Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Friday Thoughts and Links

I sit on my ass and sip some Mr. Pibb and contemplate another sunny day of smog in the smoggy sun of Los Angeles.

The economy wrecks itself and sexy coeds jog by in naughty little flannel shorts. Unemployed actors and old guys named “Tony” are already in the bars on Sunset. In the distance, a seagul vomits.

Hey, it ain’t Bukowski. But I’m doin’ my best. On to the links:

You asked for it. You got it. The Prompas in Hi-Def. (warning: Not suitable for children under 18 or without adult supervision)

Bra!! loves his cruise ships like he loves his variety of tasty cola beverages.

Hot Chicks with Pirates. And he’s making the kissy lips and “Westside,” arrr.

Reader Adolf Skroatler von Baggenstein just bought the HCwDB book. As a ‘thank you,’ I bought him a car.

Chocolate Axe Bodyspray Guy is kinda freakin’ me out.

Peyton List warms the cockles of my 1962 retro zoot suit.

EDIT: Pic swapped out for a little Friday Velveeta ‘Bag and Bunny Lebowski.

The Day Trader 'Bag

Yes, it’s true, our economy is crashing around us. People are panicking, and mortages are doing something, and next thing you know, HoHos cost more.

But so long as there’s this pudwanker with a Yankees tatt above a Virgin Mary, there will be laughter. Oh yes.

Plus chin pubes thinner than a line of credit at Wachovia.

We are in the land of the Day Trader ‘Bag. Uberdouche by day at work. Uberdouche by night at play.

And a Blonde Maya Rudolph Chicka who wants me. Even through the glasses, I can tell.

Friday Haiku

Tiny Dancer hugs,
Says, “My God, it’s Full of stars!”
Doucholith devolves.

Tennis star Bjorn Borg
Wonders why his name is used
For underwear bands

— don’t wheeze the douche!

The telltale douche stars
bag no remuneration
but saran wrap bleeth

— jean claude van douche

Flea! Flea! Tiny Hot
but resistance is futile
when panties spell BORG

— fidouchiary responsibility

young girl studies stars.
constellation of the douche.
leads the way to poo.

— ted theodore scrotgan

Young hott clings to him
Hoping that one day he will
awake from coma.

— mr. white

“Attack nips on fire
Off the shoulder of this Douche” –
Roy Batty goes mad…

— darksock

'Bag / Not a 'Bag

I can’t tell if this dude’s a douche, or holds the secret of Shaolin ascendancy.

I’m inclined to give him a pass. He’s gotta be a Kung Fu master who reluctantly takes in a young white boy, down on his luck, and begrudgingly teaches him his mystical secrets to help white boy overcome his antagonist, and his personal demons.

Since, as we’ve learned by now, all minorities exist to impart their exotic lessons in the service of helping Whitey regain his or her soul.

So here’s to you, exotic Kung Fu Master. Especially for pulling in those young, awkward, “on spring break and confused” fawns of Ft. Lauderidean migration.

The Great Pumpkin

That’s the creepiest pumpkin I’ve seen since my 5th grade class field trip to Drumlin Farm.

I don’t know whether to carve out the seeds in his skull or place him in a field so Linus’ll finally get that payoff he’s been waiting for.

As to Hott in a Yankee Cap, it’s one of those conundrums.

Like getting a piece of chocolate handed to you by some dude who just scratched his ass. Or meeting a Mormon but being unable to kick them in the nads due to local statute laws against Mormon violence.

Silly Mormons.

All with the Jesus #2 hanging in America with Native Americans shtick. And the magic underwear. Goofy.

Beverly Hills Chihawkua

In honor of the greatest cinematic exploration of the pathos found between animal and human since Vittorio De Sica’s neo-realist masterpiece Umberto D, let us honor the release of Disney’s Beverly Hills Chihuahua with a moment of silence.

And by silence, I mean mocking Hawks’ silly-ass hair.

Ask DB1: Douche Shirts

—-
greetings douchebag1

– peter
—-

Excellent question, Pete. The larger question is whether you are willing to participate in the Doucho-Industrial Complex in service of coin. However, I’m inclined to encourage you to be as creative as you can be in your designs, and not to worry about scrotal reinscription of your work. Provided you do not do the following:

1. Add fake or cryptic foreign languages to the design
2. Write the words “Ed” or “Hardy” in an annoying yellow cursive
3. Add your own name or your brand name at any point as a major element of the design
4. Toss splotchy dots of paint on the shirt
5. Add “pre-ripped” rips and tears

That about covers it. Good luck, sir.

The Goggles They Do Nothing

Aww, isn’t that sweet? Matching sunglasses.

As if to tell the world, “Yes, we have merged hott and douche into a scrotal singularity.”

As to Kevin’s levitating hat trick, the formula goes like so:

1. Six ounces L.A. Looks Hair Gel
2. Detailed sleeve tatts
3. Spiked hair
4. Casually placed forearm sweatband, high enough to say “it’s casual,” but not too high to look like a triage bandage
5. Plutonium Goggles, they do nothing

Mix together on an A/Xhole in presence of Douchebaguette. Levitate Hat to 40 degrees along the Z-Axis, and 27 degrees Y. Longitude and Latitude should proceed to New Jersey by the light of the moon and sail on until dawn.

Ned Retorts

Yours may be orange, Hawk, but I got a sexy brunette, and my platonic friend Ramon to confirm that my hawk is way more phat!! So step off!!

Yup. I’m creating fictional conversations between giant fauxhawked douchewanks.

Time for a swig of Night Train. In a ubiquitous red cup. Then all will be well.

Hawk Responds

“Oh yeah, Ned? Mine’s reddish orange!! And two feet tall!! And my blond hott is cuter than your brunette!!”