Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Tumnus the Fawn

Just landed on the East Coast for more book-stuff, and while I just missed the Los Angeles earthquake, I sadly did not miss avoiding having to look at Tumnus the Fawn in my in-box.

Yes, this woodland creature from the Scroticles of Chlamydia is actually making make two simultaneously annoying ‘bag hand gestures (#22 and #84), while copping a feel at the Arizona State Cheerleader tryouts.

Let ’em go, Fawn, or I’ll force you to read warmed over creepy Christian subtexted fairytales from the 1950s until you itch.

Reader Mail: The Ex-Bag

laughing her ass off in vegas sends in an ex:

—-
DB #1-

love,
laughing her ass off in Vegas.
—-

I dunno, LHAOIV, I’m inclined to give a nottadouche pass and compliment him on the choice quality of the brunette. But I am transfixed by the club. Is that a cross between a dance floor and The Museum of Natural History? Are those lilliputians building condos in the background?

Caption This Pic

To prove his hunting prowess, Ken showed two Pool Hotts where Ubiquitous Red Cup likes to nest, and Kimmy plucked two for the road.

Reader Mail: Tagging Mystery

Reader Shia Ladouche tags the biggest ‘bag of them all:

—-
DB1-

Keep on mocking the douche and lusting the hott,
– Shia Ladouche
—-

Mystery’s fundamental philosophical flaw is in assuming capturing the boobie hottie suckle thigh validates all. The hott does not validate the self. One can achieve a hott without douchal plummet. That is the the triumph over The ‘Bag Within.

Excellent work, S.L. This is one of the highest ‘bag tags possible. It’s like knocking out Mike Tyson in Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out.

The Double Vulcan

This may be the first time ‘Bag Hand Gesture and Nerd Hand Gesture have merged.

Here we see Braden’s “off-the-hook” pool party at his house while his parents were off recuperating at The Betty Ford Center’s Dry Wasp House for broken down Brahmins.

Braden greased up, busted the bling, and talked two exchange students into stripping down.

But the “Double Vulcan,” Braden? Really?

How do we rectify the Douchal and Nerdal in one singular event? Could Braden be a secret Comicon Attendee?

HCwDB: The Book

Brian writes in:

Fermented Mead

13th Century Zoroastrians living in the Rhineland believed that inducing hallucinations of hottie/douchey couplings by drinking fermented mead and licking a tree frog would lead towards enlightenment.

That is, until Priest Vinny set the congregation straight. Legend has it, he screamed, “Facial Pubes are Douchey!” before collapsing from a seizure, shouting incoprehensibly in tongues, and eventually dying from consumption in a nearby sanitarium in Brottenberg.

Yup, I’m making no sense.

That’s what happens when you travel and stare at a hott mugging at the same time.

Farmboy Mike

I get that Farmboy Mike is excited to be away at college for the first time and thinks a bandana around the neck will make him look more “gangsta” for the ladies.

I even get that Farmboy Mike wants to display a giant Cross like Emperor Constantine right before massacring a bunch of Franks in Gaul in 306 A.D.

But what’s with the giant ball of suspended hay?

Stare at it long enough and the metal begins to form a face. An evil cat face. Now I’m scared.

Hold me, Kimmy and Shelly. Put down the Red Bulls and hold me tight.

And by hold me, I mean let me lick your Freshman Econ 101 textbooks for fingerprint residue.

On the Choad

The San Francisco reading/signing was great, thanks to all who showed up, mocked some ‘bags, and enjoyed a tasty HoHo.

The “On the Choad” pic featured here wasn’t taken at the signing, but felt apropos anyway.

I love this city, in spite of the occasional hippiebag, beatnikbag and, of course, the residue of the dot-com trustafarians from 2000.

Your humble narrator is off to NYC in a few days, as the book continues to spread our gospel through the lands of Grieco and Bleeth.

Speaking of HoHos and Night Train, reader Joey Buttadoucheo snapped this pic of the signing table. And proving that great minds think alike, here’s a pic from the L.A. Signing that a reader named “Boz” snapped. Love it, nice work Boz. Now shave that mullet and get back on the football field.

HCwDB of the Month

Here it is, fellow ‘bag hunters. Live from San Francisco. The moment when the four couplings of grease and boobie come together to Bodyspray off for title of HCwDB of the Month and a slot in the Yearly at the 2008 Douchies in December.

Which of these four couplings most personifies all that is wrong in a culture of spectacle gone scrote?

That, fellow ‘bag hunters, is up to your vote. Here are your four finalists:

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #1: Predatorbag

Because I never get tired of shouting Get to the choppa!! and because the 1985 macho classic remains indelibly linked to my childhood, Predatorbag deserves respek.

He is the bastard love child of Ahnold and the Predator. Half human, half four jawed alien Rastah hunter.

Pitch it in 50 words or less, Mr. Silver? He is “World’s Most Dangerous Game” meets “Platoon” meets “Saturday Night Fever”!

If it greases, we can mock it.

She may not rise to a state of pure feminine ivory snow, but she is still soapy. She can offer rays of hope in a dark, thunderous storm.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #2: A.D. Artificial Douchetelligence

What is a spectacular sample of otherworldly robotic uberscrote is hampered only by a high Bleeth factor on the girls.

While many pics have risen purely on the power of the douchal blight or the sexy hott, it is in the combination, the dialectic, between both that we find enlightement.

That being said, A.D. is so fantastically wrong, is such a perfect embodiment of all that is American Douche, it is hard to deny his uniqueness.

The girls may be 18 and already dropouts from the Long Island Institute for Follicular Studies, but they do have a certain bouncy charm.

But enough to help A.D. take the Monthly?

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #3: Lawnmower Man

Our third titular reference to a classic sci-fi movie (and I really need to find other genres to crib from), The Lawnmower Man may be the only scrotal contestant on the site to purchase the Weed Wacker instead of the Flowbee.

I would ask Jamba Juice to make me a shot of wheatgrass from that fungus on his head. But it would probably taste like shoe.

However we must deduct points for the potential costumeyness of St. Patrick’s Day. But then we add those points back when we realize Lawnmower Man has a second, even douchier, pic, complete with hott licking.

But enough to take the prize? He has to be ranked as a longshot. But Reese is delightful. Can Lawnmower Man pull a Buster Douglas and take down the favorites? It’s happened before.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #4: Droopy McScrote

The odds-on favorite to take the prize, Droopy and Surfer Kelly were immediate hits when they first appeared on HCwDB.

She, for the toned, taught body and walnut crushing thighs that promised hints of a summer breeze by the shore while lying languidly on a beach towel, followed by nights of spanking your bottom with a extra-long piece of licorice while calling you “Thor the Ass Hunter!”

He, for the stretch marks and aging gangsta choadishness.

This is a mighty couple indeed. But the winner isn’t announced until the votes are counted.

Will the Monthly go to the alien shirtless Predatorbag? Or the robotic A.D. and his double serving of trampy hotts? Will it be the Lawnmower Bag? Or do Droopy McScrote and Surfer Kelly overpower all?

That, fellow hotts, ‘bags, ‘bag hunters and midgets named Pepe, is up to you.

Vote, as ever, in the comments thread.