Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Sarah’s Prom Tag

Sarah writes in with an excellent prom tag of a Tuxedo Douche:

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My best friend, Meg, is dating this guy whom i don’t really like that much. He proved his douche-iness at prom this year, with this gorgeous photo.

– Sarah
—-

Good catch, Sarah, as “Chad the Business School Bound Asswipe” is all sorts of underserving and annoying.

And I must add that your BFF Meg is fireworks-in-the-uvula classic shoulder gnaw worthy butt grabby operatic fondle hott.

I would hang glide naked, greased up only in chicken fat and whipped cream, through a misty Andes mountains during an electric storm just for the chance to briefly sniff the used brillo pad her great aunt Beatrice once used to scour a metallic stove.

She is delightful. And deserves better. By which I mean me, awkwardly handing her the remote after brief and vaguely unsatisfying coitus left her pensive and moody.

Sarah's Prom Tag

Sarah writes in with an excellent prom tag of a Tuxedo Douche:

—-

My best friend, Meg, is dating this guy whom i don’t really like that much. He proved his douche-iness at prom this year, with this gorgeous photo.

– Sarah

—-

Good catch, Sarah, as “Chad the Business School Bound Asswipe” is all sorts of underserving and annoying.

And I must add that your BFF Meg is fireworks-in-the-uvula classic shoulder gnaw worthy butt grabby operatic fondle hott.

I would hang glide naked, greased up only in chicken fat and whipped cream, through a misty Andes mountains during an electric storm just for the chance to briefly sniff the used brillo pad her great aunt Beatrice once used to scour a metallic stove.

She is delightful. And deserves better. By which I mean me, awkwardly handing her the remote after brief and vaguely unsatisfying coitus left her pensive and moody.

Where’s Waldouche: Tonguebag Edition

Somewhere in this party pic of lovely entry level job office manager in human resources type mid 20s hotties, I’ve carefully hidden an underage Tonguey McPudwack.

Look closely.

Can you find him?

Where's Waldouche: Tonguebag Edition

Somewhere in this party pic of lovely entry level job office manager in human resources type mid 20s hotties, I’ve carefully hidden an underage Tonguey McPudwack.

Look closely.

Can you find him?

The Shark Voted

The Shark took a moment out of pleasuring Renee with the power of his perfectly coiffed mo’ to give you a perfectly framed punch-worthy douche-face, and to vote in the HCwDB of the Week.

Have you voted yet?

The always ironic meta-critiquers at Gawker sure did.

HCwDB of the Month

Staring at images of tropical island pseudo-intellectualism and Jack Bauer torturing people may be entertainment for some. I prefer to mock a choad and fondle a hottie anklet. So lets fire up the real social change, hottie/douchey style. Bring it.

Here’s your finalists:

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #1: Night Oranger and Chrissie

The orange.

It burns.

The flamethrower. It does nothing.

And lets not forget Night Oranger’s greased up shirtless macking on Chrissie in pic #2.

The ‘Ranger brings 80s power ballad scrotery to this jam band karaoke onslaught.

And Chrissie is delightful, even more so in pic #2 when she washes off the Dorothy kink and takes off the granny pants.

That’s some quality HC and DB. But enough to win the Monthly?

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Lint Diesel, Curvie Carrie and Pimpin’ Jon Favreau

Lint is all that is orange, chest shaven and groin exposing about where our society has collapsed in 2010.

Curvy Carrie is drunk, boozy, and will totally make out with you if you listen to her complain about what a bitch her roommate is for 45 minutes first.

Together, they make elephantiasis of the nadsack in National Geographic pictures.

The desire to lick one’s own chest, even if it is a misbegotten attempt at ass pear bite, is a noteworthy douche move in a year without notable new gestures emerging. So for that, this pic deserves highlight.

Jon Favreau just wants to pretend to be humble and regular while cashing the Iron Man 2 checks.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #3: Old Bernie Schwartz and Kendra

We haven’t had a true Oldbag make it this far in awhile, and Old Bernie Schwartz brings tri-vag chin pubes and pleather jacket to the fight.

Kendra is pure giggle with a dash of pout, and I would honor her genetics by reading her dirty limericks, making her listen to Barry White, and then humping her stuffed animals in the linen closet while she was out picking up her cat from the animal hospital after Mr. Sparkles hurt his moomoo on the drapes.

Yup.

No idea what I’m saying.

But Bernie’s a douche. And Kendra is clearly hott fondle. But douche/hott enough to win the Monthly and compete in the Yearly? There’s one more to consider:

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #4: Flex Luthor and Jennifer

This Bro Flex brings classic Jerz meathead to the game.

Unfortunately in the age of T.V. Jerz Guido Douchebag mocking, the desire to mock these twatwaffles on the site has gone down. Instead I’ve noticed a trend for us to focus on alternative douche, rather than classic douche lately.

Which makes sense. Just as music trends change, the classic Jerz Guid will lose resonance as a cultural object of scorn.

But still. This bro needs mocking.

And Jennifer is gum snapping annoying-hott, which is its own form of hottness that cannot be denied even if it can be resented.

So them’s your four.

Which is potent enough, toxic enough, and noteworthy enough to deserve to call itself HCwDB of the Month and earn its slot at the 2010 Douchie Award HCwDB of the Year competition in December?

Help a brotha out, since I woke my ass up early to write this post and feel sad if you don’t vote. So vote, as always, in the comments thread.

The Proto ‘Baguette: Salt ‘n Pepa

We don’t spend as much time here at HCwDB charting the path of the douchebaguette’s development over the past twenty years, but perhaps we should.

This early video from what archeologists now term the KidnPlayleolithic Period serves as an important cultural artifact. Salt-n-Pepa were not full blown douchebaguette yet, but the early obnoxious strains are on full display.

As we chart the performative female’s transition from early 90s suckle thigh (Janet Jackson, Jewel, Gloria Estefan, Mariah Carey) into what we now understand as the modern douchebaguette (Kesha, Paris Hilton, Mariah Carey), this music video functions as an important cultural artifact.

This era of emergent ‘baguette would reach its nadir with the Christina Aguilera / Britney Spears whoreodontic period circa 2003 (13 A.G., After Grieco), at which point it transitions into full blown maturity.

And by maturity, I mean skank.

The Proto 'Baguette: Salt 'n Pepa

We don’t spend as much time here at HCwDB charting the path of the douchebaguette’s development over the past twenty years, but perhaps we should.

This early video from what archeologists now term the KidnPlayleolithic Period serves as an important cultural artifact. Salt-n-Pepa were not full blown douchebaguette yet, but the early obnoxious strains are on full display.

As we chart the performative female’s transition from early 90s suckle thigh (Janet Jackson, Jewel, Gloria Estefan, Mariah Carey) into what we now understand as the modern douchebaguette (Kesha, Paris Hilton, Mariah Carey), this music video functions as an important cultural artifact.

This era of emergent ‘baguette would reach its nadir with the Christina Aguilera / Britney Spears whoreodontic period circa 2003 (13 A.G., After Grieco), at which point it transitions into full blown maturity.

And by maturity, I mean skank.

Your Philosophic Ramble Saturday

PIC DELETED

Questions for you to ponder philosophic on this Saturday:

When we conceive of ourselves as “self,” the moment at which we draw the distinction between “I” and “you/other,” it is impossible to draw a distinction between that which we determine as “I,” and that which we intuit from the Other we imagine is perceiving us as “I.” I cannot be I without you seeing I, and therefore the determinations of both identities are inextricably linked at the moment they seem distinct. In other words, we see ourselves from Without, an imaginary stepping outside of our bodies and our perceptions that is, in actuality, from within.

But if the Other is inherently unknowable as Other, does this illusion of outside, that by definition must come from within, shatter any sense of a continuity of self, leading to a fragmented, alienated and uncanny tension of identity?

And, if so, then is this fragmentation of identity, this drawing of distinction between “I” and “Other” done through the coded act of linking in the phenomenological realm? Or is this distinct to that conscious forming tool of civiliation — language itself?

Does the act of articulation, connecting signifiers to signs like letters and words, lead only to slippage of meaning and a tension of consciousness not only hyrbrized and fragmented, but inherently false? In short, does the act of connecting consciousness to language enforce the very false constructions of distinction at the core of identity formation?

When we form our identity, our sense of self, how much is culturally constructed, how much is gender, ethnic and racially based, and how much is innate to our individual subjective variabilities?

If you kick a douche in the nads and he screams, “Grooooo!” then did a butterfly flap its wings in China?

The Shark

On this lazy Saturday afternoon, let us consider the plight of The Shark ‘Bag.

He hits on slutty hott Renee, and her two less slutty sorority sisters Karen and Abby, by donning the rocker choad clothes and tatts.

But it’s not the sheeny hawk that displays the true grout of a rank pustule. It’s the ‘tude. The “I’mma grab boobies in under five” ‘tude.

Renee’s plump and ripe fruits do not deserve to be plucked by such a termite. Instead, I bounce collector’s coins off of them as a test of their resiliency. And then I repose in her shower stall, reading Whitman and smoking a menthol.