HCwDB of the Week: Acey Douchey
In a tough three way battle between three worthy hottie/douchey couplings, the ubersquat nature of Acey Douchey, posed or not, was too much to overcome. The debate was furious, but the people have spoken:
marita: They’re all sooooo good. But Acey Douchey is the only one that made me drop my jaw in cortorted horror. FTW. Jesus Christ Bananas.
dj douche: Acey Douchey for owning one of those gay-ass CDJ-mixer combos, and taking it on a boat. You know he used it to mix (badly) Li’l Wayne and that stupid Kanye West Daft Punk song.
jw: The poor guy is clearly as empty as a human being can be, the sunlight is causing him to lift off like a balloon. The bleeths and vodka clearly aren’t enough ballast, so he brings a gun into play and tethers himself to a mixer/turntable set to keep him on his boat.
douchngton chodeskins: Great Oden’s Raven, Acey Douchey just stabbed my soul with a jagged scepter dripping with forehead oils more pungent than the vile slush endured by the gluttons in Dante’s Third Circle of Hell … he also sucks chode.
cock-a-doodle-douche: Acey Douchey. I’d have voted for somebody else if he had been wearing both gloves.
douchemaster flex: My vote goes for Acey douche. Cause even though it is staged, (dollar bills on the left have the 1 dollar folded over so you cant see them) our man here has replicated the essence of why this site was created. I mean this is true mugging. Choke hold on girl on the left. Holding girl on right at gunpoint. And extraction of money from where those hott’s keep it. This and the look of the hott on the right, the seductive cat like stare. Arched back. Yeah we have a winner.
nook ladouche: Acey ftw. Gun, Grey Goose, God-damn you. Those hotts could’ve stayed in school and become either that hot barista at Starbucks or my niece’s preschool teacher. Instead, they are mere damaged goods, compliments of the anal wart on two legs.
But the “fake” debate will rage on, and rightly so. Is performative douchosity still enough to inspire authentic rage? As the everpresent anonymous argues, yes:
Serious or not, Acey Douchey is the biggest douche here. My vote goes to him.
Indeed. Even fellow DJ’s revolted. adrian.w. explains:
As a DJ myself, and one who likes to: a) stay in the dark corner and let the music speak; b) let the people (especially the Hots) enjoy the music; c) try to avoid oozing douchery from every orifice onto nearby Hots; d) wear a shirt; I feel Acey is making a mockery of what many talented DJs have worked years to establish.
Yes. Yes he is. Between Acey and DJ Bello, this has been a dark week for the D.J. profession.
But both Kenner and Sideburn Harry were worthy finalists, and found their fervent supporters. king douchankhamun votes for the robotic toy with the perfect Barbie hott, Kenner:
Kenner ftw. I don’t know weather you’re real or a mannequin or if realdoll started making guys. Either way I cast upon you the Mummy Curse of King Douchankhamun.
Lets hope it makes a difference, King. And fabled ‘bag hunter darksock lays the smackdown on the toy action figures:
The Kenner has less chest hair than an octopus dipped in a vat of Nair; less chest hair than Michael Flatley after river-dancing through a swimming pool full of disposable Bic razors; less hair than Paris Hilton’s rhesus-monkey-lipped poon 5 minutes before leaving to go clubbing on a balmy L.A. Saturday night. His front is the yin to Robin William’s back. He has no pores, hence he must sweat through his urethra just as manatee do. His testes shine hairless and proud, like two peeled eggs, oiled and boiled and hanging low over our heads like twin Swords of Damocles, except they in this case would be custard-cudgels, about to mount an insurgency into the equally grassless savanna that is Jenny’s kielbasa garage.
For the love and honor of all things hirsute (Sarah Silverman’s vag) we must rise, as does bile in a wino’s gullet, and spew our hot chunky justice across this land.
Spew that justice. With a vote for the Kenner.
A genius smackdown by D.S. But lets not forget the trouble with Harry. don’t bring me dowwwwwn, douche! (great song ref, btw), reminds us of the innovative sidekick move:
Sideburn Harry. Many reasons, but the clincher is the “I gotta take this very important call while I have a total hottie right in front of me.” Oh, and I MUST snap a pic of it.
Gotta find a 2008 Douchie Nom for Most Innovative New Douche Maneuver for S.H. creature rightly points out the quality of S.H’s hott:
Sideburn Harry is the rockabilly bag I would love to play ball-peen hammer pinball with & Maria is the promise of an endless stream of sweaty summer nights
Indeed. So would I, C. But douche springsteen explains why, fake or not, Acey Douchey deserves the win:
Some have decried him for being a faker, a charladouche if you will. My question to you is, does a suplex off the top ropes feel fake even though the wrestling match is staged? I have never been suplexed off the top rope, but I bet it still hurts. So does Acey Douchey, friends. He is essentially the nadir of humanity that this website strives to point out. If you notice he is standing in front of a mixer, which means he is probably a techno DJ, the douchiest of all music forms. And just look at those coppertoned hotts. It makes one weep.
As I sit here alone in my terrible studio apartment, an English degree being used as a coaster for a lukewarm tall boy of Mickey’s malt liquor, I shake my fist to the heavens in protest, for somewhere Acey Douchey is doing shots of Belvedere off of a honey colored bosom.
And there it is. Performative douchosity is still rendered real by the underlying signification of hegemony gone scrote.
Book a ticket in the Monthly for Acey Douchey and his dual bony bikini hotts. They’ve earned it.
