Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

The Fondle of Wrong

Ever feel like you’re watching a mugging take place in slow motion but you’re powerless to do anything?

It’s all in the placement of his hands. Not quite a violation, but all sorts of wrong. Maybe her Wonder Woman bracelets can protect her.

It’s Saturday and your humble narrator in all things boobie/tribal-tatt, The DB1, wonders if Spielberg and Lucas can come up with any other plans to retroactively rape any more of my childhood memories.

Maybe they can render some CG images of the Dallas Cowboys gang raping my childhood Teddy Bear, Winky.

Grocery 'Bags

That reminds me, has anyone seen my grocery bag? The one with the two perky oranges I was going to squeeze, and the forty moldy potatos I was going to throw out before they made a “Westside”?

I know left it around here somewhere.

On an unrelated note to bulgy wrongness, a major shout-out to G4’s Attack of the Show, which gave the site a major plug on Thursday.

Featuring both the AB Lobster and Bra shows that G4 knows what’s up. Watch the Clip Here.

Portia and the Westsiders

Is Portia trashy in that 80s Heather Locklear bleached blond way?

Absolutely.

Does she talk in an annoying voice and whine about how her trust fund doesn’t cover the Cabo expenses for Tiffany and Claire? Of course.

Do these homie whiteboy fratdouche twatnecks deserve to be doing shots with her in a basement in Trenton? Not by the hairlessness on their chinny chin chins.

And by chinny chin chins, I mean scrotundae.

No Friday Thoughts today. The DB1 is pensive and contemplative. But mostly drunk on fermented hops.

Swedish Fish

Froggy writes in with a Swedish ‘bag tag:

—-

hey DB1,

— froggy
—–

I can smell the eurodouche aftershave right through the screen. What happened to you, Sweden?

Oh, that’s right. The Grieco Virus went global.

Potbelly II

Upon a second pic review, there is now enough evidence to stamp Potbelly at least a stage 1-2 ‘bag. At first I was prepared to give a nottadouche pass, he really just seemed like the luckiest dishwasher ever.

But then Potbelly II revealed what many in the comments thread suspected — the Tri-Vag Facial Landing Strip configuration.

But in spite of stage 1-2 ‘bagdom, he’s still earned props. For she is a bottle of delight wrapped in hott bubble wrap.

She is Joy Bunny.

And Joy Bunny is my new Kylie Minogue hott obsession. That ass is a trampoline upon with Lilliputians would find hours of relaxed entertainment. I would flay piglets by firelight just for the chance to convince her dentist to give me a root canal with the unwashed scraper from her last cleaning.

And for that, Potbelly, even with the Tri-Pubes and stupid-ass ‘beater, has earned my respect. Now if only he’d fall off a cliff.

Cookie Puss

I always wondered what ever happened to Carvel Ice-Cream’s greatest birthday cake of all time.

Who knew three college hotts in Florida would find Cookie Puss hiding out as some dude’s overdeveloped ‘roid-chest?

Friday Haiku

Skinny ‘bagling with
scrolling message belt buckle:
“going home alone.”

four pairs chunky thighs
will crush high school stripper boy
justice will be served

— ‘bag lanta

WhiteSnake groupies hot.
“Here I go Again On My Own”
Douchebag roadies score.

-BJL

*HOOOORK!!!!* *cough cough sputter*
*pant* I’m OK, I’m OK..
I just need a…*BLEARGHHHHHHHH!!*

— mitch meats

Tommy Gun Drive By.
Call Jimmy the Boob Lover
And go get the car.

— Rare Black Cup

white pants at half mast.
mourning death of fashion sense.
blonde wants panties back.

— ted theodore scrotgan

The white Tayshaun Prince
You are way out of your league
Eat some pierogies

— bmt

Scrote Times at Ridgemont High

I could be mistaken, but is the the first time the cheesy Inland Empire Mandana of Skeeze has crossed streams with the party-boi DJ Miami Mohawk of Grease?

And did it have to manifest on Mike Damone from Fast Times at Ridgemont High, twenty five years after he became manager at the 7-11?

I know times are tight, man. But if you’ve still got any Blue Oyster Cult tickets, I’ll meet you outside the arcade.

But does perky Paid-to-Pose Cheerleader get a Ridgemont hall pass simply because she’s hoping her four hundred bikini pics on MySpace get her noticed by 944?

Probably not.

Potbelly wins the Prize

Dammit, somebody better give me a reason to label this guy a ‘bag, because other than a bit of grease and a ‘beater, I’m not seeing much.

But for him to get away with snagging that prize, I need something.

Help me out, people.

Don’t let me give this guy a nottadouche pass. Come up with reasons to stamp choad, as the fact he’s being embraced by that bouncy, arching rump roast will haunt my subconscious for years.

Like that creepy episode where Arnold’s shirtless friend Dudley got fondled by an old guy on Diff’rent Strokes.

I’m still in therapy working out ever having witnessed that as a kid.

Melvin

That strange impulse you’re feeling is called “sexual attraction,” Melvin. Now try not to spill anything.

On an unrelated note to Melvin (whom I loved as Scooter in the late 90s straight to DVD classic The Muppets Douche Out), we now have definitive proof that fans of HCwDB are of the highest social class and refined tastes.

If you don’t believe me, go right now to the HCwDB Book Pre-Order page on Amazon and scroll down to check out what “Customers Who Bought Items Like This Also Bought,” and you’ll see what I mean.

Remember to always use a pearl spoon, kids. And by pearl spoon, I mean boobs.