Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

HCwDB of the Week

Your narrator in all things teat-party/Declaration of Scoadependence, The DB1, spent the weekend recovering from a nasty cold/flu, dazed out of his mind on the couch, and half consciously watching bad teen comedy movies on TBS.

But even in my Nyquil inspired daze, I still realized that Rob Schneider’s The Hot Chick was like a root canal to the soul.

That being said, my comments may be brief today, so pick up the slack and help me soldier on through. The good news is this is an excellent Weekly. And by excellent, I mean basic cable has too many commercials.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Inflation ‘Bag

The only downside of this otherwise perfect blending of hott, inflatadouche and creepy, hilariously awkward embrace, is the vaguely porny feeling we get.

I try to disqualify porn couples from contention, as calling them out for being greasy combos of hott/douche is like calling out the Quakers for being wussies who can’t take a beating.

Yeah, you, Quakers.

I’m talking about your mom.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Kid Scrote aka Two Boobs

Baw wit da baw, de bang de bang douchey douchey douchey,
Say that ‘baggy, said up jump the ‘baggy.

He’s like the Travelling Wilberry, if you merged Jeff Beck, Tom Petty, Roy Orbison, Kid Rock, and a gallon of southern douche grease into one person.

Then again, he’s kinda sweet. Underneath all that scruff and giant mandana, there’s just a kid who wants to rock.

She is down home key lime pie goodness, but in that inflated artificial sweetener, kind of way. Like Key Lime Pie with Olestra.

And boobs.

And a curve on her back that could melt ice and punch kittens in the snout.

Stupid cute kitten snout.

You deserved that punch, stupid cute kitten snout.

I have nothing else to add to this pic.

But since it takes up so much space on the page, I’ll keep rambling. Besides, my Dayquil hasn’t yet kicked in.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: The Saturday Yo aka Yo-Yo ‘Bag
PIC DELETED

I don’t think I realized the stealth power of this pic when I ran it on Saturday.

But really, getting back to basics, is there anything worse in a hottie/douchey coupling then what’s going on right here?

The sweet, innocent cutie with the crooked smile?

Yo MTV Douches, busting the worst hand gesture since Bob Dole let go of his pencil and tried to boogie at the USO dance?

Yup. The DB1 is cracked up on cold medications.

And them’s your three. This should be a tough contest. Any one of these three could win. But which one will?

Make your votes known, as always, in the comments thread.

Retro Douche: The Boz

Reader Danny Noonan writes in with an important retro scrote:

—-
DB1-

He wore a bandana religiously. He sported half-shirts and leather vests with no undershirt routinely. He wore tight fitting acid washed jeans. He inspired a generation of white guys to some horrendous fashion fauxpas (myself included). He was truly ahead of his time in his douchification.
—-

Excellent points Danny, and congrats on shtupping the forever ultra hott Lacy Underalls.

Football players, like rockstars, are given minimal leeway when it comes to scroting it up. But the Boz brings rank cheese to that rarified Billy Ray Cyrus level.

During the early 1990s “Famous Non-Actors in Action Hero Roles” film movement — what I like to refer to as the American Poo Wave, or the Cool as Ice Era — The Boz made a tremendously rank impact in the film Stone Cold. For that movie alone, we must clear space for The Boz in the rank of late 80s early 90s proto-douche.

When you see the 80s Boz Mullet Look, you realize that slapping The Boz about the head and face area with a smelly, dead, week old mackerel may be the only societal recourse.

The Saturday "Yo!"

PIC DELETED

If Yo-Yo ‘Bag here doesn’t fire you up while you enjoy your Frosted Flakes on a Saturday morning, I don’t know what will.

Pawing Brunette Vixen with simo douche hand gesture #162. It takes a certain talent. A douche talent.

Yo.

Knawwisayin?

Popozao Turns 30

Yes, Kevin Federline, the Typhoid Mary of Hollydouche, turns thirty years old today.

This is sort of impressive. Maintaining cultural puke status for such a long period of time demonstrates an almost supernatural ability to be a heaping serving of worthless whitetrash jello pudding pop.

You are an energy suck of all that is worthwhile after five millenia of human development, Federbag. You make me itchy. And not in a good way.

And yes, Paris Hilton is a ball of douchebaguette on her own. Together, these two make me want to spray Lysol into my eyes while scrubbing my crotch with a wire brush.

Ask DB1

Simon writes in:

—-
Dear Douchebag1,

Your thoughts?
—-

The first part of any healing process is admitting you have a scrotal grease problem. As you can tell by my moniker, every male on earth has douched it up in service of chasing the hott. It is part of any culture’s mating dance.

But this does not mean we can’t rise above our collective spectacle of media saturated club-poo and reach a higher consciousness. The first step, simply admitting your own prior greasebaggery, is perhaps the hardest. So kudos! You are on your way.

Secondly, yes, you must send me your pics. Through painful mocking, you will experience enlightenment. Just as beating your child will teach them to fetch you that beer, the mocking of the scrote is a form of negative reinforcement that, while painful, pays long run dividends.

Self Portrait

Like Dali and Picasso before him, Vinny wanted to capture his essence, and his girlfriend Jenny’s boobies, through the art of self portrait.

Friday Haiku

Could it be? It is.
He Just Bangs Bitches and Drinks,
Dollar Signs, Not White.

Ice cold juggsicles
Divert my attention from
Pimple-faced wigger

— maximum overdouche

He Bangs Bitches is
attempting to impress with
boobs of his sister

— anonymous

Girl is opposite
of tough, unchewable steak.
She’s super tasty.

— douche almighty

Repeat. I am douche.
Patrolling girls dorm for prey,
Chesty hott sprays mace.

— ‘bag lanta

Balding,baggy eyed vampire boy,
Blondies boobage too big,
Casket won’t close

— Marcos Douchebagdatis

Inflation

If we took our basic understanding of inflation and translated it through a genetic DNA metaphor, we’d have this spectacle right here.

They’re what happens when the dollar devalues. And by dollar, I mean boobies.

Someone grab that lightsaber on the table and end this thing like a Jedi Alan Greenspan.

Yeah, I’m making Fed jokes on the same day I’m featuring the Spitzer whore. Because I’m hung over. And large boobies excite me.

Mmmm… Librarian Glasses

Hipster Librarian Glasses. I forgot how much I love them on a perky young thing.

They just scream, “Spank me with your Dewey Decimal System, then ravish me behind the photocopier outside of the downstairs bathroom.” Mmm… delectable. Even on one standing next to a Nerd Kobra Kai.

'Bag / Not a 'Bag

I need a ruling on this one.

Yes, he’s got the stupid trucker cap at 10 Degree Hat Tilt. And yes, he’s got the ginormous watch and worst of all, thumb bling.

But I can’t stamp choad on this guy. He just seems too goofy. I was leaning towards a nottadouche pass, but figured I’d open it up for debate.

She is elegant, delightful and classy. We would listen to Puccini operas on my retro hipster record player while we nibbled on creme brule and discussed philosophy. And then we would mush chocolate criossants on each other’s lower abdomens while riding around the room on a sheep dressed in a garter belt.