Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Asswipe and the Pussycats

I told Disney that trying to update old Hanna-Barbera cartoons with a hip-hop grunge tip would never work.

Where’s Crimson Ted?

Look closely.

(click on the pic for closer examination)

Somewhere in this Halloween-esque dress up pic of boobs and suckle thighs, including a Ruby Slipper Hott that would make Dorothy beat up Toto, I’ve carefully placed HCwDB of the Month winner Crimson Ted.

Can you find him?

Where's Crimson Ted?

Look closely.

(click on the pic for closer examination)

Somewhere in this Halloween-esque dress up pic of boobs and suckle thighs, including a Ruby Slipper Hott that would make Dorothy beat up Toto, I’ve carefully placed HCwDB of the Month winner Crimson Ted.

Can you find him?

Fratbag Meditations: Aka The DB1 is in NYC

Your humble narrator finds himself in New York this week, meditating on all things suckle-thigh as well as the troubling Jerz Scarf developments of 2009 (example pictured here).

Promisingly, the boobie hotties of 2009 are on a nice trend of wholesomeness without loss of cleavite and shoulder-suckle reveal. The skankosity of ‘Baguette from a few years ago (the peak of the Lohan/Aguilera media slutt phase) seems to be giving way to more a more wholesome, if coded, “If You Seek Amy” double entendre.

And say what you will about the lack of cleverness, but at least it’s using a crude form poetic license rather than direct address. Or maybe I’m just trying to find silver lining in pop mass produced detritus.

A nice selection of hott/choad in the hopper for today, and massive props to all the ‘bag hunters who submit every day to me, The DB1. If I don’t write back to your email, I blame the two bottles of Thunderbird I downed with a homeless poet named Tom Collins while flirting with Mimi on Avenue C last night at 2am.

Spring Break and the Poo/Hott Problem

Those of us who grew up in the 1980s learned from a prepubescent age that Spring Break was a fictional sex paradise in which young Hollywood actors like Johnny Depp and Tim Robbins would get drunk, go on panty-raids, get revenge on the jocks, and score ridiculously hot ass pear.

But what about today?

The wacky hijinks? They still ensue. But, sadly, the douchwank plague has taken over.

HCwDB’s own CK is on the scene, purely as an impartial ethnographer of course, and sends us this pic, taken at yesterday’s festivities in Miami.

Here’s a second pic, courtesy of our ‘bag tagging undercover operative.

So what have we learned?

The boobie hotties are still of prime suckle thigh. But instead of wacky comedies, the whole thing smells like global Jerz horror show. Very annoying.

Purple Lips and the Douche Scarf

Rapidly becoming the go-to adouchrement of 2009, the inexplicably giant douche-scarf continues its reign of error.

On Purple Lips here, note the combined Douche Scarf and Rosarie Bead combo over the unbuttoned tablecloth shirt. Extra wanky.

Even Sexy Pouty Shoulder Suckle seems more embarrassed by the scarf than by the Doggie ‘Bag position she’s being forced to participate in.

And then there’s Kevin, chillin’ in the back. Who’s just glad midterms are over.

We’ll give you a nottadouche, Kevin. Now stop slacking and save Shoulder Suckle before the Purple Lips Virus spreads.

Lime Away

Lime Away knows who he’s voting for in the HCwDB of the Week. Slender Red Blonde also has her vote picked out.

Do you?

A Bonus Award (a hearty handshake and a glass of water) to anyone who can tell me what the lumps are under Lime Away’s gloves.

HCwDB of the Week

Okay, enough weekend malaise. We have work to do, people.

Time to fire up this oven like a Michael Jackson Pepsi commercial. Bring the mock, my friends, for you have three finalists of which to choose as your HCwDB of the Week:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Rancid Meat Fungus and the Porkchop Hott Attack

An overlooked gem from two weeks ago, I had to give the Rancid Meat Fungus and the tasty Porchop Hott their time in the kitchen.

For the douche side, we have standard over-tatted hair pouffed greaser Fungus.

On the hott side, a curvy blonde whom, despite not being caught in the most flattering facial angle, still offers much in the way of genetic merit.

Legs, thighs and wings. I would marinate each of her tasty limbs in a lick-sauce of my own making, and then nibble on her shoulder for dessert like it was creme brulee. Shoulder creme brulee.

Bonus douche-points for the reverse “69” stitched on the jeans. That’s like the scrotal “Mark of the Beast.”

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Crosshair McJohnson and Leia

I’m going with pic #2 from the “Crosshair with Leia” Collection, because it’s far and away the pinnacle of the hottie/douchey cohabitation.

Pics #1 and #3 can be seen here and here.

Crosshair is all sorts of confused heterosexual cooption of gay signifiers, from makeup to frosted tips to greasy forehead. Yet Crosshair proclaims his spectacle in service of the Latino Princess Leia.

As such, he’s gone from gay to douche.

Leia has abs that can crush walnuts and delightful cheekbones. I would let her read me The Bernstein Bears by candlelight, and then tuck me in to drift off into sleeptime after a brief 25 minute period of rhythmic thigh groping.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Lucy Braza Sleeps with the Fishes

It was hard to pick a third entry this week, as there were a number of competitors for the slot.

But when it came down to it, I had to go back to HCwDB basics:

Which douchewanks most deserve an ass kicking for undeserving cohabitation with a boobie suckle thigh?

The Fish Twins and Lucy Braza rose (sank) to the occasion.

I would pelt them with tiny Vermont Teddybears dipped in soy sauce until they cried for the mother they never knew, and then I would whisk Lucy off to my kitchen to participate in synchronized scrubbing and suckle thigh.

Extra douche points for the single button shirtless look on Fish #1.

Ah, Lucy. You are a tea time lemon wedge delight.

(Dis)honorable mention to near-finalists Beefy Cow and the Perky Mellons, Poolan Rouge and Everyone Doesn’t Love Raymond, all of which just missed the cut.

So them’s your three.

Which deserve to earn the first slot in the next HCwDB of the Month? That, fellow ‘bag hunters and huntresses, is in your court.

Vote, as always in the comments thread.

Your Sunday WTF?

And since that last post was a little too heady for a Sunday, here’s your “Sunday WTF?”.

A girl-next-door cute gets mugged by… something.

Sadly, it looks like the fishnet arm was not a freakish invention we first spied in HCwDB of the Week finalist, ScroTep, but an actual trend that warrants watching.

And by watching, I mean commenting in a slow, southern drawl, “Son, you got a panty on your arm.”

The “I’m Getting Some” Defense

Much of the douchewank defense rests around the notion of an “ends justify the scrote” mentality. That if you “get some” as a result of clownish buffoonishness, then it is inherently justified.

This is the core concept of choadscrote defense that we, on our mission quest, must overturn.

Spectacle in the service of Ass Pear is not, in and of itself a justification. Ass Pear can be achieved without a turn to narcissistic brand-name spectacle. All it takes is a cultural shift. A revolution.

That’s what HCwDB is dedicated to.

By shifting notions of the sexually desirable into an unattainably symbolic “Otherness”, what Lacan calls the Objet Petit a, consumer culture fuels this chase for the unattainable through purchase of the brand-name object.

Ed Hardy, Affliction, A/X, Grey Goose, each of these products work to sell themselves as means to the Boobie Hottie Suckle Thigh to the Douchewank and, simultaneously, that if the Boobie Hottie Suckle Thigh agrees to boink the Douchewank, that she has acquired the cultural capital to validate her own hottness.

The products are the scorecard. Name Brands as hierarchy. Bodyspray as sexualized determinant. Jewelry, sunglasses, hair spike, all the costume of sexual validation forced upon us within cultural structure patterns.

This sexual dialectic has become inherently corrupted by mass culture. Our bodies have become the templates of this tug of war product inscription. Our eros forced to intermingle with market style branding.

So no, whether or not you “get some” does not validate participation in the systemic corruption of intimacy into the culturally validated media spectacle. The means do not justify the ends.

Even if the ends are a luciously pluckable Ass Pear.