Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

DJ Dave Wants a Sweat Girl

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yo yo wadd up wad up…..my name is dave aka dj dave cue… i no most people know me and talk shyt about me because there all haters… i am a dj and i am a resident in many parties that clubhardnyc runs thats the main part… I want a very nice and sweat girl who knows how to treat a boy right… . many girls say they do but there just a waste of my time
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What people don’t understand is that guys like DJ Dave and He Just Bangs Bitches and Drinks really aren’t all hard gangsta playahs all the time.

Deep down, they really just want a sweat girl.

Orange Chicken

When not busy mugging a curvy beach volleyball player from Redondo Beach, Lyle Lovett Orange Chicken Douche knows who he’s voting for in the Weekly.

Do you?

HCwDB of the Week

It is a week of smelly seafood crusted hair gel and too much Drakkar Noir commingling with the lusty form of female youth and healthy womb that inspires hope in our collective life journeys. Within this dialectic, between boobie and greasy, we find enlightenment.

I dedicate this greasy selection of soul-crushing uberdouchery in the presence of the boobie hottie suckle thigh to the legendary vision of Fish Slap, who (dis)graced us with his presence on Saturday.

But lest your humble narrator continues to ramble, here’s your finalists:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Squidward

Okay, so maybe the Spongebob character has more of a theoretical relationship to this choad than an actual physical resemblance, you be the judge.

For Squidward, the grease factor is off the charts. All you have to do is compare it to the taut, soft, yet spongy, yet lightly cocoa buttery butter rub belly on Janice, and you’ll…

I, uhm, lost my train of thought.

And yes, Janice may have had “enhancements” to her curve. And while I normally take aesthetic umbrage to the need for females to add artificial implants to their form, in this case I will make an exception.

By which I mean I would rub melted brie cheese left in the sun for four months on a toxic decaying alien inside the truck of a Chevy Malibu just for the chance to pass within ten feet of her plastic surgeon at an insurance seminar in Biloxi.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Velco Flabulous

Velcro Flabulous and Swedish Death Hottle have all the makings of a classic HCwDB atomic meltdown.

The flaccid douche in the presence of curvy lickable perfection. The Pokey Little Puppy underwear. The stupid hair and sunglasses. Velco sneakers at a pool party.

And that Swedish square chinned Nordic beauty in tighty mini-hot-pants that would make Himmler swoon with anticipation of procreation for the good of the Reich. She is delightful.

But then we have one potent wildcard in this pic: None other than Donkey Douche. In the background.

Has a Weekly pic ever won based on having a hallowed Hall of Scrote member in the background?

It’s like getting Michael Jordan to be your backup point guard. It’s like casting Salma Hayek as an extra in a Russ Meyer film, but keeping her clothed.

It’s like… another analogy where someone with prodigious talents isn’t the focus.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Crapser the Douchey Ghost

The third strong finalist in this group. Crapser brings the creepy, disturbing rocker douche to the fore of our discussion.

And let us not underestimate Carmelita’s hotness. I heard some complaints in the comments thread that she is not hot. Lets set the record straight right now. Just because she is not Nordic Blonde does not diminish the severity with which I would nibble on that shoulder for a month straight until I grew delirious from malnutrition.

She has skin of golden hue, and an ass that ain’t no donkey.

He is a roly poly ball of translucent ghost-like Amish Scrote.

But does Crapser have enough to take down Velcro and Squidward?

Did that last sentence contain enough actual words to constitute a sentence according to grammar laws?

I know not the answers to these queries. I know only that three hottie/douchey couples enter, but only one can triumph. That, fellow ‘bag hunters, is up to you. Who will win? And by win, I mean we all lose.

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

HCwDB in NYC — Monday August 11th

Wanna know what the rest of this tri-leatherband choadwank’s shirt says?

Come Monday night and find out.

Your humble narrator on all things scrotey/boobie will be doing a reading and book signing of my book tomorrow, Monday, August 11th, starting at 6:30pm at The Cutting Room on West 24th Street in Chelsea.

Admission is free, there is a glorious cash bar with many cheap wines for sale, and I will have copies of the book for sale as well. Or you can bring your own to have it signed.

There will be HoHos and even Ubiquitous Red Cups of Night Train as we pontificate, ruminate and flatulate on all things hottie/douchey in today’s global scrotal plague.

C’mon.

You know you want to come, New Yorkers. Mocking the Hottie/Douchey phenomenon with a group of like-minded friends is a cathartic and enjoyable experience.

Don’t make the DB1 feel lonely. Come say hi.

Exploding Head

Poor Karen.

Little did she know the guy she met working the 2am shift at Hooters would spontaneously combust into a ball of frost tipped douchal suckitude.

Fillet of Fish

Legend of Douchuous Shaved Chest, Hall of Scrote enshrined member and iconic choadwank, Fish Slap will not be denied.

He is on a mission. A quest.

He will find a sexy young thing.

And in her presence, he will tilt his hat.

Do the Douchle!

Da da da de da da da da dah, da da da de da da da da dah…

Do the Douchle!

Friday Riffs and Hand Grenades

So how did Chet and Cynthia get their hands on the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch?

That’s right. Busting the Python references on a Friday. Because I’m on a movie reference kick.  

Riffing the pop culture froth and detritus like an MST3K Sliver Surfer on Benzedrine. Surfing the wave of indexing and callbacks through the prism of comic book culture and pixelated noisewash in the downloadable age. Where bodies are canvasses and name brands are eroticized extensions of the self.

Where the masses are confused and the rest of us know that John Mayer couldn’t hold Stevie Ray Vaughn’s jock, that Desmond was the coolest character in Fast Times at Ridgemont and that the only truly great comedies after the glorious Landis Run ended in 1988 were A Fish Called Wanda, The Big Lebowski and Office Space.

Those of who know that all it took to seduce drunk Sarah Lawrence girls in the early 00s was a box of wine and a Mazzy Star CD. Set on shuffle. And repeat.

It’s Friday, and your humble narrator, The DB1 ruminates on the scrotal plague of the nation’s hottie supply and wonders if the E.P.A. will ever get around to monitoring Axe Bodyspray as a national pollutant.

New York is beautiful and loud and noisy, and I enjoy my Bistro Burger at the Corner Bistro and wonder if there’s a bug spray to remove the Bridge and Tunnel crowd.

Crapser The Douchey Ghost

Crapser, the douchey ghost,
The douchiest ghost you know.
Though grown-ups might
Look at him with fright,
This hott will vaguely tolerate him so.

Grown-ups don’t understand
Why this hottie vaguely tolerates him the most.
But the rest all know
That he’s too old to be carrying on like a 19 year old punk and seriously needs to shave that chin,
Crapser the douchey ghost!

Some Vegas Guy Nominates Himself

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Just finished reading your article in the Las Vegas Weekly and it was F@#king Hilarious.

— Michael Todoran
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Yes. Yes you do qualify. And while a sense of humor and self-deprecation go a long way towards redemption, you still appear to be ass-scrote. Ipod in the clubs with cig = uberdouche.

Not since RZA and GZA outed Bill Murray in Coffee and Cigarettes have I been so sure.

Can’t tell on your hott’s quality from the pic, but she is giving off a bit of that Julianne Moore in Vanya on 42nd Street “sex kitten with class” vibe. By which I mean I would circle her squares while Stanislovskian her Meisners using the method.

And by method, I mean boobies. Because Julianne Moore has nice boobies. With freckles.

I’d cram another obscure movie reference in to this post, but I can’t see how to do so logically. So I’ll conclude by esoterically pointing out that Anthony Edwards was great in Miracle Mile.

Yup. I seriously need to get out more.

Stupid cozy couch.