Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Future Shock

Yes, this is the Friday Haiku couple dekissed. And while X-Games Douche isn’t making the hand gestures, his aura remains a cloud of poo. That smells like Axe.

Someday, academic historians will study the media archives of the early 21st Century. And those academic historians will remark to themselves, “Great Gibbley Wibbley! The early 00s certainly were hottie/douchey!”

Then they will drink a cup of hot chicken fat and take off in their waterless levitating hydro-vehicles.

Because that’s what they do in the future. They drive waterless hydro-vehicles. And mock the hott/douche.

The Early Bird Special

Somewhere in Boca, in a gated little retirement community, Sylvia, Sidney, Thelma, Hal and Claire are wondering why Lenny is late for the 4:30 dinner reservation.

It’s $12.95 including a side dish, dessert, coffee or tea, and a mint.

You can even surreptitiously take home the Equal packets when the waitress isn’t looking.

But Lenny say, “Screw that.”

Good for you, Lenny.

Friday Haiku

Sideboob kisses tool,
Chinese letters read: “Gwai Lo.”
Red vest, Jesus cries.

moto-x douchebag
put down the hott and drive off
go jump grand canyon

— johnny scrotten

Hot Summer Lovin’
He Turns Cap Around ,Kanji Says
Lets Play Stink Finger

— douchenozzle

New X-Games event
for Summer 2008
the Canker Sore Swap

— douchetoevsky

It’s the same concept
as the “blue-blocker” glasses,
Hott wears “Scrote-Shield Shades”

— the douche is alright

how can I haiku
when I am lusting over
Nastia Liukin

— paper or plastic?

Wolverine or Jerzey?

Time to play another round of Wolverine or Jerzey?

Is the creepy douche pictured in the front of a gaggle of girls next door:

A. Wolverine

B. From Jerzey

Answer now.

The Halo Angel

He’s a stage-1 scrote, with hat tilt and kissy lips. Mildly annoying.

But she is an angel of geothermal delight and esoteric inspiration. Within that smiling face and bright shining eyes lies hope for a better tomorrow.  A glorious vision of a world of elevated thought, spiritual enlightenment, and playing Halo 3 using her boobies as the controller.

'Bag / Not a 'Bag

Here’s a perfect example of how it is The ‘Bag Within, not physical choice, that is the true mark of scrotewankery.

This guy has all the adouchrements for choad status. The hat tilt. The A/X belt. The clashing brand names of cultural validation. The Jesus Bling dog tag.

But something tells me he’s just going along with the douchal crowd. Like a gecko, he blends into his environment, but in actuality is harmless.

However, refracted douchology is still douche. So what say you?

‘Bag? Or nottabag?

The hotts are trampy cute. Tasty looking, but all sorts of scary unhealthy wrong. Like Twinkies. Or a Karadashian.

Scroteboy Slim

Headphone. Tattoo.

Mandana + Trucker Hat set at 10 degree tilt.

Shaved chest.

Headphone. Tattoo.

And a brunette vixen with juicy lips, a poetic Victorian face, and melons of glorious heavenly boobbounceage, whom I would cover with melted Chocolate Chunk from 31 Flavors and top with a maraschino, a sprig of parsley and a digeridoo playing Maori named Fred.

This toxic combo of hottness and DJ Scrote is enough to send a ‘bag hunter off to cower weakly in monastic silence, hidden in a cave somewhere in the rural Subcontinent.

But I will not cower. For this is our mission statement. To mock.

The Flaxen Temptress and the Hair Clown

Soft flaxen haired blonde temptress is a racoon eyed pokey little puppy of delight.

Hair Clown is only a stage-2 ‘bag. Sure he’s got the chin pubes neatly trimmed, the stupid ear bling and the spikey hair that looks like the grass in a Winslow Homer painting. But he hasn’t made the leap to the upper echelon of uberchoadwankery.

Which isn’t to say he won’t. Only that he hasn’t yet. He’s still developing.

Long Scrote The King

Darren writes in:

—-
DB1-
So I get a friend request on facebook from this girl that I supposedly went to hs with, but i don’t recognize her at all.

— darren
—-

That’s none other than “Hall of Scrote” member King Douchuous the IV, “The Hardest Working Man in Choad Business.” Nice to see King D hangin’ with the strippers.

Starship Douchers

This pic doesn’t even feel like it took place on planet Earth.

It’s like some horrible vision from an alternate universe. Some bizarro Heinlein short story about time folding in upon itself only to produce a meta-paradox of uberscrotewankery.

A young scientist who went back in time, stepped on a butterfly, and now all the men are orange lizardy douchebags, and the girls are Russian spies named “Natasha.”

The story ends with our time-traveling adventurer protagonist distraught, realizing the world he’d known is gone forever. All because of one butterfly and the paradox of time travel.

And now he must tan.