Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Breaking: Carmen Electra Dating a Canker Sore

While it’s true that Carmen Electra has a long history of dating the douchenozzles, we cannot forgive her continuation of such a trend.

And it’s also true that, given the Dave Navarro Viruses in her past, this dude is relatively benign.

Thus we’ll upgrade him to Canker Sore. Not quite the lip herp. But still a viral infection of a communicable nature.

Carmen is lookin’ good, given the numerous tiny cellular mutations floating through her bloodstream at any given moment. I would humbly bongo her hindquarters with only a quart of yak’s milk and a small Malaysian sherpa named Shingwa to guide me.

Reader Mail: 'Bag Tagging in Austin

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DB1-
We were out last weekend for my girlfriend’s birthday. We saw this tool and the girls had to get a pic with him. He was there with his broke ass girlfriend but he immediately obliged the request. Douchebags love attention.

— Sam from Austin.
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Nice work, S from A, excellent Vanilla Ice ‘bag tag. But which one is your girlfriend? And if it’s the one in the middle, are those ‘bag hand gestures she’s making? Is she ironic? Or Bleeth?

Caption This Pic

When the plutonium workers in Oslo, Norway took time off to party, it was crazy off the hook.

Hamster Hott Writes In

My future ex-wife, the luscious Brunette from last month’s Corey Hamster, writes in:

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Well hell there !

— Sally A.
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Oh Sally. My future ex-wife, Sally, who will take me to divorce court and refuse visitation rights with my angry son, Klaus.

Within your spelling errors, awkward syntax and bizarre emoticons, I can deduce the foreign born perfection of gazelle like Eastern European melting tuscan cremed riccola cough drop hottness.

I lust after your kneecaps and will buy you a chocolate Yoo Hoo. The 16 oz. size.

Ask DB1: Freshman Luck

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Hi,

– Freshman ‘Bag Hunter
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I dunno, FBH. I have two impulses upon seeing your ‘baggy friend. One is to give him a drunk nottadouche pass. And two, I really, really, really miss Freshman year. Good times for the DB1. Good times.

The Last Dragon

Not since Bruce Leroy “got the glow,” defeated Sho’nuff, and snagged a pre-Christianized Vanity in Berry Gordy’s cinematic masterpiece, The Last Dragon, have I seen a glow like that.

Only in this case it’s coming out of the nose of the bastard love child of Dylan McDermott and a brillo pad.

Yup. The DB1 is back on his childhood 80s kick.

Gotta put down the DVDs and let it go, man. Just let it go.

EDIT: In researching this post I came across the sad news that Julius Carry, the actor who played Sho’Nuff, died two months ago, at the age of 56 from cancer. “Kiss my Converse” may be the greatest line in cinema history. I am now officially depressed. R.I.P. Shogun of Harlem.

HCwDB of the Week

Ah yes, the DB1 faces his morning bowl of Corn Pops with great aplomb. For there are three juicy hottie/douchey couplings to choose from on this windy Monday morning. This is a tough vote, so meditate, ruminate and flatulate on all things hottie/douchey before casting your lot:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: The Flame Twins

The Flame Twins streaked onto the site late last week, only to produce the douchal offspring, Ned Grimley.

Multiple pics always help a cause, and in this case, so do ridiculously douchey hair fwips.

For bringing dual torch-like douche hair and streaking across our collective simulacrum like so much digital spittle, The Flame Twins earn a well deserved spot in the Weekly.

And let us not forget Pouty Hannah. So polluted from extended club exposure, that’s she’s actually giving herself the finger, as one of the regulars pointed out.

But still cute. And still in need of butt paddling.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Samurai Scrote

Samurai Scrote does not need to win the Weekly to know that he is Zen Douche.

Samurai Scrote does not even need to acknowledge that you think he’s Zen Douche.

Stop looking at Samurai Scrote, for his powers are beyond the aural and visual spectrum.

Do not acknowledge Samurai Scrote’s existence, for he will pummel you with his thoughts.

And yes, Theresa, I would lick each bedazzled sequin on that dress until it had a perfect shine, just for the chance to have you walk out on me after I grew tired during coitus and turned on The Late, Late Show with Craig Ferguson. Because he has funny eyebrows.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: The Sun Grout

There’s something about this glowing tool that inspires a rage beyond the douchal signifiers of his dress.

Grout first appeared on the site as A Sun God but was quickly exposed by Abraham as a false god, and the Israelites turned on him, calling him “douchey” and stoning him with week old manna.

Speaking of manna, blonde is trashy/tasty, but undeniably sexy, with a shoulder I’d suckle with the fright of a caged calf sensing his impending transition into veal.

Scrotonerable mention to The Sweathog, Cleanup Aisle Five , The Day Trader ‘Bag, Teddy Troll Doll, and The Great Pumpkin all coming within a gel encrusted spike of making the finals.

But these are your three. Each a separate and distinct branch of the hottie/scrotey tree.

Which coupling strikes you as most worthy of being crowned hottie/douchey of the week? Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

Your Sunday Desert Rose

Even amidst a sea of trailer trash poo, a desert flower can bloom.

Honorary Douchebag of the Month: Bret Michaels

For riding a six month Hair Metal career into twenty years of scrotal infection, for being the lip-herp of reality TV, and for puffing up like an overbaked Alaskan salmon, it’s high time we honor Bret Michaels with an honorary Douchebag of the Month.

Joining such past ass-clowns as John Meyer, James Blunt and Mystery, the B.M. macks on the hotts with sleazy patter, a lack of a second “t” in his first name and a shirt with his own face on it that looks like smelly ass mold.

Not all 80s Hair Metal survivors are ‘bags. Slash gets a pass for being ironic and grounded. C.C. DeVille turned out to be pretty hilarious on The Surreal Life.

But Bret Michaels? Twenty years of nozzle water festering like an overgrown swamp.

If Midnight Cowboy era Jon Voight mated with a week old lump of soggy wonder bread, the resulting half human half bread creature would shat out a Bret Michaels in its stool.

And, not to forget the HC side of the equation, dig that blonde drink of water in the back. She makes baby seals “arf” with joy at Sea World.

The Jerz

I say we take off and nuke the site from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.