Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Hondouche

I just remembered why I don’t like Nascar.

I used to think it was the inanity of staring at cars all jammed together and going in a circle.  Nothing seemed more inane than staring at circular cars for 9 hours while breathing carbon monoxide.  

The Blunder

Youth is a blunder; Manhood a struggle, Old Age a regret.

— Benjamin Disraeli

Where’s a firehose when you need one.

– DB1

Dudes

Dude #1: Dude.

Dude #2: Dude.

Dude #1: Your hair is bangin’, yo.

Dude #2: I know, right?

Dude #1: Totally.

Dude #2: Word. Yours, too. Off the hook, fosho.

Dude #1: Bra. I know.

Hott: Can we get out of here? Or do you two want me to leave so you can play with each other’s hair?

Dude #1: Dude. Is she serious?

Dude #2: I think so.

Hott: I’m out.

Hott gets out of the limo and slams door.

Dude #1: Whatever.

Dude #2: Talk to the hand.

Dude #1: Talk to the hair!!

Dude #2 (hysterical): Bra!! Genius!!

Dudes hi-five. Then check their hair in the mirror.

anddddd… scene.

Friday Haiku

Makeup Emo Smirks,
His Retro 80s ruse worked.
Eye shadow worth cost.

How many emos
Needed to change a bulb? None!
He sits in the dark.

— duke of douchester

the make-up counter
at Nordstrom has exploded
all over his head.

— pfah

Flock of Seagulls mop
Eye banging a dude. Run cutie,
run so far away

— marcos douchebagdatis

Simon Lebon’s son
Scoring chicks because of dad
Douchey like the Wolf

— plinky

Grab my black shoulder
I will probe your backside to
search for dark entry

— rev. douche

The Story

Somewhere, carved into limestone in an ancient tongue, there is a backstory that explains the events captured in this picture.

It is a story handed down from father to son. Mother to daughter. Parrot to cheese grater.

It is a story of family. Friends. Japanese food. Wasabe. Modern art wall frescos. A blonde in a see-through mesh top. A brunette with a sexy shoulder.

And a steaming scrotebag with disjoined head proudly displaying his abs.

It is an epic tale that makes no coherent sense whatsoever. Or, to use a modern analogy, anything by John Irving.

Ask DB1: 'Bag Confrontation

—–
Dear DB1,

–Gaius Douchius Caesar
—–

Physically confronting the douche can often be harmful, as they’re likely to pummel the average ‘bag hunter. What’s best is to mock them from a safe distance, while stirring your drink with that useless little red straw they always give you.

However when forced into direct confrontation with a dual douche assault, there is one weapon of choice I prefer to use: The Two Syllable Word. For instance, “Why the deviated cranium, douche-face? Did your mother mate with a split rock?” containes the words “deviated” and “cranium,” which the average ‘bag will not understand.

Most ‘bags live monosyllabic lives. Simply introduce a number of complex words into your mocking of their grease, and you should quickly triumph. They will grow rapidly confused, and then seek out other Woo-Hotties to bother.

Ben Afflict

Ah, the Affliction shirt.

The sideways hand gesture.

The Steve Zahn douche-face.

He’s not a huge douche. More like a mid stage-2er. Enough to annoy. More than a ‘bagling. But less than a full fledged scrote.

I love you, pouty brunette with the green fruffy drink and the pink pyramid. Please come sit at my table and tell me about how you’re temping but you really want to be a makeup artist. I’ll pretend to care and nod frequently.

Magilla Scrotilla

There’s only one excuse for Chloe Sevigny Hott to be lugging around this Magilla Scrotilla like a simian side purse. He’s in the W.W.E.

I’ll give a Get of Douche Jail Free card to any professional entertainers whose job it is to look ginormous. No official ‘bag status for, say, Hulk Hogan. So if Magilla’s a famous bulky performer who needs to go around shirtless, he gets a pass.

Otherwise, shirtless uber-douche. Stamped on his forehead. Preferably in pink. Or teal.

Oh Chloe. Your cleavite beckons me with the siren call of a thousand drunk bluejays. I don’t know what that means. Boobies.

Little Kenny

Okay, who let Little Kenny loose in the strip club again?

Is Little Kenny a ‘bag? Probably not. More likely, the Farmer Ted of his class. Hope you won those floppy disks, Little Kenny.

And for you connoisseurs, that’s four bottles of choice boobery, vintage 1988 bottling year. 19 Year old Boobie Bottles. Perfect.

Or at least it will be until they turn 30 and start yelling at me to get a job, stop fondling their shoes and lease them a car.

TongueHotts and the Youthbag

To keep with the mutant tongue theme but to knock that last pic one down on the douche-chain, here’s an adorable hott on the left with the longest tongue I’ve seen on display since Katz’s Deli.

Her little pink tongue is fairytale adorable.

I’d rub its soft velvet surface with my toes, then curl up in her gums and sleep lightly with sugarplum dreams. Then I’d fondle her boobs with primal grunting.

He is standard late 30s wanna-be douche. He emulates youthbaggery because he fears his own aging process. Which makes him actual douche.

Give it up, wannabe Youthbag, and get back to your cubicle at Lehman Brothers before the temp agency finds out.