Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Ass Pear

Your humble narrator on all things bulgey/curvey, The DB1, had a relaxing and celebratory 4th. Hot dogs were consumed, and the Los Angeles hotts were in fine form. URCs were held by all.

I’m not sure Inflatey McHulk here is a douche on any real level, but of all the little certainty I’ve gleaned on my short time on this earth struggling to find meaning in a confusing and amorphous universe, I do know the following:

Ass pear.

No More Clay

Not Clay writes in:

—-
Please remove the pictures “Clay” and “Clay II.” Those pictures are of me and my name is Matt, not Clay.

Thanks.
—-

I’m always a little disappointed when, after a douche-mocking, I get an email with no spelling mistakes and proper punctuation.

So to clear my mind, I decided to post a replacement pic and… mein gotts, it’s the lumpy cheesecloth doucheclowns again!!

Yeeeargh. Gurgle.

The eye gouger and memory erasure device, they do nothing.

Happy July 4th!!

From all the spikey haired speedo wearing scrotes with hotts, to you. Happy July 4th!!

As you sit on the beach with your Ubiquitous Red Cup reflecting on that complex history that makes up the United States of America remember the famous words of General George Washington as he stared down at the Red Coats from Bunker Hill:

‘Ere betwixt the dawning of a new nation and the end of a colony, if in ten score and thirty years greased up chest shaving blowout wearing douchescrotes are macking on the honeys, it will all be for naught.

Heed the words of General Washington, fellow ‘bag hunters.

Save a hott today. Knee a douchepoo in the nads. Intervene. Seperate the hott/douche couples with a fire-hose if necessary.

It’s your patriotic duty.

'Bag / Not a 'Bag

We’ve got the blowout, the silly jeans and some trinket bling. We’ve even got the shlong-n-balls mark of the ‘bag on the forehead.

But is he ‘bag? Lack of douche-face helps. Lack of stupid hand gesture helps more.

Since it’s a holiday, should we be magnanimous and give a nottadouche pass?

I’m leaning towards a solid no, he’s still a scrote, but as I’ve already begun my July 4th drinking, I figured I’d open it to the floor.

What say you?

‘Bag? Not a ‘bag?

She is a tasty tapioca rice pudding of dessert.

Thursday Haiku

Douche? Or just creepy?
With oh so teeth melt hottness,
so lets go with douche.

Wifebeater beckons
“Come to Jonestown; one of us!
“Mustn’t drink Tool-Aid…

— our fragile griecosystem

she looks like she’d talk
with sexy Russian accent.
jiggle my comrades.

— pfah

Euro douchebag takes
Pic of lovely chesticles
Babies gently weep.

— anonymous

Ansel Adams Douche
Narcissistic self portrait
His first nice funbags

— douche bigalow

Self-taken portrait
Eurodouche or Old ‘Bag? Hmm.
All I know is: BOOBS!

— scrotebob douchepants

Elton Jaun-dice Bag
This dude couldn’t score this Hott
Forty years ago

— anthony labaglia

Boatbags

Since the 4th is rapidly approaching, here’s a couple of boatbags proving the addage that one need not have douchey hand gestures, tatts and douche-faces to be at least a stage-1 scrotal toxic.

One need only have stupid sunglasses and chest shave.

Also, look for there “Where’s Walboobs?” as an added bonus.

Tiki the 'Bood

For Tiki the ‘Boodyshott, Tropical Island Douche-God from the ancient land of Delos, the acquisition of the town virgin took place on the dawn of every full moon.

In preparation for his journey, Tiki the ‘Bood would store walnuts and pfeffer seeds in a small pouch on his lower left side.

He journeyed far over lands dripped in the scent of Axe Bodyspray, perfumed plumages of douchal…

Okay, nevermind. I’m making no sense.

So lets wrap this one up by saying Blondie is hott and Tiki is poo.

Hey, whaddaya want. It’s the 4th tomorrow.

Lawnmower Man

Boy, Jamba Juice is finding some strange new ways to grow their wheatgrass.

Clay II

PIC DELETED

Lest there be any doubt as to Clay’s doucheyness, nor Clay Hott’s Hottness, lets put that to rest with a giant Hayao Miyazaki drawn horse-human drinking from a clear stream in a forest.

And yes, I’m aware that I’m stretching the already tenuous relevancy of anime references well past the point of breakage. But we’re coming up on the July 4th weekend, and your narrator, The DB1 has had a few too many fried oyster po’ boys already.

Clay

PIC DELETED

There’s something vaguely anime/manga about these two.

I can’t tell if it’s a rocker scrote pawing a bar hott somewhere in the South, or if four ambiguously Asian pre-pubescent samurai girls with large eyes are about to fly through the air, morph into robots, then attack a giant squid creature with phallic tentacles.

But Clay, word to the wise: pink lipstick is neither a little bit country, nor a little bit rock and roll. It is only skeeze.

EDIT: Reader Snoop Douchey Bagg makes the Jimbo Jones connection.