, here’s a back to basics S.O.D.

Standard Operating Douche-Face.

Like most classic scrote, SOD presents douchosity from a deep place within his psyche. It eminates from the douche-face like amplified radiation along the spectral graph.

Oh sure, SOD has other markers of douchebaggery, greasy head, ridiculous hat, lurking Douchebagger #2 in the background, etc. But it’s the S.O.D. that takes him up a notch.

And the healthy boobed ball of hott on his arm don’t hurt neither.

Kneel before SOD, indeed. Or just hit him in the nuts with a beanbag.