Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

The Pink Panther Strikes Again

Somewhere, buried deep beneath his Ed Hardy cap, his carefully sculpted facial scruff, his Megaman sunglasses and douche-face, there lies the soul of a poet.

And by poet, I mean steaming Latvian tree frog poo.

Kirsten Dunst wants to take me to meet Muffy and Buffy at her summer house in the Hamptons.

But what’s with the dirty foot tracks up the arm and across the Cleavite, Kirsten?

Reader Mail: Billy the Skid

Best email of the week:

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Ok, DB1. Before I get started, I would like to say that I love your site. The s@#t you say about these guys is so disrespectful, and yet intelligent and witty at the same time.

I am a faithful follower of HCwDB and as a fan, I would love for the opportunity to have my submission actually posted on the site. Thank you so much, DB1 and I will follow up with the website to see if my submission has been chosen. Peace
— Googie
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Ah, stories of the kids getting incarcerated while shirtless gangsta douches hook up with their girlfriends.

Heartwarming.

Like a John Hughes movie with a hip-hop grunge tip.

The Bostonbag

Snarky writes in from Houston, Texas, with an important new category: The Bostonbag.

—-
DB1-

P.S. And My God does she have that hot for teacher vibe.

—-

I hearby define the Bostonbag to be any douche not from Boston trying to claim vicarious sports allegiance and east coast “cred” by buying a cap or jersey.

Celtics, Patriots or Red Sox. If you ain’t from Boston, you’re posturing in faux “allegience” to try and cash in on a region’s sports success by posing in gear.

And really, is that any different than the bling/popped-collar poseur?

I think not.

She would shhhh me for talking in the library. And I would like it.

Tom's Youth

When Tom is 40, married with three kids, and working as a data entry supervisor at Initech while having lunch at Chotchkie’s, he will look back on his carefree youth with deep longing.

And I will be there.

To tell him he was a pud.

Orange Dave

PIC DELETED

Orange Dave knows who he’s voting for in the Weekly. Do you?

HCwDB of the Week

Your doughy narrator on all things scrotey/suckle-thigh, the DB1, is very hung over from a weekend carousing with cheap wines, impudent women, tasty Hostess snack cakes, and being chased on one ski by an angry paperboy demanding “two dollars.”

So, on that 80s Cusack reference, here’s your finalists:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: O-Prune

O-Prune is the classic ‘bag. A narcissistic sunkist orange, if you will.

This captured moment in time suggests a back-story of “x-treme tanning ™,” extensive manscaping using Gillette Crotch-3 razors, and far too many muscle milk drinks.

Never underestimate the added bonus of the hott with trust fund. As 1/2 of every Hottie/Douchey pic, these two cuties bring their A-game.

While O-Prine brings alien facehugger abs that have more ridges than Charles Bronson’s face in Death Wish IV: Senior Citizens on Patrol

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Scroteboy Slim

Headphone. Tattoo.

Normally I’d downgrage Scroteboy Slim to a stage-1 or stage-2 scrotal offense, since he’s not busting the face nor hand gestures.

But that tatt.

That tatt alone is a stage-4.

Plus that hat combo.

Plus the chest shave. Rank.

I heard some complaints that Paulina Boobiskova wasn’t up to snuff, and I couldn’t disagree more. She is a racoon eyed exotic eastern european weight lifter who could snap my lower spine like a twig during coitus.

For that alone, I’d buy her two thirds of a used Dodge Nissan and a vacation trip to sunny Delaware. Because hey, times are tight.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: The Hourglass and the Beachbag

For having a body that sends men into military conflict, The Hourglass earns our respect.

And by respect I mean crass, impudent boob lusting which disregards her as a person nor a fellow human and views her solely as a disembodied object of sexualized product.

Which is demeaning.

But understandable.

Because, hey. That body would fire up a 14th Century monastic eunuch named Herbert to compose love sonnets in Latin.

(Dis)honorable mention to Nipsy’s Bitchez and Hardcore Harry, who just missed the cut. Hard Core Harry is likely the famed Jack Scrotington, so may be in consideration for a career body of douchological accomplishment that deserves acknowledgment. Either HoS or a Douchie Award at the Douchies in december.

But them’s your three. Only one may win. And by win, I mean societal loss.

Honor the DB1’s lost weekend by voting, as always, in the comments thread.

Reader Mail: WWE Proto-Douchery

Baron Von Goolo asks:

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Dear DB1 –

P.S. Forgive me if you’ve already covered this question in the Douche Modernity section of your book. Even though I do have my own copy near and handy, I’ve yet to read it. I’m what you call a ‘visual learner.’
—-

The Baron brings up an important point about performative douchosity in the realm of the theatrical. There are a number of levels of forgiveness for those who make their living performing as a ‘roided up uberscrote within a staged or performative setting.

Thus, W.W.E. performers earn a nottadouche by the nature of their business. This also applies to some successful rock stars (not including John Mayer).

However not all performers are exempt from douchal categorization. Boy Bands are an automatic stage-4 violation. But there is a road for redemption even for the dreaded Boybag.

Some, like Justin Timberlake, began as a shining ball of douchal plague, and slowly gained a sense of humor and self deprecation enough to earn at least minimal forgiveness. Timberlake’s ESPYs gig was hilarious.

But the road from performative simulation-douche to actual scrote can also be gone down. If you starred in Predator, for example, and your last name isn’t Weathers, Black, Duke, or Stereotypical 1980s Hott Vietnamese Female Victim, you evolved from simu-douche into actual douche.

Yeah, I’m looking at you two, Body and Ahnuld.

Ay Chihuahua!!

Oy.

And if this video wasn’t toxic enough, you know things are bad when even the Stormtroopers are busting hand signs.

Friday Ramblings

Another excellent week of hottie/douchey mock, thanks go out to every ‘bag hunter who emailed in pics or just dropped a line to say hi to your stubbly narrator, The DB1.  

The Manchoadian Candidate

Orange Liev Schreiber!! I loved you in that movie. Where you played an orange.

Carly Simon on the left may have big chompers, but pout blonde shows me the Holy Cleavite, and for that I thank her ancestors.