Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Wednesday Limerick

Three blondies were bored by the pool house.
When up popped a douche-head named Klaus.
‘Mein frauleins!” he cried,
With Germanic aside,
‘Mein tattoo says my hair’s been deloused!”

HCwDB of the Month: The Limey

In this glorious smackdown between classic douche and the absurd spectacle of a Euro-wreck, it was a race to the finish. But the sheer power of accessory, as well as the hott, helped The Limey to overpower The Batbag and take the comic book crown.

As swami ‘bagavad gita medidates on The Lime:

When I first saw the Limey, I felt like Arjuna after Krisna revealed himself: glorious, yet terrified. He has bestowed upon us the visage of the ultimate choad: the ‘Bagavan. “The Limey is Time; He is the Destroyer of Worlds.” How could he not be DB of the month?

Indeed, Swami. Sir Douche-a-Lot the Third agrees:

Couple said extreme ‘Baggerdom with such tightly snugged slugs that they resemble ole’ Chin ‘Bag’s chin. Oh no. my mind is possessed with ‘Bagger to the point that I no longer enjoy fresh cleavite without recurring images of God’s mistakes.

That’s the key to this pic. The cleavite. The glove. The chin pubes. The blank, vacant, lobotomized look of too many hours of basic cable and downloaded porn. It is douche-hell personified.

talayatu makes the case for a ‘Bag Soda and Lime:

Limey’s hott is superior, even with that awful frontal lobe hair bump thing guidettes often have nowadays. The shocker, the one glove, the bling, and especially the dang soul patch, but also the fact I don’t want to look at Scrotington that often… it’s gotta be Limey.

And burnsy agrees:

The Limey’s racing stripe makes me want to eat a baby.

In an irrational world, the only rational choice is irrationality. Well said, burnsey.

However the Batbag fans had their KAPOWS to say about the lurid spectacle of superdouche in the age of mechanical reproduction. bernard mcshaughnessy lays the smackdown for the Batbag:

It is like someone took a lump of douche and molded it into a doughy douche-package, then s@#t on it, wiped his/her ass with a comic book, crammed the feces-smeared pages into the lump of douche, popped a silk shirt on it, threw it into a night club and then ran for the state line, ass on fire.

Yup. Pretty much sums it up. Beautiful smackdown B McS.

Long-time friend of the site and supreme ‘bag hunter baron von douchehausen throws some spew Jack Scrotington’s way:

I got to go with Jack on this one. When you are an aging ‘bag with a receding hairline and you pay to have your scraggly dirty blonde locks braided up to look like an imported overpaid soccer player, well, you deserve a shot at the annual.

Well said, BvD. But it’s the everpresent anonymous who makes perhaps the clearest case why The Limey deserves to win:

Of the four candidates the Limey contains both the girl I would most like to lick and the douche I would most like to see trash compacted.

And that’s what we’re all about here at HCwDB. On Turkey’s Eve, we must remember to contemplate the hott as well as the choad. Like turkey with gravy. Or poo with flowers.

The Batbag, we’ll see again. Oh yes. We’ll see him again.

But today, the classic Hott/Scrote combo of The Limey is our Monthly Winner.

The Slap?

Is that a Fish Slap wannabe? Or the Slap himself out of costume?

Feral Hottie has the wild-eyed look of Weena, the primitive Eloi in H.G. Wells’s The Time Machine. I would rescue her from the Morelocks, then teach her English in a condescending aristocratic way, while casually fondling her thighs and explaining that it’s a “friendly custom.”

Pink Floyd's "The 'Bag"

Cuz I…. have become… comfortably pink…

Ask DB1: "The 'Bag Within"

doucheton writes in:

—–
Hey DB1,

Doucheton, Texas
—–

A quick rule of thumb is that those who laugh at The ‘Bag Within are at least somewhat exempt from embodying The ‘Bag Without, to borrow from my mystic training for a moment.

He that sees the douche, can be the douche only in physical form. But not spirit. For the festering spiritual rot of true douche requires opacity of mind’s eye. The inability to witness the skeezal self.

Fear not. Your road to de-bagging may not yet be complete. But you are on the right path.

Gary Abusey

Two perfect balls of cornmeal “best friend of the girl you’re chasing, but who’ll make out with you at 2am” hott and a Gary Busey uberdouche.

Where’s Shane Black to write me a tired, cynical cop who’s close to retiring but suddenly realizes he has to kick one last douchebag in the nads?

Oh that’s right. He’s banging hotties in his house parties in the Hills.

Damn you, Shane Black.

Kick me some of that mid 1990s goldrush cash and invite me to the damn secret room.

The Douche Hoagie

We’ve seen classic ‘bag sandwich formation many times on this site. When two ‘bags crush a slice of hott in between them like a cuban pork sandwich with a slice of pickle. And a ton of mayo. Mmm… Cuban sandwiches.

But this is more like a Douche Hoagie. Rank, foul rolls of bread and a slice of delicious brunette chicken breast in between. Who’s licking her lips at me. Because she wants me. And hey, she’s got great taste in men, so I can understand.

Jeff 'Bagwell

Amazing career stats for Jeff ‘Bagwell:

.343 Douching Average. 425 career hairspiked follicles (left handed). 16 career hairspiked follicles (right handed). 1,263 career uses of the word “broheim.”

Young Princess Mononoke may not embody classic hottness tropes, but that’s exactly the type of Long Island Choice that’ll cook you dinner, give you a backrub, then dress up like Wonder Woman and spackle your toes with chocolate syrup and cool whip.

Her legs make Daoist Monks scream silently in protest of their chastity vows.

Cup o' Pimp

New, from Lipton!! Just add water and presto!! Tatted up stardouche, only .99 Cents at the Stop-n-Emo!!

Red’s curvier than Mulholland Drive at 2am after too many cocktails. I’d ride slowly and cautiously over them at 20mph, stopping only to pass out behind the houses near her Laurel Canyons. That metaphor makes no sense, but I blame it on the boobies.

The Easy-Bake Oven

Remember those Easy-Bake Ovens that Hasbro made when you were a kid back in Kindergarten?

When you’d wander over to talk to Suzie during playtime, only to discover that while you still couldn’t figure out how to tie your shoes and peed on yourself on the way to school, Little Suzie just baked a mini-cookie?

I bring up this story because after Little Suzie left, I tried to bake something in that Easy-Bake oven. A mash-up involving cake mix, Uno cards and Legos.

It came out smelling like charred lizard flesh.

Like this couple here.