-
Thursday, January 28, 2010
See Spot Cry For the God That Isn’t!
Cry for the God that isn’t, Spot! Cry for the God that isn’t!
See Spot Cry For the God That Isn't!
Cry for the God that isn’t, Spot! Cry for the God that isn’t!
Sun Sandra and the Stringbean
Sun Sandra is shiny peach googley happy dance perfection.
She is a glorious specimen of the Sun God Ra’s immortal kaleidoscopic boobie hottie causing weeping angels to weep harder, and soft pleather armchairs to be groped awkwardly. By me.
Insects explode with life giving force from the presence of her misty, danty breath as she wonders if her modeling career will really take off, or if that guy at the bar was lying to her.
Stringbean sucks but who cares. Nice socks.
Sandra.
Curves of nectarine honeyberry lemonsuckle rosewater.
She makes the knowledge of impending mortality bearable for an instant. Or three.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010The DB1 Heads to Vegas…
The Heart of Doucheness…
That’s right. This weekend, your humble narrator journeys undercover back to the land of glittery palaces of narcissistic scrotundae hitting on young hott suckle thighs while rubbing their abs for the camera.
Tasty Hostess products will be consumed. Bottles of Night Train will be drank.
My first trip since beginning work on my book three years ago.
I will seek evidence of new signs of party douche who deserve mock, while doing my best to liberate the boobie hotties who know not for whom they suckle.
Perhaps for a sequel?
In fact, eagle-eyed reader A.R. already captured a pic of my car.
Wish me luck…
If I don’t make it back, carry on the fight between good and hair grease in service of hottie suckle without me.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010Ask DB1: Is DB1 the Antichrist?
—-
All Right, DB1. I think this needs to be said.
I am a long time fan of the website and consider myself to be a committed and battle tested Bag Hunter. But I do have something I must say.
You sir, are the Antichrist, the bringer of the end of days. Let me explain.
They were talking about Jersey Shore, a show certainly inspired by you and your crusade. Apparently Snookie (snooky, whoever this bimbo is) is making an appearance at some club that at the proud Bostonian ooze likes to haunt. She is receiving no less than $10,000 for this appearance. It is for this, and many other observations that I make the above accusation.
In your brave, and selfless pursuit of scrote mockery and boobie suckle thigh, you have brought mass awareness to this plague germinating in Jersey, Socal, and South Beach.
But rather than take up arms in the war against Ed Hardy and Kissy face, you’ve made war criminals such as Joey Porche and Smoot into heroes; people who are revered. They become celebrities and receive outrageous compensation which only reinforces their destructive behavior. We mock them from our computers, yes. But they’ve taken over every public watering hole in America. Their shiny foreheads and orange “guns” leave greasy territorial marks on all things hot, leaving only the fatties from Stackhouse’s great poetic works for the rest of us to cozy up to. These poor, misguided beauties, with their deliciously bouncy boobies are being systematically assimilated into the emerging evil empire.
The doucepocalypse is coming, DB1. I fear you’ve awoken a sleeping Ed Hardy tiger. It will soon leap from its perch atop a tilted trucker hat and overwhelm us all.
—-
Firstly, the Scrotocalypse was coming either way. Secondly, my show, Is She Really Going Out With Him? certainly does not celebrate the douche the way Jersey Shore does. Just listen to ESPN’s castrated pseudo-populist, Bill Simmons, slobber over how great they are. Zero critical skills at work.
But I can certainly see your perspective, Courtney. We have helped bring the douche subculture to mainstream light. Unfortunately, not enough people are engaging the power of mock.
However, I would argue that part of every diagnosis first involves bringing the disease to light. Society is in the early stages of douchal purge. We still may slip, and much mocking remains to be done. But the process of discovery is at least underway.
Yellow Lips
You’d like to think this is dressup, or Halloween, or ironic.
You’d like to think that, because the cognitive mind attempts to process the raw data of our senses into coherent narratives.
You’d like to think it’s fake. But you’d be wrong.
Because the synapses cannot process Yellow Lips mugging Sophomore Karen.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010Melinda Graduates from the University of Pudwackia
And not a moment too soon, Melinda.
Six more credits and you would’ve Minored in “Broken Down Chevy on the Lawn.”
Wednesday, January 27, 2010Alice in Choaderland
I really expected more from Tim Burton, to be honest.
EDIT: From the comments thread:
massengill: Iggy Pop as Tom Petty as Willy Wonka in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, directed by M. Night Shyamalan.
boatbutter: Looks like Tom Pettybag sucked all the chrome off the Robert Patrickbag.
Sergeant Scrote Stain: I see that the Krypt Keeper has made it out to party. Maybe he’s going to scare these douches straight with his trademarked, “Tales from the Krabs.”
Douche Bigalow: If this pic was a scratch’n sniff, the accompanying aroma would be called “pan seared fistula”.
creature: here we have the Douche of Hearts, Alice (I wanna stab her in her heart with my flesh saber) the Mad Hater, & Mumbles, the toothless Cheshire cat
That’s some fine early work for a Wednesday, fellow ‘bag mockers.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010HCwDB of the Week: Gonzi and Mandy
On the strength of pink Ed Hardpocalypse with not two but three distinctly hott hotts, Gonzi the Terrorist Ed Hardy Douche Muppet and Pepperidge Farm Mandy, take the prize.
The voters speak:
Douche Cassidy and the Baggling Kid: Gonzi is hands down, the winner here. His authentic douchey aroma permeates the room with each subsequent photo. Big gay Al sunglasses (indoors) a wild west bandito mandana, Ed Hardy t-shirt collection and hat tilt make him a pure douch cast from the original mold. And Mandy… Oh Mandy. Well you came and you gave without taking but I sent you away, oh Mandy. Gonzi and Many FTW.
Spiny Norman: Jules: Nobody’s gonna hurt anybody. We’re gonna be like three little Gonzis here. And what’s Gonzi like? Come on Mandy, what’s Gonzi like? Mandy: Choad? Jules: What? Mandy: He’s a choad. Jules: Correctamundo. Gonzi, FTW.
I R A Darth Aggie: Gonzi the Terrorist FTW. And by win I mean strap a suicide belt on him, and let him self-detonate in the desert while I read Shakespeare to Mandy in the original Klingon, and rub shea butter onto her skin.
AV: It’s going to have to be Gonzi. For his abundant and well documented contributions to skeezery. I think he heisted those shades (and the ones in pics two and three) from the retirement community where he works – Del Boca Vista. That, and I would swallow a handfull of rusty tacs and wash them down with antifreeze just for the chance to drool on Mandy’s shoulder for 17 seconds.
condouchious say…: gonzi! for he is the answer to the question “what if ed hardy focused on the ewok demographic?” and mandy…not only are you a cutie but you came and you gave without taking. how often do i get to make a return of the jedi and barry manilow reference in one post?
Bagnonymous: It’s as if The Muppets’ Gonzo has been shot from his cannon into a pile of Ed Hardy/Christian Audigier close-outs. And what’s he do? Splashes on some Axe to cover up the gunpowder smell, and offers to buy Janice a Rockst☆r and Coke.
Stitchgroover: Gonzi for the win. He reminds of that little creature thing that hung around Simon Pegg is the Star Trek movie, the guy with the little shiny eye stalks. Look into Gonzi’s eyes, under the sunnies, I swear he has the same eye stalks.
C-Lurker: Gonzi looks like something straight out of a late 70s early 80s Saturday morning cartoon show, a failed cartoon show but still…
Douche Springsteen: I’m going with Gonzi here. As much as the double date rape assault of Chad & Todd offends the senses, especially while juxtaposed against a lithe minx like Sheena, the fact that Gonzi has no regard for color schemes and takes his “fashion” cues from that wretched LMFAO “band” that the kids like so much but then refuses to smile in the presence of pure-as-the-driven-snow suckle thigh earns him the weekly and will most likely be the only real competition for Stackhouse. Sorry for the long sentence there, I’ve been reading Faulkner lately.
TheReverendDoom: Gonzi is the wackiest DB here and Mandy is a cute cutie. Gonzi for the win or loss depending on who’s perspective you’re looking from.
pv1: Gonzi and Mandy just for the fact that being HCwDB of the Week will cost her dad his Country Club privileges…
Bob: I would make out with an irritable llama with a nasty sinus condition for the chance to hand wash her delicates for a week without pay in a combination of distilled water, gentle laundry soap, and my sobbing tears because I’d know that’s as close to that kind of hottitude that I’ll ever get.
Guns n Douches: Gonzi takes it by a length this week. Two out of three of his ladies are certainly hotts, as my thermometer went up a few degrees. However, his douchcessories: Ed Hardy T-Shirts, asshole glasses, mandanna, and… holy christ in a chariot driven sidecar PINK MOTHERF*CKING BASEBALL CAP. He may only be the court-jester when we take it to the monthly, but he’s goth this week locked up. As for mandy, I’d like to see if the carpet matches the drapes… though I’d be hoping for hardwood floors.
Strongly dissected by the ‘bag hunters, as always, and I agree that pink baseball caps and Ed Hardy are an auto uberdouche stamp right off the bat. A solid win for the terrorist muppet and his international house of hottcakes. Coming in second, the real world wankscrotery of Todd, Chad and Sheena, aka Asswipes and a Hott in a Limo:
boatbutter: Todd. For his blase attitude towards Sophia Lauren’s granddaughter.
Bag Diesel: I didn’t know Hyundai was in the limo market. To see the lovely Sheena with these two brings on feelings of nausea usually reserved for post-tequila mornings. However, something in her eye brings me hope. The sly smile gracing that luscious mouth is almost speaking to the camera, “I can’t believe I’m in here with these two.” A silent joke between Sheena, the cameraman, and the rest of the world. Only these two obliviates are not privy to the humor. As a final insult, her left hand answers the question: “Who many douchebags are in the back seat of this car?” Asswipes and a Hott in a Limo, FTW.
And in a surprising third place, the Orange robo-dressup of Dr. Orangelove, whose creepy visage and slutty hott failed to stir the masses into verbose response:
Motherscratcher: Dr Orangelove in a close call with Gonzi. (although I’m certain I would hate Chad and Todd the most if I net them). Dr Orangelove just has that “come here and try my fluoridated bottled water” look to him.
scrotum pole: I don’t like Dr. Orangelove. He should be placed atop a tall building during a violent lightning storm. Then, the highly conductive nature of aluminium, and Mother Nature’s wrath can take it’s course. I would comfort and grope Belly-dancer Patricia, while we watched the spectacle take place before us.
Indeed, Patricia is pure spectacle goodness, SP. But lets turn it over to Captain Bringdown to take us home and to next week’s Monthly:
Thanks to Gonzi you can throw a fan belt over Malcolm X’s ankles and power a small city. Elijah Muhammad just shook his head and told the UFO pilots to find another planet. Rosa Parks took a look at Gonzi and said “F*ck it, I’ll walk.”
Mandy is glowing with that delicious naivete of youth; you could negotiate a ride on the pooper-coaster for a few shots and an offer to do her homework for the semester. In ten years, it’ll cost a new SUV.
Gonzi and Mandy definitely FTW.
Expertly taken down by all this week. But what will next week bring? Can Gonzi take down a brilliant douche poet? I’mma get some Corn Pops and mull this over.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010Eye Browbot
Certain vestigial traits found on humans actually argue against the process of Darwinian natural selection and the theory of evolution.
Instead, they suggest an intelligent design at work. By a God.
That’s laughing his ass off. At this dude’s eyebrow.
Oh firm Karen. How I would nuzzle lightly upon your upper breasteses like a caribou searching for freshwater salmon. You could bench press me like a wet pretzel. And I would thank you for it. And pay you in coin, flask and mead.
