Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Not Good Times

Sometimes I get a pic submitted of two attractive young women cohabitating with two guys at a bar, and I think to myself, “those guys really aren’t so douchey.”

This is not one of those times.

The 'Bag Spasm

I’m intrigued by Sorority Hott #2’s involuntary ‘bag spasm towards Grinny McMandana. It’s like she’s lost regular motor functions and has been forced through sheer scrotal pull to announce her judgment of the tool.

Would that be classified as a primal instinct? Or a muscular reaction to external stimulii?

Whale Squirts

PIC DELETED

I love you Jenny Sue, Carol Anne, and Carol Anne’s older but still sexy Aunt Vicki-Mae.

I hate to break it to you three, but Zombies from the lost George Romero Classic, Night of the Living Whale Squirts, are cohabitating in your personal space.

Please dispose of them in a prompt and sanitary fashion.

By which I mean, kick them in the ladel soup nuts and dunk them in a vat of toxic waste. While I stare at Carole Anne’s perfect pale Cleavite and imagine the dancing UV rays forming its soft, faded pattern of spreading cloth material echoing through my nethers like a Taoist gong.

The Blonde Girl and the Steaming Turd Music Producer Guy with Chin Dribble

Watching this cow in mid-lick reminds me of the lesser known but wonderfully moving Aesop’s Fable from 1936, The Blond Girl and The Steaming Turd Music Producer Guy With Chin Dribble.

Not many people know the story of The Blond Girl and The Steaming Turd Music Producer Guy With Chin Dribble. It’s a lost classic.

Unlike some of the more popular Aesop’s Fables, The Blond Girl and The Steaming Turd Music Producer Guy with Chin Dribble lacked the emotionally engaging animal characters representing moral choice, nor any embedded moral lesson outside of the catch-all, “Don’t date scrotes.”

Rumor has it Aesop was just getting over getting dumped by his first wife, Sally Ann Cavanaugh Aesop. Drunk on hops, Aesop reportedly penned the short story in less than an hour.

So while it lacks a true moral gravitas and complex storytelling motif, there is still much to be gained from Aesop’s The Blond Girl and the Steaming Turd Music Producer Guy with Chin Dribble.

Like the fact that he sucks. And is gross.

Jacques

Dude, I loved you as Jacques, the cleaner shrimp in Finding Nemo.

Congrats on snagging Ariel. Now button up before Disney drops you from High School Musical IV: The Teen Pregnancy Years.

Chicago Hat Tilt

The fused connection between ten degree Yankee cap tilts and douche-face is suddenly being challenged by a rise in White Sox gear.

As demonstrated here by the Golly Gee Whiz 50s Sitcom younger brother, trying to look “gangsta.”  Put down the gatt, Jimmy.  Mom wants you home by 8.

The hotts are a triumvirate of squishy goodness. They bespeak a 2008 of endless, firm perky boobage.

But Jimmy’s only a stage-1 tool, and so I must ask myself, is there enough to mock?  And the answer is yes.  Most certainly, yes.

gabehcuod

Look very closely at the hair patterns shaved on the side of the head.

Even closer. Keep looking.

See that?

It’s a tiny Jack Nicholson, chasing a boy through the fields with an axe.

Thankfully, that boy has the power. The power of The Douching. The voices that came to him, and whispered their warning with one cryptic, singular word:

gabehcuod… gabehcuod…

2008!

Happy New Year!! The DB1 has partially recovered, thanks to a few ‘Train spiked Irish Coffees, and my senses are slowly regaining the cognition to delineate between pancakes, boobies and fire hydrants.

Douchery was of the mostly fratpud kind on the streets of New York last night. A few teenagers sported cactus heads the size of Omaha, and drunk hotties abounded.

It will be interesting to chart the changing trends in douche culture this year. Already we’ve seen the pink popped collar and cactus heads giving way to the shirtless + spiky fwip-hawk haircut look in late 2007.

The hotts seemed to grow more classic, as the scrotes grew ever more adventurous. And by adventurous, I mean a gang of shrieking rhesus monkeys flinging poo like a simian Jackson Pollock.

Are shirtless grease-chests the Jesus Bling of 2008? Will mandanas replace the hat tilt? And how can I entice Neon Blue Dress Hott away from jerky Don Johnson Cowpie, featured here with bizarre cheek pubes?

Your humble narrator sits and ponders the shifting currents of performative douchebaggery and the hotties that continue to fall under their sway. What types of hottie/douchey combos will rise to the top in 2008?

To paraphrase the Beach Boys, God only knows what I’d mock without them…

The Hangover

This pic isn’t helping…