Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Jailbait with Baldwinbag

I believe that’s the Chinese sign for “Frank Stallone.”

As to Miley Cyrus, you are under age, so I will simply note that Vegas oddsmakers are pulling for you to make the “Jennifer Love Hewitt Expansion” around your 18th birthday, and have you at 3:1 to do so.

We can’t have another Blossom on our hands. That traumatized an entire generation in the early 1990s.

"Cooties Are Real"

Once, when I was walking down the street, I heard a strange young voice cry out to me.

“Cooties are real.”

I stopped and turned. I was standing by a schoolyard during recess.

A young girl, maybe nine or ten, stared at me through the fence. Her eyes had the fixed gaze of someone offering a somber and life-changing warning.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Cooties are real.”

She repeated her intonation in the hushed whisper of revealing a tragic, yet important, well guarded secret.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. Which cooties? And how did she know they were real?

Then the girl handed me a small, folded picture, through the black chain-link fence. As soon as I had it in my grasp, she turned to run off and play with the other children.

I turned over the folded picture and opened it.

It was these two beachgoing choadwanks, and their Bleethed out ladies.

It was true. The girl was right. I had to spread the word.

Cooties are real.

Reader Mail: The Photobag

gian writes in from Italy:

—-
Dear DB1,

ciao
Gian Douche
—-

Ah yes, the Photobag.

Those pseudo-artistic pretentious choadwanks who pretend to be “artists” to get the young hotts to pose for them. Who talk about how they just do publicity and advertising to “pay the bills” while they put their gallery show together.

With long lenses most phallic, we must mock the Photobags for being the gum snapping asswipes they are.

And if we get to stare at Croatian Volleyball Leg Hottness along the way, think of it as cosmic reward.

Caption This Pic

No Weekly, as your humble narrator is digging through the year’s pics and starting to put together the categories for the 2008 Douchie Awards.

Instead, here’s a Caption This Pic that is totally up to you. Figure this mess out with hilarious reparte and savage wit in the comments thread.

EDIT: And here are a few:

The pubic lice formed their formidable battle phalanx and began their relentless assault on Gurn Blanston’s asshole. (darksock)

You are here. And you will regret it in the morning. (massengill)

Scungilli Sammy got tired of yelling “Yo, check this out” in noisy nightclubs. (scrotunda)

I’m with stupid. (neil)

I’m with tiny (anonymous)

Due to the economic downturn, Olaf was unable to afford a real GPS. So he had to resort to alternative methods of telling which way was south. (anonymous)

The 2008 Douchies

Yup.

Los Angeles may be on fire, but that won’t stop us. It’s almost that time.

The 2008 Douchies.

Starting December 8th.

Ask DB1: The Douchestral Cycle

—-
Douchebag1,

Jurassic Douche
—-

Absolutely correct, J.D. Nicolaus Copernicus first observed this oscillation in 1539 with the publication of De Revolutionibus Orbium Douchestium,, translated roughly as “The Smelly Poo ‘Bags of Prussia Need to Be Smacked with a Rubber Chicken.”

Unfortunately, such cyclical swings in hottie/douchey manifest cannot be predicted. They can only be mocked. From a safe distance.

Lila's Alzados II

Brian Earlicker’s football blocking hott, a co-HCwDB of the Week winner, seems to have found herself getting crushed between two stage-2 overly developed grease-feet. They’re not the worst ‘bags we’ve seen, but they’re definitely scroadmunch.

Check off the douchetributes:

1. Pumped up Faux.
2. Leather Wrist-Strap
3. Undies Poke

And note the classic ‘bag sandwich formation. A tasty slice of tomato hott crushed between two moldy olive loafs. Enough to make me skip lunch.

But the Alzadoes seem to be singing an operatic aria. Just for me. How thoughtful.

Friday Thoughts and Links

Sometimes all one can ask for in life is that a skinny punk-ass doucheclown gets rolled on his way to the parking lot at 4am. Let it happen to this guy. I don’t ask for much, Ganesh.

Random links as I clear out the pixel closet on a Friday:

Next generation trashbags.

Dear God, won’t somebody please think of the children??

Day 2 of Fun Fun Fun Fest at Waterloo Park

Peyton List wants to pelt my lower back area with assorted Dunkin’ Donuts donut holes, then quietly lick off the sugar glaze residue while juggling hamsters and humming the theme to The Dirty Dozen.

And finally, the man who does not breathe the same air that you or I breathe, the man who is a Pharaoh, He Just Bangs Bitches and Makes the Shocker.

It was another great week of curvy suckle thigh and punch-worthy assclownage. Thanks to all the ‘bag hunters who took the time to send in pics and/or emails.

Your humble narrator on our journey through the collective boobie/douchey unconscious, DBJung, is off to get drunk on cheap beer, slur my words, and hit on that bartender at The Well.

And she’ll pretend to like me. And I’ll over-tip.

More updates from a post-hungover DB1 in the morning.

Justin Timberhead

He’s bringing sexy back.

To the greater Long Island Sephardic Network’s community dance “Ladiez Night.”

Eurobag #294

This is standard issue Eurodouche, Mediterranean style.

The kind they hand out at the airport in Antwerp with a free dusseldorf rucksack and a can of Nutella. Named “Pietro” or “Antonio.”

The kind who thinks happy Colorado U. grads like Brenda will fall for his accent and tales of summer chalets and yachting on the Tyrrhenian Sea near Napoli.

Don’t fall for the Eurobag con, Brenda!

I’ll be right there. To save you.

To take you back to my hotel room. Where I’ll pass out watching Sportscenter and you’ll order a cheeseburger from Room Service.