Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Hard Core Harry

Timmy's Skullz

Because when mom and dad are off at the work retreat in upstate Connecticut, nothing says “New Haven Punk” like the skullz shirt, Timmy.

HCwDB of the Week: Crapser The Douchey Ghost

This was a two couple race between the pale Crapser and Mamacita Hott, and the greased up Squidward and the surgically endowed Janice.

In a way, it was classic beachchoad versus the unhealthy rocker scrote.

Two disparate branches of the douchological tree going for the same prize. And by prize, I mean the lip herp. Bill Doucheterive explains why Crapser and Mamacita rise up as a fully superior Hottie/Douchey contradiction:

Crapser. Bigger douche to hott ratio. I would learn how to play the spanish guitar if only to serenade this lovely mamacita, then be told I called the wrong number accidentally and called a Mr. Edward Lonsberry of Bear, DE. and that I would incure several long distance charges.

I’m glad you’re appreciating the mamacita hottness, B.D., as I feel she’s been sadly overlooked, given the monstrosity she’s cuddling. Nick agrees:

Crapser – and it’s not close. That guy makes me happy to be sitting at home playing Wii Baseball on a Saturday night – because I won’t see him out somewhere.

Interesting use of the Wii functionality there Nick. crucial head agrees:

Crapser FTW. Carmelita my mocha love is the sort of lass that reduces normally well spoken gentlemen into an expletive laden stream of adjectives. He curdles blood at the precise moment one’s retinas begin relaying the patterns of light making up this image to the visual cortex.

Strong arguments all around. And apparently it was a Wii weekend for the readers of HCwDB, as El Duderino disagrees, casting in for Squidward and Janice’s two friends:

He is Captain Nemo’s worst nightmare. A mobile slip ‘n’ slide of terror that can only end in him jumping on a plastic lounge chair and breaking his arm…then try to get up and make it look like he meant to do that.

She is the definition of side boob. As much as she’s lying to us all with her surgically enhanced throw pillows, I’d still put my Wii Boxing training to good use and give her the ole ‘left/right’ followed by the ole in and out.

I see what you did there, E.D., jumping from Wii to Clockwork references. Planktony agrees, mesmerized by the large mounds of Janice in the presence of such a grease oven:

Squidward. While there’s ample douchiness in all three candidates, Squid’s hott is by far the most honeysucklethigh. And I can’t even see her thighs.

Akimbo or not, the giant orbs of delight are mezmerizing. I’d bus it to Bayonne wrapped in red jellyfish tentacles and spend all day drinking warm budlight on a cheezy boat tied up to three cheezier boats all blaring different house music if Nunzio told me she was so into tentacles that she wouldn’t mind the smell.

Much can be said for the power of the side boob.

However, I thought Velcro Flabulous, and especially his Nordic Delight, deserved more attention, especially with Donkey Douche’s approving presence, but they fell by the wayside. Hawthorne casts a dissenting vote:

Velcro Fabulous must win.

For a perfect storm exists, not only the utter douchery of wearing kids shoes to the pool, but the delightful innocence of the viking temptress, combined with the implicit approval from a HoF ‘bag. A home run….Nay a grand slam of douchbaggery

But it is the Crapser who takes the pale, unhealthily unpigmented douche cake this week. John Wilmot, 2nd Earl Of Douchechester explains:

It is rare indeed that a douche appears on this site who possesses that unique combination of scrotery and a comically surreal appearence that causes me to laugh out loud.

Crapser FTW

And LL E-Dogg takes it home:

I think, for me, it all goes back to the anarchic-douche. Trying to go against the system, and then trying to work it into your favor in order to score Carmelita Hott is the ultimate in hypocrisy. You can’t use the system to your advantage in this way, and still listen to Rage Against the Machine. I vote for Crapser!

Well argued LLED. Book Crapser a ghostly ticket in the monthly.

But fret not Squidward fans. Methinks Janice’s sideboob will be up for a Douchie Award at the Douchies in December.

Nipsy's Bitchez

Caption This Pic

How do you make “The Shocker” again?

Brothabag Union 112

Here’s Brothabag Union 112, on their coffee break, busy posing “gangsta” for the camera while a poor little slice of warm Chocolate Luv gets ignored in the background.

From left to right, Reggie Bush ‘Bag, Tracy Jordan ‘Bag and, at the bottom, Kadeen Hardison’s stand-in from season #2 of A Different World.

Behind them, The Rodriguez Brothers from Repo Man.

Because, like Miller says, the Lattice of Coincidence means the UFOs are really time machines.

Come to me, Chocolate Luv. I will treat you with the adulation you deserve, my nubian princess Aida. We will sing Disney sanctified songs of love, with proper merchandising tie-ins, in front of fat tourists, and then, back in the green room, I would lick your kneecaps while juggling retarded ferrets and a large vibrating egg.

Ask DB1: The 'Hawk

I am Jack’s Scrotal Anxiety writes in:

—-
Dear DB1,

I Am Jack’s Scrotal Anxiety
—-

This is a complex problem, with no easy answer, IAJSA. Since the ‘Hawk was once the province of punk aesthetic, it has roots in authentic counter-culture resonance (unlike, say, the “Kissy Lips”).

That being said, the plethora of fauxhawk and gelled up mohawks on suburban choadwanks have rendered its display fully enrolled at Summer Camp Douche.

As Dick Hebdige notes in his seminal book Subculture: The Meaning of Style, the absorption and reappropriation of counter-culture as a product by the market system represents the exertion of power structure within larger systems of control. All market based societies must rebrand and repackage that which it cannot control. This is inevitable.

In other words, there is no going back. The mohawk is an addouchrement, no different than A/X and D&G.

But this is not to say it can’t be reclaimed. Only that, as with any subculture movement reappropriated by mainstream, extraction from the entanglement of historical forces will be difficult.

And boobies.

Cro Booknan

A special tip of the Ubiquitous Red Cup to all who showed up at the Cutting Room last night for the reading. The turnout was overwhelming and it was a thrill to meet everyone and see the ‘bag hunting movement grow.

Also special thanks to Cro ‘Bagnon, who did not show up to snap my spine like a fetid tree branch from the crackling underbrush of the Serengeti.

Afterwards, as I walked home, I wandered into the Virgin Megastore on 14th Street and Broadway, only to be greeted by the following. The only way the night could’ve ended better would be if Natalie Portman, Mila Kunis and Bailey Quarters had shown up in librarian glasses to pelt my lower thigh area with crumbled Trader Joes Joe-Joes. It’s kinda hard to explain that fantasy, but it also involves a pogo stick, a gallon of chicken fat and a large Japanese wrestler named “Ugetsu”.

Speaking of the book, if you haven’t bought the book yet, isn’t now a good time to buy the book?

Book.

O-Prune

O-Prune, aka “The Orange Prune,” has no need for your admiration.

O-Prune cares not if you admire the cut of his jib or take umbrage at his stomach folds.

O-Prune dances to the beat of his own synthesized drum sample.

The ladies giggle in the presence of O-Prune’s orange chest reveals and stubbly kissylips. And O-Prune knows what only O-Prune knows. That O-Prune is the Orange Prune. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

Well there is one thing.

You can mock his douchey-ass.

The Hourglass and the Beachbag

‘Bag Hunting Rule of Thumb: Hair spike at the beach = uberchoad.

She redefines “hourglass” for the new millennium.

Not since Ambrogio Lorenzetti’s 14th Century painting, Allegory of Good Government has the hourglass functioned as metaphor for societal hope, good will, and really fantastic tatines dipped in butter.