Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Danny the Scrub

Sometimes we forget what an average, real world, Midwestern choadscrub looks like.

Appendix tatts, unjustified shirtlessness, stupid glasses, hand gestures, and a giant crotchstain. Danny is scrub.

Jessica is perky, slightly dull, and faces a long future in middle management. But, for now, her perfectly youthful body of youthful joy, and her strange desire to take her pants off at a concert, deserves applause and gnaw.

And a happy 80th to Sean Connery, who forever earns a permanent nottadouche simply for starring in Zardoz.

The Hippiebag Approves

The Hippiebag approves of D.J. Jerzey and Jenny winning the HCwDB of the Week.

The Hippiebag does not, however, approve of lurking older women fondling their boobs while he’s trying to take a pic with a ladyfriend.

That’s not cool, man.

HCwDB of the Week: DJ Jerzey Jackoffsky and Jenny

While a voting scandal broke out, as Supermoobs appeared to also be one of the Four Dwarts, it was a solid win (loss) for the D.J. Jerz with the clown hat and sweet, wholesome yet sultry Jenny. The voters speak:

armydouche: The sunglasses glasses in a dark environment, that hat, the smug look of self rightous deserving; DJ Jerzey. He’s the only one of these 3 with a chance against the douchernaught known as edgar in the monthly.

mr.reeve: Dude has 70s style curtains wrapped around his head like it’s a hat. Pastel V-neck shirt, Kool Moe Dee shades and a shirt underneath a shirt

Dicy: I’m going to go with DJ JJ because he reminds me of this dickhead I used to know. And Jenny is quality cute and sexy who needs to be rescued ASAP. I will take the challenge of saving her!

Douchelips: Ridiculous hat even your little brother wouldn’t be caught dead in? Check. 90 degree hat tilt? Check. Stupid sunglasses from the late 1980’s? Check. Idiotic ‘bag hand gesture? Check. Bulging tatted bicep? Check. Aqua colored shirt that need ironing? Check. In ‘da club? Check. Then there is Jenny, all sweet and innocent with her understated bosoms and “I’m unsure what I’ll catch from this guy” look. She has a sense she needs to run for the hills….and fast.

melvil duchi: DJ for the hat tilt and glasses alone. They look like $2 3D glasses he got from the Gas ‘N Sip

Colossus of Choads: Jerz. Combo of the ‘tude, the apparell and the final straw – shades inside.

End the Haberdouchery: The blouse, bedazzled hat, and the “I haven’t shaved for three weeks” shadow make him irresistible to bar skanks and Richard Simmons alike.

Battlescrote Galactica: Jerzey Jackoffsky is cookin’ DB’s like a pound of bacon, with his Jiffy Pop hat, Kool Moe Dee glasses and his Ice Ice Baby, “collaborate and listen” Vanilla Ice mug… We can only hope Jenny has enough sense to stay out of his 5.0 so his hair can blow!!!

Amerigo Vesdouchey: Gotta go DJ JJ. Because there’s nothing about him that’s not douchey. And Jenny. But mostly Jenny. Thoughtful and still sultry at 31. And looking like she holds at least 8 more years of hott. So what if she had a few too many cosmos that night.

Nicely parsed, ‘bag hunters. This was a vote for classic club douchepoo. Coming in a solid second place, the Vegas greaseballs and quality bikini boobies of Snowe Blonde and the Four Dwarts:

Douchey the Great: I’m voting for the Four Dwarts. I live in Florida and I have to witness this sh#t every f#cking day. On the beach, mowing the lawn, hanging out on the porch everywhere they prance their pecs, tats and tans like mutant peacocks. I need two shots of whiskey, one to drink and one to splash into my eyes.

One for the Choad: Snow Blonde gets the win for two reasons. One, she’s clearly in on the joke, and she bags four supreme choads in one shot. And two, her boobs should her their own national holiday.

Anonymous 3:16: While the stomach churns at the mere sight of supermoobs, I’m going to vote for Snowe and the 4 – because they are too representative of everything we strive against, too far reaching in their scope, too….douche as a collective.

Paul Muad’douche, the Kwisatz Scroterach: Apparently as a public service, the Dwarts and Blondie choose to hang out with roughly 40% of the nationwide cases of chlamydia at the Vegas Pool, so those of us without a burning sensation when we pee can more easily avoid a troublesome appointment with the urologist.

Many pointed out that two of the Four Dwarts are the same as the Supermoobs ‘bags. Perhaps. But the different locations and tactics are enough to let them carry on as seperate douche entites (for now), so the judges will let the competition continue.

doucheywallnuts: Just as Dustin Hoffman fooled the world into thinking Michael Dorsey and Dorothy Michaels were two different people, Supermoobs/Roofie has done the same. For this reason alone he should be crowned DBotW.

Eliza Douchecoo: Since Supermoobs is a finalist twice I gotta go with him for the win (loss). If you’re in the finals running in two separate photo-scenarios posing it up you GOTTA be a douche nozzle. Supermoobs FTW.

Wedgie: Supermoobs = Roofie. Bobbin = Dopehead. If these two assclowns are in two of three pics, surely they deserve a weekly (or is that weakly?).

dbBen: Sweat-stain on his shirt:Supermoobs::Creation of Adam:Michelangelo. Definitely a derivative work, but it doesn’t diminish its relative importance.

Bag Margera: for the Cassie sisters, this is the kind of picture that would make them cancel their facebook account.

The Reverend Chad Kroeger: And I come down to deliver them out of the land of the Egytians, and to deliver them out of that land unto a good land and a large, unto a land flowing with milk and Supermoobs, unto the place of the …….. Jebusites.

The Supermoobs will definitely appear in all their sweaty undercarriage at the 2010 Douchie Awards. But this week was classic Jerzbag and confused urbane hott cohabit. Lets let Mr. Scrotato Head take us home:

D.J. JJ and Jenny get my vote if for no other reason than their comingling will produce so many regrets. Jenny will regret passing on that overtime shift at the call center so she could go clubbing. She’ll regret giving the dumbass with the goofy hat more than a fleeting glance when he drifted over and sat down at her table. She’ll regret leaving her glass more than half full when she went to the ladies room. She’ll regret telling her friends to “go’on w’thout me. I’m FINE! Isn’t he hot!?!? WUPPEEEE!” And, as she stares with tears in her eyes at the pee coated plastic wand, she’ll regret not listening to her roommate who kept trying to get her to take her birth control pills regularly. D.J. JJ will regret not buying the matching Hammer pants off the clearance rack when he had the chance. Life is hard; D.J. JJ is not. But he wins anyways.

Indeed he does, Mr. S.H. Chalk up our first competitor for Brothabag Edgar and Josslyn at the next Monthly, and your humble narrator for Corn Pops and scratching.

Stars and ‘Bags

Okay, for indulging my long-winded academic rant in the previous post, you deserve a reward.

Have some Aqua Pear.

The Neo Primitive

One of the academic terms of discourse regarding scrotepuddery that I’ve been recently developing is the concept of “The Neo Primitive.”

By this, I mean a hybridized and schizophrenic inscription of the body as simultaneously both contemporary, postmodern and intertextually aligned with a broad media landscape (brand-name identification, logos, pop culture iconography, etc.) and yet a highly primitive marking of the body to echo that of ancestral cultural masculinity.

This concept breaks down along two competing, seemingly paradoxical axes of dissonance in terms of identity:

1. The overwhelm of virtual life in the mass media age has led some to attempt to reclaim their bodies through extensive markings, piercings, tattoos, etc. This is an effort to reinscribe the flesh as fully real by confirming its uncontestable reality outside the virtual realm. In other words, in the age of existence as defined by an image shared on Facebook or a comment published on Twitter, the body itself must be marked/scarred (via tattoos, piercings) to re-experience the incontestable realm of sensorial experience.

2. The paradoxical tension between a highly advanced society informed by the fetishization of gadgetry (iphones, droids, etc.) versus the collective hallucination of primitive tribes sold to us through that society as representative of the ancient and primal past of myth and legend. This emerges as Maori tattoos, nose piercings and other assorted signifiers of cliche tribal “primitivity,” and gender roles grounded purely in the biology of the physical.

The use of the body as an irreducible object via the rites-of-passage signifiers of pain, inscription and mutilation (piercings, cuts, implants, tans, dyes, etc.) renders the body as uncanny. The body becomes the site of an active response to the privileging of the virtual, the technological, and the creation of identity in the abstract realms of the online and mediated. The body markings cannot be undone. They reassert “the real” as well as the agency of the inscriptor to “take control” of his body in an age where the body is removed by technology and society. It is an active response towards one’s “self” as a space for contested sites of power.

If society overwhelms the individual through the cacaphony of the virtual, the individual responds by invoking the primitivity of the nostalgic pre-industrial past. On his own skin and muscles. It is both a callback to the primal mythic past at the same paradoxical moment it fully acknowledges the schizophrenia of the modern experience.

Where’s Four Prong?

Somewhere, buried deep in this pile of overpriced and inane bottle service and asstacular yuppie scum pretending to have more fun than they’re actually having, I’ve carefully hidden legendary clubdouche, Four Prong.

Look closely.

Can you find his spikey visage?

Battle Beyond the Tards

Who will win this battle of finely sculpted chin pubes and hair grease for the three Trampy Hott’s sexy hearts (and by hearts, I mean boobs)?

The battle will be epic. And by epic, I mean strangely cartoonish.

Vest Guy Eats a Bagel Bit

There’s a back story here involving ethnic cleansing, infectuous nematodes and spice trading in the House Atreides, but alls I really what to know is what up with the mullet?

Catharine’s Golden Globes are both golden, and globe.

“Steamrolla G” Responds to HCwDB

Steamrolla G responds to HCwDB in Sunday’s “Don Ed Hardy” comments thread:

—–
what a bunch of f#cking jag off wastes of air. You, not them. theres nothing wrong with my ed hardy threads. the bad threads are the feeble comments on this silly ass hater forum. you big asses need to get a bike or a hobby and go do something with yourselfs. really. no, really.

don’t hate soemthing just b/c u cannot afford it. now you just learnd something. PEACE OUT

——-

Indeed we did learnd soemthing, S.G. We learnd that big asses need to get a bike. Words of wisdom from a man who knows how to ski.

Jungle McDonald

Jungle knows what the Britney Sisters crave.

And what they crave… is freedom trail.