Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Reader Mail: John's Royal Flush

“John” writes in:

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Hey Faggots,

My name is John, and I hate every single one of you. All of you are fat, retarded, no-lifes who spend every second of their day looking at stupid ass pictures. You are everything bad in the world. Honestly, have any of you ever gotten any p@ssy? I mean, I guess it’s fun making fun of people because of your own insecurities, but you all take to a whole new level. This is even worse than jerking off to pictures on facebook.

Don’t be a stranger. Just hit me with your best shot. I’m pretty much perfect. I was captain of the football team, and starter on my basketball team. What sports do you play, other than “jack off to naked drawn Japanese people”? I also get straight A’s, and have a banging hot girlfriend (She just blew me; Shit was SO cash). You are all faggots who should just kill yourselves. Thanks for listening.

– John
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“Thanks for listening?” So polite, John.

But I’ll have you know that, in my junior year in high school, I was a full-time starter on the J.V. Jack Off to Naked Drawn Japanese People team.

I attempted to play varsity my senior year, but an unfortunate wrist sprain during a particularly intense preseason round of octopus manga sidelined me for the season.

EDIT: For all of those emailing me that this is a hoax, or a 4chan meme, the proof that John is indeed real can be seen here.

Nerdholio

In addition to mugging a Gina Gershon cutie, Nerdholio the Hipsterbag has made his decision in the Weekly.

Have you voted yet?

HCwDB of the Week

Your humble narrator on our collective journey of taint, The DB1, is back in L.A. and high on life. And by high on life, I mean sipping some tasty Night Train by noon.

Here’s your finalists:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Wings McPoint

From nearly two weeks back, the classic Vegas Nuclear Chin of Wings McPoint, and sexy, confused Elle, are a toxic combination of spew and boob.

Wings brings a number of A-level douchal signifiers to the mix, but do I really need to list them? They should be obvious.

Instead of parsing the taint, just sit back and look at this choad.

And look at Elle’s sweet hottness sweetness hott.

Her boobies are pure and clean and wail mournfully for me to rub my hair betwixt them.

Coupled together, they set off destructive fireworks in the breathing tube of underwater hope.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Anchor Chin and Raquel

This sneaky HCwDB pic grows on you like a fetid swamp plague.

At first you think, “Meh, just your average hottie/douchey coupling. Nothing to see here.”

And then your eyelids start to twitch.

And twitch.

And twitch.

And suddenly the beboobsing of this pic jump out at you.

As do Anchor Chin’s ridiculous chaved chest, douche-pout and chin pubes. And what you thought was benign is suddenly a plague upon your subconsious. And they make you want to palm slap a Brazilian tree frog.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Smashing Blumpkins

Our second Vegas Pic this week brings The Brunette Miracle of Hott (TBMoH) in a potential paid-to-pose scenario.

Standing with the cast of the Inland Empire version of Smashing Pumpkins: The Musical.

They are three servings of classic Scrotex-Mex.

She is all that is seductive in Sedona.

If group muggings fire up your HCwDB experience, this pic deserves your vote.

(Dis)honorable mention to Snake Scarfgen, the rotating choads and sorority hott of Ashlee’s Spring Break, and the classic Vegas pumpedness of The Tipping Point, each of which just missed the cut.

Them’s your three.

Which shall earn it’s rightful place in the toxic swirl of the next Monthly? That, fellow ‘bag mockers, is your call.

Vote, as ever, in the comments thread.

Flickerhead Ron Gets Around

No ifs, ands, or Ass Pears.

Critical Essay: Orangeness as Signifier

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DB1,

– Jacques Douchida
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In the 17th-19th Centuries, Western culture viewed tanned or “dark” skin along two axes of distinction. Firstly, a tan was a sign of lower class status, because it marked you as working in the fields and were therefore a day laborer. Alternately, it was a form of marking the body as Africanized, an impure non-white bloodline. With alabaster whiteness marked as a sign of aristocracy, any deviation reconfigured one’s body as “ethnic,” moving one towards the base prism of the “lower” classes; Latino, black, Italian or Asian.

These hierarchies of skin tone served to draw race and ethnic based lines of class distinction. But as society reconfigured itself in early 20th Century modernity into that of mass assembly line and large factory work, the tan transformed itself. Its signifier shifted from that of lower class “ethnic” status into that of one privileged with leisure time. The tan marked one as affluent enough to “lay about” outside, rather than work inside in the factory.

But, in today’s Vegasified land of scrotal slackdom, Orangeness functions quite differently. It operates complexly, signifying not only one who has excessive leisure time to tan, but also the financial means to tan “artificially.” Thirdly, it’s very artificiality marks one’s body as mechanized and commodified. And fourthly, it echoes suburban co-option of African-American “authenticity,” also seen in the imitation of “gangsta” tropes.

In other words, Orangeness marks itself simultaneously as natural process and as unnatural artificial echo, while also “Africanizing” the body as oppositional, and therefore rebellious. Orangeness becomes the “alabaster white” skin of earlier historical periods, in its configuration as a denial of natural “working class” status, and in its affirmation of the freedom to mark one’s body through conscious choice (similar to the tattoo).

It is here, within this paradoxical signifier of both the natural and the artificial, that Orangeness marks its difference complexly. Or “differance,” as the case may be. Orangeness is never meant to be seen as natural skin tanning. Its cultural potency lies in the fact that it is a performance of naturalism by way of product. It is a ritualistic re-encoding of the natural as kabuki for the purposes of theatrical inscription. The Orangeman finds the authentic by simulating the real.

One does not orangify to state that one lies in the sun. One orangifies to state that one purchases the products of leisure-inspired mimicry without natural process.

In this understanding, turning one’s self orange is distinctly postmodern. For it articulates its meaning simultaneously as industrial product, commodity and class system. Yet in an unstable and shifting framework of visceral spectacle. All within a liminal structure of boobies.

Flickerhead Ron

Yes, Flickerhead Ron, very good. That is where poop comes out.

Poop that smells like violets and roses and with just a hint of lavender.

In fact, I like to call it Poopourri.

Friday Thoughts and Links

After suffering through yesterday’s site freezes, your humble narrator decided to hop a plane and head North.

Heeding the clarion call of needing to exit smoggy Los Angeles for the confines of Rice and Roni, my alcoholic ass is in the lovely S.F. for the weekend.

One thought becomes clear in my drunk, addled mind: The supple lower nape of the neck of hotts, aged 18-24, is the Veal Parmigiana on the menu of corporeal desire.

Here’s your links:

Orange Tanning problems, in the First Person.

Axe comes up with a new marketing strategy. Classy.

Uberdouche Arthur Kade explains why nailing a girl on his couch just isn’t worth his time. Until he can buy a bed, that is.

Asher Roth. Ironic, subversive artist? Or douche by another name?

Chuggo performs at a Sean Hannity Tea Bagging event. It makes such perfect cosmic sense.

Hot Chicks with Primates

If you’re feeling blue, just watch B4-4 Get Down on You. I’ve posted it before, but god damn that just never gets old.

Stuff “Stuff White People Likes” Likes to “Take Inspiration” From Other Blogs

And finally, for all of your hard work mocking the choadscrotes and celebrating the suckle shoulder with me this week, as well as putting up with yesterday’s site freezes, here’s your top shelf sorority Ass Pear.

Go forth and multiply.

Or at least crack open a PBR and breathe deep a breath of weekend.

Raquel and Anchor Chin

I would hack my way through a field of overgrown lilies and angry bumblebees just for the chance to clean up the landfill overflow that contains a bobby pin that Raquel once used to keep the hair out of her cleavite.

Oh yeah, and the douche gargles alpaca scrotundae.

Rusty the Frill-Necked Lizard Friday

Showing preternatural calm and the hyper-focus of a professional poothalete, HCwDB of the Week winner Rusty the Frill Necked Lizard makes the exact same “rocker” face, yet under entirely new conditions (different hott, different time of day, etc).

It’s like watching Patrick Stewart deliver the entire first act from A Christmas Carol while standing in a pouring hailstorm in outer Katmandu.

It is that impressive.

Or, as some might say, it is not.

Hawk The Hairy Angels Sing

Well.

This is hawkward.