Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

DNA Dan

That reminds me… did I leave the regressive chromosome scrambler oven on this morning?

Wednesday Limerick

“Shockers for all!”, said the turd,
then signaled to the herd,
The drunk girl complied,
Like a beach at high tide,
And anonymous arms then concurred.

Funnybag II

If the site’s acting buggy today, I blame this tool.

I’m lookin’ into the usual Blogger software freezes, but drop me a line if the site’s particularly sluggish at your end.

And note that Ubiquitous Red Cup showed up to stamp Funnybag a Scrotey Tool. Not that there was any doubt in the first place. But Ubiquitous Red Cup never lies. It’s the Oracle of Douchosity.

Breaking: Pittsburgh Steelers Kicker Jeff Reed Still a Douche

When Pittsburgh Steelers kicker Jeff Reed first appeared on the site last year, shirtless and douching it up near the ladies in a bar, many chalked it up to a one-off.

Unfortunately, Jeff Reed is sill mandanaing it up in the presence of the hott, as this pic will attest.

Now granted he’s only a stage-1 douche, here. No real hand gestures. No douche-face. But she is lovely. And he makes a lot of money for having leg muscles.

So lets stamp choad on that belly, and hope he hooks it wide right.

Funnybag

One of the worst types of ‘bags is the funny/serious tool. The fratclown who thinks adding a touch of “the wacky” will help convince hotts that he’s not some humorlesss trust fund crypto-fascist metaphor for nuclear war.

Oh, Kendra.

Your parents had such high hopes when you went off to college for the first time.

Little did they know you’d be hanging in some creepy-ass basement with Trent Witherspoon, “funny” guy with the sexy stubble from Krappa Sacka Turda.

Don’t ride that Harley, Kendra. It leads only to disaster.

HCwDB of the Week: Pippy

Give it up to Pippy and Sultry Ski Bunny Perfection (SSBP), who combine all that is unholy hottie/douchey wrongness to take this Week’s crown and book a spot in the Monthly.

no country for douchebags explains the power of the Pipster:

This week, after careful consideration, I have to cast my vote for Pippy. Make no mistake; JP and Miami are thoroughly depressing. Both are blight on society at large for sure and I certainly cannot find fault for anyone who voted for them.

But in the end, neither JP nor Miami could convince me. When you are forced to look at ‘bag authenticity, no one holds a candle to Pip.

And that’s what it comes down to. Douchery as defined not simply by garish bling and the waft of Jersey seawater and Tag Bodyshots. But by the “douche aura.” As guyladouche puts it:

I want to initially dismiss Pippy as just too plain. But he’s obviously in a club…with a white deep V cut white shirt. With dogtags. (being in the military myself, that alone just screams imbecile) The Right Said Fred “I’m too Sexy” look with the half-assed hand gesture. Is he trying to be mysterious? Suave? Tough?

Well, he FAIL with flying colors.

Well put G la D. hue grand agrees:

My vote goes to Pippy. Johnny and Miami may be ‘bags, but they’re clearly weekend bags. For all we know, they lead normal lives, hold steady jobs, and go all out when the time comes. Pippy’s subtleness, however, tells me that he is a 24/7 douchebag.

Hue is keying in on an important point — the “pro” versus the “core” of douche. Some dress up on weekends, Paid to Douche (PTD) with Paid to Pose Hotts (PTP). These can still infuriate and rankle. But then there are the Pippys.

As douchetacular explains:

Some are distracted by his lack of douche acoutrement. Don’t be. He trascends the glitzy material baubles that others must resort to to acheive his level of vile, sneering choad. Like a shaman of scrote he has left behind the empty devices of the material world to become one with the oozing tide of douchiness welling out of every pore. He is pure douchebag in every pore. You don’t need hair gel to see it.

Well said, DT. However, the garishness of Miami Scammy won over many, including Julia:

I think Miami Scammy deserves the win. He clearly spent the greater part of his afternoon planning this look. Doesn’t that count for anything? His bagness is tight.

Indeed it is, Julia. Johnny Pirate, despite questioning our future as a species, came in a third, but with fervent support. mr. choad’s wild ride explains:

Mascara, no shirt, hint of undies from beneath ripped abs – awesome (if these were describing either of the Hotts with Pirate.) As it is, he needs to get hit in the face with a huge rotting sockeye salmon. Because I don’t really like salmon, and I hate him.

Pirate FTW

But et tu douche? sums up the Pipster and Ski Bunny’s win:

Pippy.

Ski Bunny’s adorability is enough to generate neologisms, and the power of Pippy is magnified by the impeccable sameness of image after deleted image. The face, the gesture, the head tilt, the hairless chest exposing v-neck, the dog tags, the hott. His pics in toto aspire to an entropy-defying Unity.

Chalk up a win for the Pip, and we’ll see him face off against Turd Flush in the next Monthly.

Razor II

Lest there remains any doubt as to The Razor’s scrotal wrongness, nor the snowcap melting hottness of his lady friend, this pic should satisfy both counts admirably.

Her thighs are like desert wind blowing through the cackle reeds upon a dew drop morning.

Bra!!

Bra is about to say:

1. Bra!! Another Pepsi, Broheim!!
2. Bra!! You see this chick I’m bangin’ with, yo?
3. Bra!! Dig my star tat, bra!!
4. Bra!! Did Nietzsche really posit a Godless universe, or simply a universe of moral absolution?

Holly's 'Bag Tag

“Holly” writes in:

—
Hey DB1-
Love your site!

Oh Holly, I will save you from this mugging using my special movie powers of plot point intervention. Just let me get in my time machine and go back to twenty minutes before the picture was taken. I’ll wait outside the door, then grease tackle Muscles McCool here, allowing you and your delicious cupcake friend to exit undisturbed.

Then, presumably, you’ll go home and massage each other’s thighs with Crisco, while I awkwardly watch from outside the kitchen window until your neighbor, Mrs. Crabtree, calls the police on me. At which point, I’d yell out “Whooooaaa!” and fall into the nearby garbage can.

Wait, is this my fantasy, or did I just land in a mid-1980s teen sex comedy?

Excellent ‘bag tag, Holly. Now get to a small cabin near a lake with your three hott best friends, and engage in a giggling pillow fight.

Caption This Pic

Luckily, Cheryl managed to find Robodouche’s “off” button before any real damage was done.

The Iowa City High School prom quickly spun out of control once someone smuggled in a Sharpie.
(douche diggler)

Pablo suffered a type II neck sprain while trying to avert his eyes from the hottie/douchie train wreck in front of him.
(douchey mcscroterson)

Backstage at the Menudo Reunion Tour.
(pfah)

Although Cindy was told she’d be working with a bow tied Staff for the Mexican buzz cut festival, the look on her face clearly shows her disappointment when she realized what the promoter meant.
(anonymous)

Bif, tired of accusations of illiteracy, inked his favorite Shakespearean character’s name around his torso, “Sir John Falstaff.”
(mr. white)