Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Wednesday Limerick

When douche and hott commingle for too long,
You get a double tragedy so strong,
The hott looks like dreck,
From surviving her douche-wreck,
And “Hostility” for caucasian Long Duck Dong.

HCwDB of the Week: The Limey

You know how you take that intoxicating first sip of Night Train straight from the bottle? Two minutes after purchasing that small glass tube of tangy red wine-substance for $2.99 from your local Korean grocer, you crack the twist off cap and guzzle down that headache inducing liquid and say goodbye to soberdom for the next twelve hours?

I ask because that’s this week’s winner.

Able to wear one glove, make “The Shocker,” feature the frozen stare of The Gator, all while covered in numerous adouchremenets. It’s twelve hours of headache for $2.99.

That’s The Limey. As the eradicatoor puts it in the comments thread:

The Limey. His gaze is so vacant, and unaware of the melons he could be suckling if he would just turn off the camera. The Shocker, or failed piece sign coupled with ripped Dice Clays and enough metal to choke a bear.

Her Hott is playful and sweet, I want to unwrap her and test her reflexes.

Very well said, E. schwagle agrees:

Limey, however, represents all that the douches of tomorrow wish to be. His vaguely drugged up stare and the pubic dribble emanating from his foodhole almost seem to draw you in and refuse to let go without a fight. It’s as if he is attempting to suck out your soul through mere eye contact, like some sort of scrotological basilisk.

And it’s obvious he stores the souls he reaps in his arm, where the twisting nether of fading colors show how many souls he has consumed over the years. And it’s pretty obvious that the hottie next to him is his next victim, lured in by Limey’s nauseous stench, never to be seen again.

You both brought your A-Game verbal dexterity to this week’s smackdown. The verbal shredding in this week’s thread were of the purest of HoHo sugar rush quality.

But let us not forget N ‘Stynk, who pulls talayatu’s vote:

I was going to go with the Limey, but I dunno, something about the way Mark Hamill’s hott is looking at the camera… it’s gotta be #1.

And david douchecovney agrees, bringing the Plato:

N’ Stynk epitomizes the swirl so perfectly, it’s as if I’ve spent my whole life staring at shadowy images of puppets projected by firelight, and thinking the images real, only to be led away from the fire this morning and made to look upon not just the puppets, but the hand that animates them. And the leopard print too. I been made to look at that.

But it’s The Limey for the win. N ‘Stynk placed a distant second, and the MILFs of The Jackhammer barely placing third and confirming that youth-hott is indeed a strong part of the equation.

notadouche presents the case:

limey’s chin stripe says it all, “why go clean shaven when i can make the bottom part of my face look like a skunks ass? why stop there when i can make the top part look like deep fried cow dung dowsed in glitter?”

Couldn’t have said it better myself, nota. “deep fried cow dung dowsed in glitter” may be the choice metaphor of the week, good work.

So there’s your winner, folks. Give that tool a kewpie doll and toss him on the Merry-Go-Round, then take his hott for cotton candy. For they’re in the Monthly like a chin pube dribble.

Ask DB1

Gaius Douchius Caesar writes in:

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Dear DB1,

Gaius Douchius Caesar
—–

There is always hope, GDC. Both within the scrote and even within the bleethed out hott. And yes, even within a group that dresses up as homoerotic warriors from the movie 300.

The process of de-douchification is a long one. It involves twelve key steps a hottie/douchey couple must take together. The specifics of the Twelve Step process will be outlined in my book, and will detail the methodological purge of the Goose and the Gel from the ‘bag/hott couple.

So do not give up, GDC. Your old drinking buddy may indeed still return from the land of douchescrotery at some future date. But, in the interim, send me the pics and we’ll mock his assy face and lust after his hottie’s clavicles. Because mocking means we care. And by care I mean don’t care.

Doggie 'Baggin'

Coming this spring, on (post WGA Strike) Fox: When Doggie ‘Bag Moves Go Wrong!

Or, as The Cowboy in Lebowski says: Sometimes you eat the bar. And sometimes the bar eats you.

Risky Business

Why does this dude feel like one of the extras from the hooker party scene in Risky Business? It must be those glasses. Or the Tom Cruise face.

So I understand you want to attend Princeton.

Now that was a great movie. The Porsche. The legend that is Curtis Armstrong. Guido the Killer Pimp, perhaps another under-celebrated archetype from sleaze antiquity.

And, of course, the 1980s all natural superior dose of hottness that fueled a thousand pre-pubescent fantasies on HBO throughout the mid 1980s: Rebecca De Mornay. I still dream of going for ice cream with that curvy cat-eyed minx. Somewhere off the lake in Chicago.

There’s a crack in my egg. Yes. No. Maybe.

Step away from the stripy boobie, Risky wannabe. This is not the time of your life, kid. You’re just a tool rubbing up on my future ex-girlfriend that I will have relations with on the subway at 3am to the last good Phil Collins song and 12 frames a second step-printing.

In Defense of Douche

maddy writes in:

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you’re way too jaded dude. why all the animosity toward douche-bags? think about it—the female equivalent would be people like lindsey lohan and britney spears.hot, stupid, and proudly partaking in asinine antics which serve to make others feel better about themselves for *not* being that douche-y????

Peace.
——

Maddy, I can only quote the great poet singer-songwriter of our generation, Jewel, when she asked all of us the following deep and probing question:

Who will save your soul? Na na na ne na na, nah ne nah?

Who will save my soul indeed, Jewel. Indeed.

Such eloquent and probing words from someone so young who once lived in a van and now has giant boobs.

Thank you, Jewel. You force us to confront ourselves. By staring at your boobs.

Stubble Boy

Is Stubble Boy ‘Bag? Or does the power of side-boob compel me to skip the ‘bag fantastic and go for the boobological side of the Zen douchequation?

And does the fact that those two poorly written scat sentences of textual mash-up make perfect sense to both myself and to you represent the death of proper linguistics as a method of communication?

That is for the scholars to decide.

I know only side boob.

Reader 'Bag Hunting

Reader Hott Lips writes in:

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If the Steve Martin and Dan Aykroyd Wild and Crazy Guys were cross-bred with swarthy and hirsute douchitude, we’d have these choads.

And when exactly did shirtlessness become the go-to douche move? It happened at some point in the past six months but I must’ve missed the exact moment of historical rupture.

Is the Gator "vain"?

“Is this the UK’s Vainest Man?”

Click on the link for the article in last week’s British The Sun newspaper.

Right off the bat I count two main problems with that headline.

1. It’s in the form of a question
2. It refers to The Gator as a “man”

Otherwise, the crimson tanned pecs of Wrath of Khan douchitude remain a supreme pinnacle of cataclysmic social catastrophe, and one of the great finds of this site.

I would attack and primatively hump the chiffron slip clinging to blondie’s boobie curves with the feral rage of a Madagascar porcupine.

Lynyrd Dychryd

I almost didn’t run these two rocker puds, except for two glorious factors:

1. Red Hottie has a perfect example of female body iconographic purity, by which I mean curves and meat in all the right suckle-worthy places.

2. The Rocker Choads both have camel toe.