Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Aussie Rules Douchebags

I’m getting a ton of email lately from our friends in the great outback, who tell me that douchosity has overrun that southern hemisphere continent like a plague of Homer Simpson frogs.

This clip is from an Aussie music festival, and the douchosity is off the charts. We’re talking Jersey Beach level-4 toxicity.

What’s going on down there, Aussies? First the Dingo Party Boy, and now this?

I hate to admit my Douchette Paradox is in full effect. I want to ravish the dark haired hott, even as she dances next to the two plague viruses to her left with fully polluted douchebaguette style.

Stubblebag / Not a Stubblebag

PIC DELETED

I don’t know how douchey Stubblebag really is, although the two popped collars bespeak a childhood filled with douchal traumas large and small.

But I do know that I would sell my kidney in trade to Bedouin camel riders in the Saharan outback just for the chance to spend twenty minutes rubbing Purple Brunette’s skin products on my upper thigh area.

She is my dreamlight chocolate microphone. My phantasmagoric plasmatic absofantastic electric koolaid hottsid test.

And when she grew tired of my endless masticating on her lower neck area, I would turn my attentions to her younger sister/friend. Who would smack me with a frying pan, then steal my car.

Rehab 101

Standard Rehab Vegas Douche 101.

Overly developed alien abs. Muppet fauxhawk. Chinstain. Blank vacuous stare.

But megods, the tan/pink, blue and black hotts form the colors of the Tralfamadorian flag with their bikinis.

Speaking of overly developed muscle douche, check out the douche on Craigslist.

Ladies of the greater Washington D.C. area, he’ll rock your body hard.

'Bag / Not a 'Bag

Giant head flotilla. Douche? Or just happy to be there?

I have a sudden and strange desire to eat a gallon of jello, top it off with a soft creamy cheesecake and wash it down with two jugs of,…uhm… boobs.

Dammit.

Ran out of metaphors just short of the end of the sentence.

The Dingo

So some 16 year old ‘bagling in Melbourne, Australia threw a party while his parents were away and it turned into a 500 person street riot. They trashed a bunch of cars, and then when they interviewed the kid on the news, he douched it up in style while telling the interviewer hott to essentially kiss his ass.

I can’t tell if this kid is a huge ‘bag or superstar. I’m erring on the side of superstar. Although there is a key douchal signifier. Check out the Yankee cap. Et tu, Aussies?

The blonde Kylie Minogue is the real douche in this interview. “Take off those glasses and apologize!” What’s she going to do next, hang him out the window like John Cleese in A Fish Called Wanda?

Watch for the random cut to the naked guy running down the street: the greatest cutaway since the moon-eye splice sequence in Bunuel’s Un Chien Andalou.

The followup news report on our little Australian party ‘bagling is here.

Wednesday Limerick

In nightclubs there’s a troll named Drew,
Who drives around in his Suburu,
He tackles the pro-hott’s back,
Like Laurence Taylor on crack,
But his face pubes are the Greek letter for “eww.”

HCWDB of the Week: The Brick

It’s a landslide of bricks. A blowout for the orange body builder in the yellow thong, and the hottie brunette in my bathrobe sipping tea in my kitchen at 7 in the morning while I scratch myself and watch Sportscenter.

That is what’s she’s doing, right?

The ever present anonymous succinctly describes the appeal of the super brick doucherhero:

Brick…mainly because that pic best resembles the classic HCWDB pictures that I remember from my youth. You know, the ones that take place in some alternate universe where super hot chicks love having guys that look like Bowser stand next to them and leave the viewer questioning faith, humanity and how that guy gets into a tanning bed.

And, c’mon, yellow underwear.

The yellow underwear in the key doucherfier of this pic. Pro-‘bag? Perhaps. But who cares. Yellow underwear. Douche.

From a site-centric perspective, Brick also holds douchsappeal. As schwagle sums it up:

f you chopped up both of the Prompas and reattached them into a single Frankendouche, then fused its DNA with that of the legendary Pumpy, I believe Brick would be the result.

Very well said, schwagy. There’s something oddly familiar about The Brick. Like we’re being revisited by the ghosts of ‘bag/hott past in super pumped up “pro” form.

But the Alpha Beta ‘Bagga hotts and ghosts got some love. And by love I mean wood. Ron Douchegay puts it:

my vote is for Alph Beta ‘Bagga because i’m voting with my dick this week

Indeed, R.D. bernard mcshaughnessy concurs, laying the brilliant Pete Dougherty smackdown on the ghostfrat:

Gotta be ABB, if only for the Wannabe Strung Out Pete Dogherty-Douche on the right. He just snorted a whole box of Vivarin and is pretending to be, “tripping balls,” as they say, in his 1996-style Joe Boxer undergarments. White trash fraternities should all be abolished.

Indeed they should. I thought ABB had a shot at one of those “alternate” HCwDB Weeklys but now I feel guilty about leaving the Blowtorch and Sloane Peterson Hott off the list.

And by guilty I mean unshowered and smelly.

Persian Tom Cruise found less mocking, but hairy prodder lays down the case for the Thetan Warlord:

Bagnolia in a landslide. Brick is probably backstage at a bodybuilder competition, which may be his profession. May not even be a douche. ABB’s are just nerds, which is why the chicks are in to each other. Bagnolia is the definition of douche, and even though it’s early, should be remembered for DBotY.

That’s some lofty expectations there, H.P. Unfortunately, like the last few Tom Cruise films, ‘Bagnolia didn’t score at the Box Office as smoothly as the insemination of Katie Holmes took place in the medical office.

Or something like that. Hey, it’s early.

So give it up to the Brick. He may never replace Pumpy, but he is orange. And he is douchey. And she is mouth watering taste-the-rainbow hott.

Raise their jerseys to the rafters and stamp that barbell.

We’ll next see these two impossibilities commingling in the Monthly.

Chinny McAffleck

You almost got a nottadouche pass, Chinny. But then you had to go and frost tip that fauxhawk.

I curse your frosted tips and lust after Brunette’s mamm pillows with the schizophrenic logical fallacy solutions of a cracked up Bertrand Russell.

Yeah, I just made a Bertrand Russell reference. What, you’d have preferred Tyler Durden?

Where's Waldeeshe?

In this epic tribute to Sir Mixalot, I’ve carefully hidden two popped collar Waldeeshe.

Look closely.

Can you find them?

Catching an Abacrab

Reader Wendi writes in with a ‘bag capture story:

—-
I was at this party with my friends and noticed this cheesey guy in the corner. You could tell he thought he was all that. Anyways, he and his buddies were talking about other people at the party, about how in shape one was compared to the other.

– Wendi
—-

Nicely captured, Wendi, and you tell it so well.

The Abacrab move is a stage-3 Douche Alert. And I hate to admit it because she looks Bleethed out and trampy, but I’m kinda hot for 50s pin-up girl in a sort of Betty Page by way of Michelle Phillips way.