Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Big Douche at the Scottsdale Bars II

Here’s another viral video produced to go with that great Scottsdale song parody, very nicely done.

Or, if you need a jolt of caffeinated scroadchoadpoo (without the hott chaser, sadly, so be warned), check out The Jerz Guido Street Dance.

Trashbags

The Southwestern Trashbag can be tagged using the following factors:

1. Boat
2. Visors
3. Muscle t-s
4. Bad Credit Rating
4. Unhealthy obsessions with 1980s WWF superstar The Iron Shiek

And then there’s the happy rural girl-next-door belle with the delightful smile who smells like Prell shampoo and Taco Bell.

She knows Trashbag sucks. But hey, he has a boat.

No More Quaker Scrote

The boobs featured in Wednesday’s Quaker Scrote pic write in:

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You have a picture up of me im wearing a pink dress and a jewish symble around my neck. It is illegal to use someone elses pictures without there consent and it better be removed immediately or i will take legal action asap.
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If there’s anything I’d hate to misuse, it’s symbles without there consent.

So since we’re going with the Moses Bling theme, here’s a suitable replacement.

Misc. Friday Stuff

Miscellaneous links as I clear out the pixel-attic on a slow, smoggy L.A. Friday:

HCwDB legend The Batbag is very excited about his movie opening today, The Dark Scrote.

The Oakland A’s are using Jerz Guids to promote bobblehead sales, disturbing a number of readers up in Oakland to send in this link.

NFL coach Mike Ditka Discovers Tanning Beds.

The musical guys at Foglizard wrote a song dedicated to HCwDB. I am honored. Anyone who rhymes “tan in a can” with “Grieco’s our man” deserves major props, and the whistle solo is genius. We need more whistle solos in rock. Basically there’s The Bangles’ Walk Like an Egyptian and Paul Simon’s Me and Julio Down By the Schoolyard. Need more.

Looks like Ken Pringle, the Mayor of Belmar NJ likes to make fun of guidos:

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In his weekly newsletter to summer renters, the mayor, borrowing a reference he thought was fairly commonly used in his town, and lifting an incident from “njguido.com,” described a certain type that descends on Belmar:

“They mean… pump their hair, spiked hair, chains… you know, big muscles,” Lupinacci said.
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Yes. Yes they do. And more from the Daily News:

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The newsletter also tossed a few darts at “Guidos” in town.

“They’re always tanned to the color of coconut shells and easily identified by their plumage: satin shirts and short skirts on the females; Armani Exchange T-shirts and artfully distressed jeans on the males,” he wrote. “The call of the Guido is bellowing, and frequently slurred, invariably starting with the sound, ‘Yo.'”
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Ever get the feeling Mayor Pringle reads HCwDB?

Nice to see The D-Neck Tee Shirt enter the lexicon, although I’d personally call it “The Gator Neck.”

Jules is so sexy, he don’t even need no ladies.

And then there’s the simultaneous slap/pie move which I can’t tell if it’s douchey or really damn funny.

Your humble narrator is coming off a very busy week promoting the book and other good things.

I sit and ruminate. I meditate and flatulate.

And all is good as the setting sun casts its rays through the smoggy underbrush of a city on fire.

Rudy's New Years

Nothing says classy New Years like frosting up them tips, undoing your shirt six buttons, and busting the Rosary Bling. Nicely put together there, Rudy. Aud Lang Syne never sounded so greasy.

Sweet Pouty Turkish Delight, drop the hirsute ball of grease and come let me rub chickenfat on your lower back area while seducing you with rose petals, caviar and a small Belgian tap-dancer named Jurgen, whom we would mock by firelight.

After four hours of chickenfat rubbing, we would retire to the living room to watch David Cronenberg’s Scanners in high-def, pausing on the head explosion for me to softly comfort your fears. You would then call a cab, and I’d have to watch the rest of the movie alone.

Dammit. Why don’t they ever enjoy watching Scanners after a delightful evening mocking a small Belgian tap-dancer?

Yup. It’s Friday. And your humble narrator has slipped on a pop-culture reference, tripped over two misplaced commas, and passed through the looking glass into pure incoherence.

Bugsy

Ladies, he’s not the coolest senior in your small Iowa farming community.

I know you’re impressed because he runs stop signs and once told the guy at the 7-11 to “eat me raw.” I know you think he’s the bomb when he freestyles to Lil’ Wayne.

But no, ladies. This won’t get back at daddy.

He does, however, feature stylin’ wood paneling from the Home Depot. On sale through Friday for $9.99 a yard.

Friday Haiku

Boobie Blonde says, “Shhh….”
Goose Runner in the distance,
Blue Hat, like douche moon.

retarded muppet
is offering up the goose
to bikini hotts

— johnny scrotten

everybody loves a clown
but not this time
back in the small car bozo

— douchetoevsky

Snapple crawls up beach
Tries to cop a feel of hott.
Kill him, Snapple, kill.

— mr. white

“Charlie’s Angels” hotts
who knew Charlie and Bosley
were such giant ‘bags?

-idahohottpotato

Fuzzy blue hat douche,
keep out of hottie sammich.
Reverse oreo!

— blair

Buffalo Scroteja

Dreadlocked Chinja…

J-Lo Milf is sweet, and has a lovely patch of pale cleavite, and maybe even a hint of Mr. Nipper, showing.

Yeah, I just said “Mr. Nipper.” My ancestors weep with shame.

But we haven’t had a Hippie/Rastabag on the site in awhile. Not even one who looks like Ram Sweeney in Heathers.

Caption This Pic

Jennifer had the distinct feeling that the Douche-Radar Antenna she bought on sale at Radio Shack might be busted.

Reader Mail: Henry's 'Bag Tag

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