Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

The Hot Mess: Medusa’s Sloppy Seconds Messy Edition

Medusa Oblongata takes time from her busy schedule of bleaching the playpen to deliver this societal eulogy:

In a perfect world, this douchenozzle would have just drowned in the pool. These girls would have fished him out, not to help, but to make a mockery of his hipsterdouche beard and shaved, pallid torso.

In a perfect world, Gigglescarf would swipe his wallet, while Raven LeVamp kneed him in his cold, shrunken genitals. They would leave his limp, wet body on the terrace and head over here for a repast of cupcakes, Doritos and Manhattans, perhaps followed by belly pooching, and more of Raven’s Eye Of Coitus demonstrations.

But this is not a perfect world.

This is where douchebags feel the supple young boobies of poolside hotties press against them.  This is the world where buffoonery and arrogance are rewarded with positive hott interaction.

This is why we must mock.

For the buffoons bed with the hotts tonight as the lone coyote howls over the hills and the tasty snack cakes lie in state in cellophane coffins.

Out Caste – A Study in Societal Stratification: by Crucial Aloysius Head

The great philosopher Confuse-us once opined that the Douchebag Society has, since ancient times, adhered like donkey jizz to a complex hierarchy of tribal communities commonly referred to as an “Out Caste” system.

This system contains many levels of Scrote which have been detailed in full throughout the Holy Scriptures.

In this case, we see a devout member of the Out Caste system, Franklin Stein suffering the humiliation of letting his Bindi slide from Bra!man status (typically located between the eyebrows – directly in line with the mark of the bag), to the lowly Fungtouchable state (Bindi between the eyes – facial fung multiplying at an alarming rate).

Now that partially medicated Mary and ashamed Shelly have seen the folly of Franklin’s ways, mayhaps they’ll feel more at ease by joining me for a moment of Tantric respite on my yoga mat whilst I ply them with real comic book legends like Captain Haddock, Professor Calculus and Tintin.

Wednesday Limerick: Thursday Edition: Vin Douchal Edition: Nubbins Cousins Edition

Because DB1 said I could do whatever I wanted. Except full frontal. And insertion. And human/equine micturation depictions.

Vin sez:

Squinty McGint and his homeboy,
Have fun with a painted blonde toy;
Her holy pink triangle
Unhinges my dangle
And covers her flesh-toned bok choy

After Hours Pear: Couch Pear “You Guys Are Getting Spoiled” Edition

I mean, seriously. Just sitting there, staring at your daily pear. Becoming Couch Potatoes. You guys are getting seriously spoiled.

Spanking Time!

Because like they say, “Spare the rod….” Ehhh, nevermind.

Enjoy!

Where’s Waldouche? – Mr. Biggs’ Shortbus Edition

Long time reg Mr. Biggs hid something stinky…

Somewhere in this gaggle of spring break sorority woo hotties I’ve hidden their pet Self Esteem project, Mort, who they hope they can rehabilitate by dressing like a wanskta.

Look closely.

Can you stop gouging your eyes long enough to find him?

Nipplestopheles (Jacques Doucheteau Edition)

Dispatch from the Desk of Jaques D; a little bile with your morning coffee:

Frank the RV salesman weekends in Pensacola, still blissfully unaware of the sad fact that he’s twice divorced and 70 lbs heavier than when he flunked out of Thomas Nelson Community College.

Diana too has seen better days. Once a pseudo-Asian hott before all the bukakke videos and Benson & Hedges, now she is but an aging trail mule rode hard and put away wet. But these two are just players in the grand drama of society’s demise.

Dave’s dangling tit rings summon ancient gods of destruction from their eternal slumber, to wreak havoc on the soul of humanity. His vacant stare and gleaming forehead conceal a mind torn asunder by the primeval forces of the eternal poo of Nergal: Babylonian deity of war and pestilence.

It is this mighty impetus welling up through the ages and expelling themselves through Dave’s sphincterous navel that is an omen of the forthcoming douchepocalypse. His religious iconography worn, without realization of its irony, upon a viscera of unfettered consumerism is a symptom of the larger social impoverishment in human-nature relations. This affront to the natural universe beckons elder demons from their sleep, blackens the sky with smoke from the burning flesh of innocents, and causes orphan children to rape puppies with bootleg DVDs of “2 Fast 2 Furious”.

And so Frank subconsciously teat-punches that which he does not comprehend.

Does This Look Infected? (Medusa Oblongata Editorial)

And now we have a public service message from our very own Bubonic Gorgonic, the loverly Medusa Oblongata:

Douchal infection, we posit here at HCWDB, starts at the very core.

Like a rot, it spreads slowly from the inside, killing all that is good and alive and pure, blackening like a mold, decaying, necrotizing what it intercepts. What happens, then, when this parasitic intruder reaches the surface of its host?

So begins the changes to the exterior, the addition of what are known the adouchetrements. However, mere accessories belie the sinister nature of this malady. For here we see true douche as manifested in lesions of the skin. Huge patches of nonsensical skin irritations that indicate the level to which the internal infection has progressed. In this case, severely. Even across the belly of this beast, we can see the warning that he reeks of cheese.

And woe, to you, Jennifer-Love-Hewitt-in-a-blonde-wig-hott, and your friend Jenny McCarthy hott. For your proximity to this specimen imperils your own bodies. Boobytanheart is already evident, as is excessive hair bleaching. The answer to this scourge is not to pose with these ass clowns, but to get naked, rub one’s self in protective liniments, and arm one’s self with a flame thrower.

The smell will be horriffic, but the salvation of bubble boobie hotts is worth any price. We here at HCWDB are happy to assist any and all succle thigh hotties with training, specifically the part about the rubdowns with protective liniments.

Vin Douchal brings back The Wednesday Limerick!

Yeah, baby…Limericks are BAAAACK!

Jill asks for help from this schmoe,
Needs SPF where her reach doesn’t go;
Sure, I’ve got my own lotion
And with this subtle motion
I’ll slather you from head to toe

Douchebag of the Week: Chimpy McWhack

Chimpy McWhack celebrates a far (poo) flung celebration as he runs away with the Big Banana.

Ultra Bagnus writes: “Chimpy runs away with it this week…. hopefully, right into a wood chipper.“

Troy Temptest testifies: “It all goes to Chimpy. His hott looks like she’s thinking “When I stand up I’m going to walk in front of a bus because I can’t stand the shame or smell of this twat-waffle.”  And Chimpy? He’s there with the flingin’ blingin’ smirky douchetude.  What an asshole.  Chimpy FTW.“

A semi-lucid Reverend Chad opines:  “My vote must go to the horrid Kevin, hot Kelli and Sauder Woodworking because they are all hard to put together. Suck it Sauder and your left handed cams.“ To which I would add: “Son”.

Hermit adds his valiant-yet-futile vote for B.S.K:  “Ball state Kevin is a study in paradox. He’s just a little slow, but not afraid show affection. Has had persistent acne since thirteen, but always cleans his room after an epileptic episode. He graduated at the top of his special ed class, yet has difficulty with seemingly simple concepts. Voted employee of the month at Arby’s® two consecutive months and was able to balance a pet iguana and strep throat without losing his focus on the important things in life like family, friends and community.”

Vin Douchal adds: “Ball State Kevin and Party Girl Kelly FTW because this behavior all seems so normal if you’ve never gone further than the local Win-Dixie and your idea of fun is wrestling pigs in a mudhole. Soooo-wee !”

Jimmy Pud spanks in a very close third.

Scooby Douche writes: “The biggest douche here is Jimmy Pud, what with the tats, the silly hair and the monster watch. Adding weight to my vote is that Mandy is the only Hott in this Weekly not currently on anti-STD medications.“

Dropping, bird-poo-like, into a distant fourth is, erm,  Bird Poo.

Douchable Helix writes: “I wasn’t really paying much attention, but I vote for the brunette with the boobies and the long hair for whatever it is we’re doing.“ So that’s a vote for Bird Poo.  I think.

Creature says: “Two big swaying fleshy reasons for me to cast my vote for bird poo…“.  I personally could not see his balls that clearly, but more power to ya, Creatch.

Also casting the futile opposition vote is just-escaped-from-a-stint-in-Doc’s-basement Crucial Aloysius Head, who once plied with irresponsible doses of Maker’s Mark Kentucky Mouthwash© and Ambien™,  reveals: “I would seal a feral buffalo’s asshole airtight with a Simpson Rustic Series® OT strap and eat its backlogged feces as it swirls forth from its recently vacated eye sockets just for the privilege of dying of consumption and being reborn as the molten metal that was forged to make the optical image stabilizer housing the 4x zoom lens on the Canon Powershot©©™ currently focused on Sweaty Sally’s money-maker…So, that would be a vote for Bird Poo as well, I reckon.” Way to break into RevChad’s stash, my friend.  Son.

Go ape shit, Chimpy McWhack. Fire up that green banana and enjoy.  But don’t let it go to your pointy head. There are other gorillas in the mist this month.

Sir David Douchenborough takes us home on this Simian Victory Lap with the following White Paper:

“When Jane Gooddall returned to continue her revolutionary work in exploring the evolutionary relationships of apes, nothing was heard from her for awhile. However, upon her return, she was frazzled, mortified, and worst yet, completely flummoxed to the point of self-resignation. Her colleagues, desperate in trying to decipher what tragedy befell her during her last expedition, queried, yet in solemn reply, she said, “In all my life and my work, I was bridging the gap between humankind and the Hominidae, yet upon seeing one, squatting near a female human and adorned in garish attire, I simply could not look away. His contorted face as if though he suffered a chromosome deletion shook me to my core as it put into question all that I have known and studied. I ask myself frighteningly the human consequences of being evolutionary related to something like this, and my conclusion was ominous. I cannot go on. I simply cannot go on.”

Then he worked Nickelback into it all somehow.  Go back and read it.  Dude’s a genious.  And shit.  And I just mispelled “genious”.  Twice.  And also “mispelled”.

DAMMIT.

Late Late Night Ass Pear: Ass Pear LaPlante Redux

All I can say to this is…DAMN, GIRL.

I would encase my head in amber, with only three straws protruding to deliver air and sustenance, and for 3 fortnight take seizure-inducing medications and become Oprah’s Human Vibrator, as Dr. Phil looked on sternly and drawling disapproval, just for the privilege of snorting her cat’s used litter.

Because…DAMN, GIRL.