Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Labor Day HCwDB of the Month

Last month it was “Hall of Scrote” enshrined winner, The Trainwreck, that Salvador Dali inspired piece of photographic dada art.

This month? Well, that’s up to you.

On this muggy, hot-ass Labor Day, the DB1 meditates over iced tea, and presents for you the four weekly winners for your selection and codification.

Four digital examples of a culture gone ‘bag. Four visual servings of poo/hott that can make you feel simultaneously aroused and itchily vomitorious.

But I ramble. Because my shirt smells like cat puke. That’s what I get for Karaoke last night. So, without further ado, I give you Lord and Lady Douchebags:

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #1: The Greasers

Amateur puds? Wannabe scroads? Perhaps.

But however you slice it, these two product enhanced sweatballs are worthy contenders.

For not only have they corralled a Eurohottie displaying the perfect serving of side-boob, but they’re flying standard ‘bag sandwich formation with extra-tight dual headbutt.

Toss in the purple silk tie, the thumb ring, and the Peaches Point maneuver, and it’s a quality smorgasboard of scrotum salad.

She’s a lovely mamita.

They’re two sweaty balls of sockdouchery.

Our first entry in the Monthly is a good one. And by good, I mean Labor Day ‘baggin’.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #2: The Crustacean

Seafood Tomdouchery tends to go a long way on the site.

There’s something about a Miami toolbox imitating a seafaring creature that inspires that extra fifth-gear level of rage.

The Crustacean challenges The Ab Lobster by busting one of the most obnoxious douchebaggy maneuvers in ‘bag history.

Pointing. At. His. Abs.

Although the Crustacean needs a perfect Fruit Stripe Hottie to do the pointing for him.

Factor in the puma wristband, the crypto-gay “Goose in Top Gun” sunglasses, and a lineup of four absolutely mouth watering Starburst Fruit Chews (and their friend), and it’s a tremendous pic.

Tremendous.

As right now the affect the blond in white and mini-jeans on the left is having on my division sign is impressive. I love her. I propose. I would carry her children to term, then ignore them while blowing my welfare checks on crack and keno.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #3: The Choadmonster

Ask not for whom the douche-face tolls.

It tolls for thee.

On the punchability factor, there really isn’t much more that can be said about Choady McMonster here.

You want to hit in the face with a sock filled with rotting salmon.

I want to him in the face with a sock filled with rotting salmon.

So there’s that.

His hairy marblized arm looks less real than a carving by Michelangelo. So there’s that, too.

Tiny Dancer Hottie in the middle has a delightful Minnesotan smile. The image of Choadmonster attacking is like a still from a 50s horror film starring Beverly Garland.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #4: Memphis Choad

In terms of isolating the contaminant that is “The Game” losers, teaching men to dandy themselves up like an Emo Oscar Wilde, Memphis Choad is a great example.

Doing magic tricks and dressing like a freak to get laid has to be one of the more punchable strains of the modern ‘bag.

Instead of popped collars and 10 Degree Hat tilts, we have country hats and eyeliner.

And then there’s Asian perfection, who looks sweet and exotic and delightfully “Othered” by a society steeped in what cultural studies scholar Edward Said critiques as the sexualized imperalism of Westernized “Orientalism.”

Or what I like to term “Asian Hottie Booblust.”

So them’s your four, people.

Since it’s Labor Day and most people are getting drunk and eating hot dogs, I will leave voting up through Wednesday.

But get yer votes in. This is important stuff. If we don’t crown a hottie/douchey winner, then who will? You? You Lieutenant Weinberg?

Vote, as always, with a Peaches Point in the comments thread.

Purg Hottie's Quest

A lazy Sunday, and the DB1’s thoughts drift to his future second ex-wife, the girth of his loins, the prickle of his breyer patch.

Yes I speak of the legendary Purgatory Hottie. That tragic sexy cutie of perfect backside and mouth watering cleavite, caught between heaven/hell in an endless loop of ‘bag repetition as seen here, here, here, here, and here.

Yet Purg Hottie remains pure. She remains lovely.

And, tragically, as pictured today, remains in perpetual cycle with the douchewank. Here, passed out shirtless in a limo. While Purg Hottie remains unperturbed.

It’s sort of amazing how she remains unaffected by all the douchescrotery in her presence. Maybe she’s got douche anti-bodies or something.

I mourn for Purg Hottie’s lousy-ass choices of lousy ass. And I long to fondle her inner thighs with chicken grease.

But another Purg Hottie pic is certaintly enough to get me through a Sunday. I may have to give her an honorary place in the Hall of Scrote, simply for the effect on my nethers.

Labor Day Doggie 'Baggin'

Come on people, get in the Labor Day party spirit!!

Lets hear it for pasty mutant Stay Puft dough-boys from the Planet Genderambiguous busting Doggie ‘Bag moves on tasty Spanish cookies.

If this pic don’t say Labor Day at HCwDB, then I don’t know what does.

But I do know that firm b-cups make Tiny Tim walk again.

Douchescrote Saturday

Perfect boobies and a rank douchescrote sniffing his own finger.

Good thing it’s a three day weekend.

Late Night Musings

Random thoughts while staring at this bug glasses wearing twaddle-bot:

I would worship the used towels discarded after forty sweaty minutes on the Stairmaster 2000 by that perfectly formed brunette goddess on the left. She is perfection crystallized in immortality.

I would paint abstract art in honor of her lower buttocks, then munch on a fried pigeon to celebrate her feastlyness 11th Century style.

But enough about my future ex-wife that I would love awkwardly and borderline illegally for at least 23 seconds after getting drunk on fermented hops.

Other thoughts:

If you wear socks for more than three days in a row, they smell vaguely like creme brulee. Dipped in ass.

So I’m listening to the legendary Steve Miller Band’s Take the Money and Run on the radio in my car today when it dawns on me. Those quick hand claps that everyone loves? They come at two points in the song:

1. “They headed down to, ooh, oh El Paso” (clap clap clap clap clap)

and:

2. “Billy Mack was a detective down in Texas” (clap clap clap clap clap)

What do both have in common right before the claps? Both mention Texas.

What other song has claps right when they mention Texas? Why it’s “Deep in the Heart of Texas.” Steve Miller’s dropping in a sly reference to the claps that come right after “The Stars at night, they shine so bright” (clap clap clap calp) “deep in the heart of Texas.”

Yeah, I cracked your code Mr. Miller.

Abracadabra, baybee.