Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Punk is Dead, Crucified, Regurgitated and Mass Marketed Fish Feed

It’s over, Johnny.

Over.

Granpa Chin

For the ladies with daddy complexes.

Grandaddy complexes.

Oh Statuesque Cheryl.How you would break me into a wimpering sobbing hallucinogenic puddle with the touch of one soft, pillowed boobosity. I would read you old Dickens novels by flashlight in a double sleeping bag, and then quietly hump your purse while you sext with the bartender at Tao.

And I see you too, perfect Brunette Jacqueline. Your suckle thigh milkshake body taut is a feast for the eyes and your mamms slay polar bears.

Thank you for being you. Just please don’t speak. It adds nothing.

No. really. Don’t speak. Don’t. Speak.

Dammit.

No, I do not know where Tony went with the Bud Light Lime you were drinking.

Skinny D and Maggie the Quartasian Hottie

Pic Deleted

Skinny D? Brooklyn b-boy hipsterpud. Give him a stage-2 violation ticket and send him on his way to his night shift at Denny’s.

Now Maggie the Quartasian Hottie on the left deserves a pause.

Together, let us say, amen.

For therein lies a tasty curvy suckle thigh of powdered donut fluffy snappy snack shack turbo dog corn nuts, both regular and B.Q.

We haven’t featured a quality Quartasian Hottie in quite awhile, and as long time readers know, the quarter asian female is the heighth of all non-Semitic sucklethigh.

Betty in the middle? Yes. She is there. Lets move on. And by on, I mean back to Maggie. With only six bags of sunflower seeds and a sundial to guide us under cover of leaf.

Ziggy the Sneery Mug Guy

It’s like, ironical, yo. Like on that show.

Make it in every pic and the ladies’ll giggle and dig the sunglasses and maybe Ziggy’ll finally get some of that mythical ass he’s read so much about. In books. And magazines.

Oh Linda. Your eyes betray your innocence and fear. Like a youngly born fawn stepping uponst the dewdropped dappled summer hillsenvolgen. I would lick your kneecaps.

Michelle’s Earwax Problem

Michelle’s rationale: Cheaper than a Qtip, and it buys you free drinks.

Not sure I’m buying it, Michelle.

Where’s Waldouche? Vegas “Yo” Edition

Somewhere in this lineup of sorority butt chomp slappy grab boingy glute, I’ve carefully hidden a double serving bronzed alpaca turd waldouche.

Look closely.

Can you find them?

Hipsterbag Lenny is Laughing at Nothing in Particular

Smurf shirts. Ironic.

Later that night, supple Pauline will be too polite to point out that eating Japanese noodle soup ironically at 2am doesn’t justify the lack of a recording contract that’s coming. Any day now.

Vince the Archetypal Vegas Douchecrud

Oh yes, young reader.

They are still out there.

Still bothering Cury Pool Ladies with primal grunts of “Yo!” And “You work out?”

And they still must be bagged and tagged for the greater good of the human experience.

EDIT: Okay, that may be a dude on the left, but this sampling of vegas uberdouchosity is too bizarre not to leave up. View at your own risk.

Breaking: HCwDB Legend The Poopaloompa Is Not Longer Orange, Still a Huge Douche

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.

Many lesser scrotes briefly douche up and then fade away in pursuit of the hott.

Only the true HCwDB legends can maintain a discipline of scrotal taint across the eras while bothering quality bar lady tautness like Karen here.

The Poopaloompa is just that sort of premium flush.

The Chippenbros Approve

Not only do the Chippenbros approve of The Tardopoulous Bros winning the HCwDB of the Week, they also approve of sentences that involve only one and two syllable words.

Barely Legal Kate doesn’t know it yet, but her ballet career was never really a viable career option.