Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

The Scrotal Spitsacks

On many occasions we’ve charted the correlation between the purchase/riding of a boat and extreme scrotal spitsackery.

Many a philosopher, from Thales and Anaximander through Gerardo and Color Me Badd, have waxed hypothetic if boatdouchery comes before the boat, or if the boat brings out the boatdouchery.

In Fast Times in Fresh Ink, pictured here, one need only count the plethora of silly tatts, hat tilt, hand gestures, douche-faces and implied viruses to realize the power of the boatdouche.

Then factor in two slutty hotts playing with each other and Ubiquitous Red Cup nervously monitoring the situation, and the picture becomes complete.

The boatdouche thinks, therefore it is.

The Glare of the Emo II

Sultry Suzanne is even hotter.

Emo is still glaring.

A Waldouche shouts “hey!” and then “ho!” in the distance.

And Suzanne’s friend Rachel likes pearls.

Flabio

Here’s the thing about Russian Mail Order Brides, Flabio.

They’re not impressed by your chin pubes.

They realize your sunglasses are glorified “Blu Blockers” with a designer label.

They think greasy hair is just plain gross.

So put down the Mojito, wash off the forehead grease and, fer god’s sake man, lose the tiny runaway chin-strap for good. By shaving it with a dull razor found on the Coney Island Pier. Which will give you the lip herp.

As to Nadja? Yes, please, with a side order of Borscht.

Puma Joe

Puma Joe discovered that nothing quite charmed the ladies like coffee stains in the hair.

Saved by Her Bells

Oh Mr. Belding, you wacky sit-com principal.

Tell Screech the new hairdo ain’t working.

On an unrelated note, The DB1 gets drunk with a writer from Metromix.

The Hott/Douche Singularity: Samantha Ronson

There’s been a number of emails lately discussing the disturbing topic of Samantha Ronson.

Since I’m not quite sure who she is (I have one theory that she co-starred with Christian Slater in Pump Up the Volume but that may be incorrect), I’m not sure what to add.

I figured I’d turn it over to the forum.

Is Samantha Ronson a next-generation evolutionary step in the merging of the boobie hottie suckle thigh and the steaming uberscrote?

Is she a Brundlefly experiment gone horribly wrong? Like Jamie Lee Curtis before her, does she hold both peepee and hooha?

Glare of the Emo

Emobags with anime hair are a definite stage-3 violation on the Douchal Hierarchy chart.

Emobags achieve a douche-face with neither kissy lips nor sneer. Their look says, “I don’t bathe because I protest a cruel and inhumane world, and I want to touch your boobies.”

Sultry Suzanne is that perfect mix of Quartasian with ripe, cherubic cheekbones and Mia-Sara-in-Ferris-Bueller hair.

I would sacrifice a confused Balisian rhesus monkey on a makeshift shrine meant to honor Thorax, God of the Inner Ear, just for the chance to summon rain clouds to water her garden petunias after she overslept after taking an extra xanax the previous night.

Wednesday Limerick

When Betsy Ross knitted a flag for the ‘volution,
She had no clue it’d be a scrote sack solution,
For Disco Ball Peter,
To show off his ant eater,
Made complete our societal devolution.

Mooby Dick

It’s 19th Century Herman Melville by way of late 20th Century techno D.J. recording artist Moby, by way of ‘roidy man boobs.

Really nasty Man Boobs. Moobs.

And a cute hair-scrunch brunette fondling them.

I didn’t think there was a way to follow up the Monthly victory for Droopy McScrote. Yet somehow this feels appropriate.

HCwDB of the Month: Droopy McScrote

While A.D: Artificial Douchetelligence put up a valliant robotic fight, and by fight I mean Cheetos Orange Residue, Droop and Surfer Kelly were far too strong a commingling to overcome, dominating in their landslide victory.

The everpresent anonymous makes the case:

While the dual belted A.D. makes me wish a pandemic outbreak of necrotizing fasciitis upon Jersey, it’s gotta be Droopy Droops for the month.

Word to your blubber Droops, keep living the dream…

Word to his blubber, indeed, Anon. The douchezetta stone agrees:

Although A.D. makes me want to vomit my Froot Loops onto my keyboard, it has to be Droopy FTW. On a hot scale, Kelly is the surface of the sun..while the Droopmiester is 0 degrees Kelvin… absolute ZERO. I would consider extreme forms of violence to pull surfer Kelly away from the Manticore-like monstrosity that is Droopy. Put a shirt on, Droopy.

But the lack of shirt is what renders Droopy’s delusions of grandblub so profoundly scrotal. As robert muldouche explains:

The Droop. He’s douching it up more than anyone else, his hott is hotter, and the contrast between his belly and hers is a marvel of the modern world.

But dr. engine disagrees, reminding us to consider alien warlords with tricked-out laser sighting:

Can’t give it to Droop. Amidsts a sea of washboard abs and Lasik Eye Surgery, he has boldy belly-flopped from the dock and caused a massive splash that surely soaked the scrotes around him. For this, I tip my Astros cap. And by that I mean Yankees cap, and say ‘good on ya.’ You can see the pain behind his gangsta signs, knowing surfer Kelly is waiting for her real douchebag to pick her up after his bouncing shift at Neptunes lets out. I prefer to give it to an oppontent who has all the chance in the world to score…who looks in the mirror and sees nothing wrong. Predator FTW!

But what of A.D.? Will this robotic douche machine from the future return for a special award at the 2008 Douchies? It’s possible. As aaronrear explains:

I’d say the Tangerine Twit, A.D., has nailed the essence of douche. He’s orange, he’s pouting, he’s wearing the strangest collection of unnecessary straps and studs and layers, and he sports the douche trademark shirt lift.

All I want to know is what the owner of the hand on the right side of the frame is saying…”Look at that scrote!”

Yes, A.R. Were he only to corral a hot like Surfer Kelly, he would’ve taken Droopy easily. But methinks we will see A.D. again.

However this is Droopy and Kelly’s moment of transcendent spitwater scrotosity. poop douchey douche makes the case:

Simply for the fact that Surfer Kelly makes my testes boil in a way no woman has since my third grade teacher let me lay under her desk for “reading time”, (Foot sniffing time)I vote Droopy FTW.

And the religiously inspired anonymous 3:16:

For me, AD and Droops are clearly the breakaways that the peloton of run-of-the-mill DB’s will never catch. But with 20 km to go, droop rides to a clear victory, leaving AD to only wallow in his pool of orange dye contemplating which Axe to spray and how to get hott’s like Surfer Kelly – perhaps a steady diet of White Castles and Cheetos…

Droops and Kelly FTW!

And steve zodiac takes it home:

For Droopy McScrote is the essence of this website: the difference between him and Surfer Kelly is like Night and Day, Acid and Base, the Pillar of Judgment and the Pillar of Mercy, all that is good and scrumptuous, and all that is vile, bitter, and pathetic. Here – BEHOLD! The failure of civilisation itself in one photograph of an overweight douchebag and a taut tummied hott with Big Fake Boobs.

Go home and cry.

As we shall. Chalk up a spot for Droopy and Surfer Kelly in the Finals at the Douchie Awards in December. They’ve earned it.

And by earned it, I mean stretch.