Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Chad's Skull

For Chad Peterson Jr., nothing gets the ladies excited about his frosted tips on Spring Break quite like the Skull Shooter.

The Crotch Grabber

This douche might’ve gotten a pass for shirtless greasery, he is at the beach after all, but then there’s that headgear. That hair. That classic kissy-lips sneer. And that low hanging giganto-belt complete with self fondle.

You suck, Crotch Grabber.

The hott looks like Reese Witherspoon mated with an Olsen Twin. But she’s curvy and it’s Thursday morning. And he sucks rhesus monkey scrotum through a sippy cup straw.

So I’m going with it.

Wednesday Limerick

I’m deleting that last pic, “Save the Scrotes,” as that could’ve been an actual “special” kid. And I’m all about caring and sensitivity if the douchetards are actual tards.

Instead, here’s your Wednesday limerick:

A grease trucker in Vegas named Zack,
Thought chest tatts would make him The Mack,
He met French Veronique,
With boobs magnifique,
But she dumped him for smelling like Shaq.

Can you do better? Take a shot in the comments thread.

The 'Bag Headlock

We haven’t seen a classic ‘bag headlock in awhile, so I thought this one would do.

That slightly insecure forearm around the head of the girl that is meant to imply tough masculinity, but only conveys deep abiding nervousness that he’s going to lose her to the next dude who stumbles to the bar.

And you will, Punky McClean. You will lose her no matter how tightly you crush her head with your tatted up arm.

She may have a bit of that Jamie Lee Curtis androgyny sexiness, but I’m going with it.

On an unrelated note, check out the Scrotiest Video Since the ‘N Sync / Backstreet ‘Bag period of September, 2000, in which a poor black kid discovers he doesn’t need money to be happy, he only needs douchebags prancing on a beach. Warning: Not safe for cultural progression.

Lawnmower Man II

Lawnmower Man says, “You chose wisely. I am uberdouche.”

Either that, or some corn is stuck in his teeth, and the blonde is helping to get it out.

Cantelope Head

Your humble narrator on the dark cultural journey of hottie/douchey commingling, The DB1, just finished a round of radio interviews to promote the book.

So what better way to greet new visitors to the site then with a Ginormous Melon Head tackling a sweet pixie stick of sugar delight?

Lets run the checklist:

Forearm sweatband.
Giant bizarre shoulder tatt.
Douchebag headlock on hott.
Fwippy Fauxhawk.
Chin Pubes.
Unlight Cig.
Scissors in left hand about to stab hott in the back of the head.

Add ’em up = ubersquat.

HCwDB of the Week: Lawnmower Man

Yes, it was a slower week for hott/douche wrongness last week due to the July 4th holiday. But do not underestimate the early 90s bad CG powers of The Lawnmower Man. tsause throws down an emphatic vote:

You might as well throw this Debacle straight into the Hall of Scrote. I just hope he has a repeat appearance. Gang Sign, WristDana, Gayrings, Stupid Smerk, Tatts to go with Roid Arms and Flex. And do I even need to point out the 30 blades of Torrey Pines hole #16 on the dome of this Scrote. He reeks of Douche blood and is an instant classic.

I agree that there is much to celebrate in the 15th hole of Augusta growing on LM’s head. Wheatsocks explains:

When LMM goes to the laundromat he carries his 3 pounds of quarters in a dirty tube sock, thinking, hey, if somebody tries to rob me, I’ll hit them with this weapon i have created.

LMM FTW.

Suddenly it does make sense, excellent work, Wheat. But the lone scroat goes mullet:

Gotta go with Mullets, FTW. This picture has it all. Shaved head, Blackpool shirt, bling, URC, two hotts, a scrawny handlebar ‘stache, and most importantly, the air of “What the hell?” that is so important in a HCwDB composition.

I agree LS, the Mullet was an underrespected HCwDB pic, and by underrespected, I mean undermocked. And Baron Von Goolo explains the appeal of the Ass Pear:

I’ve started a collection to have that dumper bronzed and installed in a city park.

And usfhudson makes a compelling case:

Ass Pear FTW. For while the other scrotes may be douchier, the hotts don’t compare to the Pear. So it’s a middle of the pack douche paired with a top of the class Hott. Averaged out, that’s a winner.

But scare-a-douche sums up the victory for the Jamba Juice Head:

Which brings us to the Lawnmower Man and his carefully constructed atmosphere of assclownery. He clearly takes his inspiration from that robot fighter from Tekken. He dreams of one day beating the game on moderate difficulty with the Robochoad outfit and unlocking the Rehab arena where the winner is the last fighter to die from syphilis. The Bleeths are tasty, indeed, but the orange tint means they’re processed cheese and will surely give me intestinal discomfort.

Tekken references make me happy.

For those who wondered why no Lumpy Cheesecloth, lets not forget the hott side of the HCwDB equation. It is the rare Weekly Winner who can rise to victory solely on the greasebacks of scrote. Not to mention I couldn’t take looking at those shaved chests again. But perhaps the L.C. would have pulled off a victory.

But we must respek, this week the L.M. and his two hotts take the prize, and book themselves a slot in the Monthly in a few weeks. Wish them luck. They’re going to need it.

And by luck I mean shots of wheatgrass.

Slater Mocks a Homeless Guy

Ever wonder what it would look like if Saved By the Bell’s Mario Lopez and his posse decided to pose mockingly next to a drunk, passed-out homeless guy at 4am?

Well wonder no more.

On a site related note, I will be doing a reading and signing of my book, esoterically titled Hot Chicks with Douchebags, this Saturday, July 12th at 7pm at Book Soup in West Hollywood on Sunset.

If you’re in the area and would like to come meet the The DB1 in person, share a HoHo and a red cup of the ‘Train, and get a book signed, drop on by.

No more Punching Mrs. Kenner

Doggie ‘Bagged Hott writes in:

—-
PLZ REMOVE IMMEDIATELY

Thanks a mill
(the hott)
—-

For you, I’d remove my own appendix, Doggie ‘Bagged Hott. Consider it done.

To replace it, here’s a pic of a Randy Quaid dude who isn’t really much of a douche, but is creeping me the hell out.

Donkey Douche Lives

One of the first breakout doucherstars of this site, and an all time fave in the hallowed Hall of Scrote, Donkey Douche wanted to drop by and say “unggggh.” You can also see DD’s glorious ascendancy up douchal hierarchy here, here, here, and here.

And not only is DD dropping by, but bring The Holy Blue Triangle with him.

It’s sort of like discovering Winona Ryder once dated Corey Haim. Whole universes of wrong collide in space/time impossibility, leaving only a swirling vortex of illogic that smells vaguely like Axe, Red Bull and cherry lipstick.

Welcome back, DD. We missed mocking you. And while it’s true that I’d krunk dance across a field of angry snapping turtles just for the opportunity to masticate on HBT’s high school retainer, I would do so lamenting my loss of dignity the entire time.