Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Happy Memorial Day

HCwDB legend Chandlerbag, honors Memorial Day by studying the impact of chest bombs.

Yes, that joke was too easy.

Yes, your humble narrator, the DB1 is in New York and yes, he’s already drunk. And yes, he’s talking in the third person.

May your BBQs be both celebratory and solemnly reflective. HCwDB will return full force, with the HCwDB of the Week tomorrow morning.

In the interim, toast a Red Cup of ‘Train to the troops. And to boobs. Because you can multitask.

Or, if you’re bored with today’s lack of posts, enjoy what is inarguably the greatest two minute sequence in cinematic history.

Mike Fazio is “The Douche of the Party”

Seriously, WTF, Philadelphia?

First the scrotal infection that is Arthur Kade. Now this?

Mike Fazio is "The Douche of the Party"

Seriously, WTF, Philadelphia?

First the scrotal infection that is Arthur Kade. Now this?

Tigerpants

Because nothing says “Straight Outta Greenwich” quite like bow tying the pants with the scary tiger on them.

I would, however, gnaw on Kimberly’s exposed belly area like a grazing African Norwegian emu searching for mealworms.

Not because I want to. But because it’s my civic duty.

And I take civic duties seriously.

EDIT: A few readers have noted that emus are actually from Australia, so I fixed the post appropriately.

Your Saturday Hoffspring

PIC DELETED

Nothing quite says “punk-rock killa” like the form fitting muscle tee, guitarist for Hoffspring.

Oh Angela. The only thing that compliments your lacey arm things is the low self esteem dancing behind your eyes.

Hoffspring does not have the answer, Angela.

The only thing Hoffspring has is credit card debt, a 1992 Range Rover, and a sick collection of Desert Storm Trading Cards. Which’ll be worth money some day.

Friday Thoughts and Links

Random thoughts as I wrap up a Friday and wonder if Tatt Vortex is actually one of the villains from The Mummy 5: Brendan Frasier Mails It In.

The greatness of Bubble Yum has not diminished as I get older. But Bazooka will always rule the roost of the over-sugared gum kingdom.

All plants should be cactii. Then I wouldn’t have to remember to water them.

The video game that changed it all but never gets its due? Zaxxon.

Here’s your Friday links:

Italian Energy Drink ditches subtext.

From Australia comes crime scene hottie Clare, who proudly proclaims to the camera, “The fatter wog said to the skinnier wog, ‘Oi bro, you slept with my cousin’.” I don’t know what this means. I think it’s racist. But she’s hot. So I’ll call it “eccentric.”

The Onion brings the funny with their Newscast on an NYU dorm fire. They must’ve hired new writers.

The Orange Grooves. Halloween pic or not, it scars me.

Et tu, Jonah Hill?

The ‘John Meyer is a Douchebag’ Wall Clock. Makes a great gift for weddings and Bar Mitzvahs. Or for the kids, don’t forget the ‘John Mayer is a Douchebag’ teddybear.

And yet more proof of Meyerbag’s douchosity. And yet more. It was nearly a year and a half ago that I first proclaimed the Meyerbag to be a douchebag, a scrotal herp sore of taint, and history has proven me correct in that assessment. He is stinky ass finger.

She wasn’t really cute enough for me to run this on the mainpage, but The Douchelick is rank. I’m talking Arthur Kade rank.

But enough on all that is poo in this world.

You’ve worked hard. It’s Friday. Here’s your Tropical Ass Pear. It’s like two cantaloupes fighting over the check.

Couch o’ Germ

That couch has more microscopic bugs crawling on it than a Blink 182 after-party.

I don’t know what that means. I just like typing “Blink 182.”

Couch o' Germ

That couch has more microscopic bugs crawling on it than a Blink 182 after-party.

I don’t know what that means. I just like typing “Blink 182.”

Pedro Hearts Twins

But as much as he hearts puka-shell necklaces and thin, pencily ‘staches?

Pop Star

Collar Pops.

Still out there.

Still douchey.