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Saturday, February 28, 2009
Ask DB1: ‘Bag Time Warp
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I awoke from a Coors Light coma and decided I needed breakfast to get the day started. I grabbed the closest clothes I could find and stumbled to panera bread at about 8:45 am.
As I walked in, the pair ordering their breakfast shocked me. It was a terrific tandem of hot and hardy bag. Normally this would have been made me laugh as it always does. but come on man! it was not even 9 and this guy was douched out to the tee with hardy gear and cologne so strong I was afraid it would reach the kitchen flames and kill us all. The lady behind me even commented on it.
So I pose the following theoretical. Does the self absorption of the scrotaciously inclined cause a time warp? I mean I wasn’t even sure I was wearing the same shoes nor would I care that early and hungover, but this clown spent 2 hours getting ready. Through careful reading of the site hcwdb I was under the impression all douche were nocturnal given their incessant night club occupations. If this bag was out sporting his hot in one arm and a bottle of Goose on the other the night before how could he look like he had to give his induction speech into the Hall of Scrote that morning (which part of Jersey is the ground breaking in by the way?)
Could it be bags don’t even sleep for sake they miss one minute of tanning, sequin shirt shopping, and quite possibly waxing? A self absorption black hole causing time to bend perhaps?
Let me know your thoughts.
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You witnessed what scrotologists term a “Spectral Douche Echo,” the moment when visual grease-stains on the space/time continuum begin to refract and overlap from sheer four-dimensional scrotal pull.
Do not be alarmed when such visual imprints from the previous night’s trauma return as a specter of haunting. Simply shout “boo!” Then pee on the Cheetos and run out of the store screaming the lyrics to Thundercats.
Ask DB1: 'Bag Time Warp
—-
I awoke from a Coors Light coma and decided I needed breakfast to get the day started. I grabbed the closest clothes I could find and stumbled to panera bread at about 8:45 am.
As I walked in, the pair ordering their breakfast shocked me. It was a terrific tandem of hot and hardy bag. Normally this would have been made me laugh as it always does. but come on man! it was not even 9 and this guy was douched out to the tee with hardy gear and cologne so strong I was afraid it would reach the kitchen flames and kill us all. The lady behind me even commented on it.
So I pose the following theoretical. Does the self absorption of the scrotaciously inclined cause a time warp? I mean I wasn’t even sure I was wearing the same shoes nor would I care that early and hungover, but this clown spent 2 hours getting ready. Through careful reading of the site hcwdb I was under the impression all douche were nocturnal given their incessant night club occupations. If this bag was out sporting his hot in one arm and a bottle of Goose on the other the night before how could he look like he had to give his induction speech into the Hall of Scrote that morning (which part of Jersey is the ground breaking in by the way?)
Could it be bags don’t even sleep for sake they miss one minute of tanning, sequin shirt shopping, and quite possibly waxing? A self absorption black hole causing time to bend perhaps?
Let me know your thoughts.
—-
You witnessed what scrotologists term a “Spectral Douche Echo,” the moment when visual grease-stains on the space/time continuum begin to refract and overlap from sheer four-dimensional scrotal pull.
Do not be alarmed when such visual imprints from the previous night’s trauma return as a specter of haunting. Simply shout “boo!” Then pee on the Cheetos and run out of the store screaming the lyrics to Thundercats.
Friday Thoughts and Links
As I contemplate Jason Giambibag’s macking on brunette bartenders, my thoughts go from boobies to Cabury Creme Eggs.
Cadbury Creme Eggs are pure liquid crack. Like licking the nectarine sweat-water wrung out of a towel after mopping the perspiring boob of a spectral post-Stairmaster Jessica Biel.
I love them so. Chocolate creaminess and sugary sugar yolk.
I would buy one at the store, just for the chance to well, consume it after unwrapping it.
Here’s your Friday Links:
First off, it’s been an intense HCwDB week with some truly spectacular combos of hott/douche. So here’s your reward. Have some Ass Pear.
Crimson Ted busts the “Feral Celtic”
The Ex-Mr. Sharon Stone, Phil Bronstein, gives HCwDB a shout-out in a column at the Huffington Post. We’s raunchy.
Sports Illustrated beauty Adriana Lima marries 1970s porn-star Marko Jaric.
Holly Madison makes Criss Angel’s peen disappear.
Nub goes shopping for discount shorts.
Voor Marnix en zn zelf bruinende oliën!
Kevin Rudolf making a push for Douchiest Band of the Year at the 2009 Douchie Awards.
And finally, courtesy of Reader Mike, the somewhat disturbing: Poo Dog.
Your narrator, the DB1, is slightly drunk, full of sugary breakfast cereal and tasty Hostess snack treats, and ready to spend an evening wandering the streets and waxing philosophic on the eternal gender entanglement.
May your weekend be fruitful and fermented. May all your hotties be bouncy, and all your ‘bags mocked until they retire in shame.
Friday, February 27, 2009Where’s Waldouche?
Somewhere in this pic of Tri-Hott Car Girls, I’ve carefully hidden a greased up sportscoat Waldouche.
Look closely.
Can you find him?
Friday, February 27, 2009Where's Waldouche?
Somewhere in this pic of Tri-Hott Car Girls, I’ve carefully hidden a greased up sportscoat Waldouche.
Look closely.
Can you find him?
Friday, February 27, 2009Ask DB1: Over 40
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Hi,
If I am over fourty and routinely date twentysomethings am I automatically a douchebag? Just wondering.
Thank you,
B, PhD
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Not automatically, but if you get over feifty, then I’d be worried.
Friday, February 27, 2009Friday Haiku
Emo Ralph glares, pouts.
Curvy backed hott embraces,
Philosophy dies.
Bleethed-out bulldog dyke
Embraces tender blonde hott
Jimmy eats her world.
– Crucial Head
“Goodbye Horses” plays…
He dances to a mirror
And tucks in his junk.
– Boatbutter
Emo is his life
Maybe he should cut deeper
Holly will move on.
– Arch Douche of Bagbury
I’d nibble that calf
Hell, I’d nibble a cow’s calf
to see her boobies
– IdahoHottPotato
consideration:
use it before you lose it
Raspberry Rogain
– Dimples
Friday, February 27, 2009Scro Tep
Watching the legendary Egyptian God of bodyspray, ScroTep, return to earth after a transmat device on Mars was triggered by the Doctor, and mug sweet innocent Boobie Suckle Betty, is definitely a lost episode I can never unsee.
The Swirlwind
Like a cyclone of grease, a tornado of sleaze, The Swirlwind blows into town and latches onto any nearby Party Girls with the sonar targeting of complex hair fractility.
I do not gotta have faith, Sherlyn. Except in those tighty-tight shorts.
Which almost make up for sperm-tatts and rosarie beads on your man handler.
Almost.
But not quite.
Thursday, February 26, 2009Chico’s Tatt
So, presumably, Chico here has tattooed his mother and father on his left pec.
My question is this: Is the nipple an intentional, perhaps metaphorical, part of the meta-design?
I notice it lines up directly with his mother’s stomach area. Is Chico commenting on the cyclical nature of reproduction by allowing his nipple to serve as metaphor for his mother’s umbilicus? How would post-structuralist second-wave feminist psychoanalysists parse this location of nipple within projection of parental inscription as corporeal signifier?
And more importantly, is Maria’s tongue the cutest, pinkest little suckle tongue this side of the legend of the “Suckle Tongues of Madagascar”?
Poor Ubiquitous Red Cups.
Even they can’t understand the DB1’s babbling on this Thursday.
