Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

The Douche Virus Spreads

There’s nothing that ruins my enjoyment of a good bowl of Corn Pops while I sit on my living-room rug quite like having to stare at Grieco Virus in mid douche-to-hot transmission.

Give her 48 hours. Soon the “woo!!” and hand gestures will begin.

Followed closely by giant bug sunglasses and sneery expressions directed at any camera within a fifty yard radius.

HCwDB of the Week: Rusty the Frill-Necked Lizard

Proving even a “pro” Vegas spectacular douchpocalype and a Bleethy, bony hott can ride to victory, the win was solid by Rusty. The voters speak:

Alexander the Douche: My limited vocabulary lacks the proper verbiage to describe the pile of excrement that is Rusty.

Anonymous: Rusty the Frill-Necked Lizard is a “KICK FACE”!!! He wins hands down!

Billy Jag: i keep staring at this picture of this mohawked idiot by the pool and hoping that a giant disembodied fist will fly in from the right of the frame and punch him squarely in his annoying face. i agree that his hott is bleethed beyond repair and while i usually like my skanks with a little more meat on their bones, there is still something undeniably sexy about her… and when i say “undeniably sexy” i mean “chlamydia.” rusty ftw

ohiofj: Rusty – hands down – a lot of prep work went into this final moment that was caught ever-so-well by the photographer. Every thing clicks (actually booms) for a douche bag in this shot. I am writing in Jeff Reed for honorable mention.

Disconnected: Rusty the frill-necked lizard for the win! The best hott this week, and his facial expression is just so incredibly tense, that he can only be a) straining not to prematurely decorate his pants due to the proximity of the hott, or b) trying to pass that double-choc-protein-bar-mixture-thing that he has to eat to maintain those muscleoids.

douche equis: Rusty — he best evokes the “desire to slug in face” response that is so important to gut-instinct douchebag detection.

Ojo Rojo: Rusty TFNL, FTW. He’s got the copious markings of the urban douche tribe warrior that just absolutely scream, “LOOK AT ME!!!” only the way a douche can. The last time it was cool to look like that was at Little Big Horn.

Excellent job, panel. A solid victory for the write-in Lizard candidate and his Bony Hott in the tighty-tights. But the everypoo of Tony Broma came in a solid second:

Kennedy Smith: Tony Broma. I betting in that pic he’s playing a really sweet Night Ranger lick on his air guitar.

MD(ouche)C: While Lorie is the least hott (and/or sleazy) of the four hotts in the running, Tony is far and away the bigger douchebag. Decider for me was the mandana on his right wrist and the hint of a dogtag chain (could be a cross… or a shark’s tooth… who knows?!)

ehcuodouche: Tony Broma, on the other hand, exhibits exquisite punchy-face. I actually think he might be air-guitaring here, which explains the sign confusion. Note also the ring on the index finger, yet nowhere else, showing the damage the roids have done to his testosterone-addled brain.

Dolphe Douchegren: It’s gotta be Tony Broma. It’s the back to basics homegrown douche flavor that in the end triumphs over the glitzy and dazzling appearance of the more elaborate species. The balance between innocence and total scrotewank in the picture makes the ratio pretty close to golden.

In many ways, Tony Broma had a subtler yet more potent hottie/douchey cohabitation than the loudness of Rusty. But the voters spoke, so who am I to argue? And the Frat-genericism of “FTW” came in a distant and pooey third:

Count Douchekevitch: For The Wank, For the Weekly, on the potency of his stenchy frat-choadness plus the worst white boy tattoo ever. Way to qualify for the eminem “what hood are you from?” club. His 18 year old Id so suppresses the ego, that when his super-ego awakes (say in 10 years,) the “I’m 30 and I already regret my tattoo” feeling may drive this gimp to do us all a favor and jump off the top of Paris Las Vegas’ tower. Oh yes, plus the bikini lovelies on each arm.

But this was Rusty’s week to triumph. As Shpoople World Champion sums it up:

Rusty FTW. Only because I can imagine him saying something like this…
“FUGGIN HEAD SCARS AND TATTOOS, THAT’S WHAT RUSTY DOOO!!!! What kind of toppings for your sandwich?”

Exactly Shpoople. While I wasn’t sure Rusty and Lotus Flower fit the authentic “hott/douche”, the voters have spoken, and Rusty and tighty tight bony hott, have earned their well deserved seat in the Monthly.

Caption This Pic

Just for kicks, Tito decided to move the monthly meeting of the “Unibrow Club” to Vegas, so Dieter, Carlos and Uter could test out their newly restored confidence in style.

Sarah Hottowitz and a Stonebag

This Stonebag isn’t much of a Stonebag.

Almost on the verge of a nottadouche if not for the Hellen Keller glasses and fungy chinstrap.

Okay, I probably wouldn’t even run it except that I want to powder smirky Sarah Hottowitz on the left’s little Hebraic buns with talcum powder, Kosher salt, and a small potato pancake I nicknamed Irving.

And I won’t forget about you, Sarah’s goyish friend, Kristen. You will also receive some talcum powder. But no Kosher salt, and no potato pancake.

Just talcum powder.

The Hickbag

We haven’t captured a lot of southern Hickbags on the site in the last few months. At least not since the Kid Rock wifebeater craze of 2007 broke out like a rash of thigh warts.

Hickbags are identified by creepy porn-staches and unwashed redneck hair.

Yet, like all douches, the hand gestures and hat tilt are never far behind.

Oh, Carlee. I know you’re behind on the farm payments. And that moonshine your brother Ray makes is killer. But I would still slather your favorite hogs with butter and crisco just for the chance to play an out-of-tune guitar by the Five and Dime in the hopes your Ford pickup might break down on the way to summer rodeo.

Where’s Guy-Who-Changed-Your-Car’s-Oil-Last-Tuesday?

Instead of a “Where’s Waldouche?,” today we’re going to play, “Where’s Guy-Who-Changed-Your-Car’s-Oil-Last-Tuesday?

Somewhere in the pic of perky and curvy shmorgasboard of boob (and I see you, pouty Racoon blonde), I’ve carefully hidden a Guy-Who-Changed-Your-Car’s-Oil-Last-Tuesday.

Look closely.

Can you find him?

Where's Guy-Who-Changed-Your-Car's-Oil-Last-Tuesday?

Instead of a “Where’s Waldouche?,” today we’re going to play, “Where’s Guy-Who-Changed-Your-Car’s-Oil-Last-Tuesday?

Somewhere in the pic of perky and curvy shmorgasboard of boob (and I see you, pouty Racoon blonde), I’ve carefully hidden a Guy-Who-Changed-Your-Car’s-Oil-Last-Tuesday.

Look closely.

Can you find him?

Where’s Waldorange?: Answer Key

For those of you unable to locate the carefully hidden Waldorange in last Saturday’s “Where’s Waldorange,” here’s the answer key.

Note that Waldorange has hidden his “Yankee Cap Tilt” rather cleverly.

Mmm… I’d like to One Day at a Time Valerie Bertinelli Cutie’s Schneiders.

Where's Waldorange?: Answer Key

For those of you unable to locate the carefully hidden Waldorange in last Saturday’s “Where’s Waldorange,” here’s the answer key.

Note that Waldorange has hidden his “Yankee Cap Tilt” rather cleverly.

Mmm… I’d like to One Day at a Time Valerie Bertinelli Cutie’s Schneiders.

Captain Boobvious

Alt Title: Chest Star the Molest Star.

EDIT: A little too much nip slip for a family friendly website like HCwDB, so The Incredible Yolk came by to shut things down.

EDIT 2: Pic links to borderline NSFW version to eliminate the Yolk.