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Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Manos: The Pecs of Fate
If Only Sultry Brunette Back Arch Marsha knew what’s coming next.
Yup.
That’s right.
Manos,The Pecs of Fate II: Ass Pear Reveal Thigh Grab.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011The Arctic Flunkie
Skinny tie wearing hipster emo shoecruds may not be your standard issue Jerzey Douchebag. But they will always have a place of mock here at HCwDB.
That being said, real reason for posting the pic? Real World Hottie Juliette’s glorious globby mounds of firm baby feeding poet inspiring superball gummy gumms shake weight Jake LaMotta raging bulls of round mound of rebound.
Or, as Shakespeare once wrote:
But soft! It is the East. And Juliette is the sun! Boobs.
Monday, June 20, 2011Melki Wears an Emo Scarf in Dusseldorf
Nothing impresses Anya, former groupie for Autobahn, quite like the emo scarf.
Monday, June 20, 2011Turds With Crotch Skulls Bother Rachel
The cast of CSI: Albequerque just doesn’t have that je ne sais quoi, now does it.
And no, that is not Ice-T with Coco. Perhaps Mint Julep with Cayenne pepper.
Monday, June 20, 2011Vegas Jake Approves of Roastbeef
Vegas Jake, so generically a standard issue Vegas rocker pud he blends in with the drapes, approves of the ‘Beefer and Nikita Twins winning the weekly.
Vegas Jake believes his chin fung differentiates him from the rest of the Vegas douchescrote. Vegas Jake is wrong.
Oh, Rebecca. How the beginnings of your soft pooch belly hint at porcupine dreams of sunlight clown slappy slap bacon bacchanal. I would ice cream your slather bobs with tempura tapas, and then glide softly betwixt your heaving bosoms with only a melted Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup for sustenance.
Even if there is Douchey Jesus bling atop your toppy top. I will forgive. Because the Douchadox contradiction means I am fallible.
Monday, June 20, 2011HCwDB of the Week: The Roastbeefer and the Nikita Twins
Maybe because we haven’t featured a truly odious hottie/douchey combo from my current hometown of Los Angeles in awhile.
Or maybe it’s just my disgust at beefy crotch peen with too much inheritance money put on display at an overpriced club. For what is douche if not that?
So here’s our winner/loser. For it is time we (dis)honor the shiny crotch peen of absurdist hotel club bottle service ordering beefydouche, and the tasty L.A. hotts that said bottle service attracts. Like the Nikita Twins.
And while Little Caesar and the Asian Paid to Post Inflat-a-Hotts put up a valiant fight, shiny crotch peen cannot be ignored.
Even if one of the Nikita Twins is slightly more hot than her larger, amazonian sister. They are quality immigrant suckle thigh. And deserve notice.
And by notice, I mean hand wringing a moist towelette over a gecko in a dry desert climate.
Last week had some quality candidates, including Bob’s Hand Palsy, the tasty drinkable milkshake that was Layla in Long Island Brad and Layla, the classic shoescrote of The Miami Heatrash, and the slutty wrongness of Giggle Hannah and the emo eyeliner of Arnie the Hipster Load.
But there can be only one Weekly Winner, and this week’s is Roastbeef.
See you in the Monthly, overpriced sandwich.
Sunday, June 19, 2011Gangsta Vegans
A little Los Angeles satire to go with your Sunday pancakes.
Saturday, June 18, 2011Comment of the Week: Edith Anne Tarbox of Dripping Springs Tx
The coveted Comment of the Week goes to Edith Anne Tarbox of Dripping Springs Tx (aka Euripidouche) and appeared in the Arnie the Hipster Load thread:
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i really really hate hipster bags more than i hate waking up naked in a flop house, smelling of aqua velva, alone, with no clothes, and having to go ask the group of old men huddled around the decrepit tv in the shabby common room if any of them remember how i got there, or where i might find my clothes, and also, trying to figure out who in the room wears aqua velva while trying to be subtle about it.
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Well done Edith Anne. And to go with your comment, I figured the second Little Caesar pic, in all its hottie/douchey wrongness, deserved some mainpage attention.
Friday, June 17, 2011Friday Thoughts and Links
On this Friday ‘aft, I ponder those former Eastern Europeans who float through our cultural bloodstream like frothy backwash, hitting on party Latinas and compulsively fondling their iPhones like an arthritic yeti, and it strikes me.
The douchey hand gesture, a fully destabilized semiotic construction meant to mark cultural alterity outside the realm of the linguistic or corporeal, actually does the opposite.
It marks itself as smelly poo flush.
And lo, the Rooster flies into the sunset as Yuri hits his dad Boris up to borrow the BMW 525 to go to the “totally mad party, yo.”
And Boris reconsiders whether life under Soviet oppression really was that bad.
Sure they didn’t have food or electricity on a regular basis. But they didn’t have Grey Goose neither.
Here’s your links:
Your HCwDB CD Pick of the Week: “Be brave persevere through it all. I and I get sickled on sacred love. I and I get tickled. Sacred love.”
Mark your calendars: International Douchebag Awareness Day is December 12th
The Jersey Shore’s “The Situation” is now selling a douche-abs shirt so choady it rivals the unholy cultural shame that was Mooby Dick.
Your humble narrator’s Twitter was quoted in the L.A. Times story about yesterday’s Weiner roast. I’m honored.
The great Werner Herzog reads “Go the F@#k to the Sleep” to the kiddies.
A reality show in England captures documentary footage of teenage London ‘baglings in action.
If you’re bored this weekend, why not watch Pulp Fiction in a little over three minutes?
Hot Chicks with Robby the Robot
Stanley Kubrick’s Chicago. 1949. Beautiful.
Frolic + Dance = France. Somehow douche dance passes through a culture of mimes and cheese and emerges the other side as some cirque du soleil performance art that’s really freakin’ impressive. Not sure how that happened.
But you are not here to watch strange French dance steps. You’re here for pair:
Crazy Eyes Crazy Chick Self Portrait Pear
Crazes eyes crazy chicks always spice up a Friday night. Go out and partake of all that our shmorgasboard of a consumer culture offers.
Friday, June 17, 2011Ask DB1: Is Mr. T a Progenitor of The Modern ‘Bag?
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Dear DB1,
There are certain events in people’s lives that force them to take account of their main priorities.
For instance, this week I was gifted with the birth of my first daughter, and it made me realize how important it is or me to renew my commitment to douchebag mock. Maybe by the time little Audrey is of dating age, the Grieco virus will have gone the way of smallpox: a vague threat heard now and then from terrorist groups.
One can hope, or one can mock.
However, I wish to go deeper this time, to delve into the heart of the problem. Of course, I’m referring to the state of douchebag genetics and antiviral research.
Everyone knows that research into the Grieco virus is almost as well funded as that of HIV, yet we still don’t have a cure. Although the situation looks bleak, a promising lead has presented itself. As strange as it sounds, the answer could lie in the blood of Mr. T (shown here with hot chick)?
He refers to himself in the 3rd person, sports bling, tatts, muscle shirts and a mohawk, yet is clearly not a douchebag. Does he have some kind of unknown immunity, or is he a paradox of sorts, defying fundamental understanding? What say you DB1? It’s for the children.
Luis Douchuel
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An interesting theory, however Mr. T is not immune from douchebaggery, he is outside of the construct entirely. Mr. T has, of course, earned a lifetime nottadouche and a permanent exemption under the Performative Leniency Rule and the fact he is pure awesome.
Just as W.W.E. fighters are exempt, performative proto-douchery in service of cartoonish spectacle is akin to theatrical dress-up, and therefore not linked to the history of the Grieco Virus.
It would be like blaming Paul Reubens for dressing absurdly as Pee Wee Herman. Characters and performance in the fictional setting can only be mocked when such performance spills into an absurdist ego-driven narcissism, as with vintage Vanilla Ice, or Chico Marx during his infamous Cuban Orgy bacchanal period in the late 1940s.
In conclusion, hipster icon or not, Betty White will always be hott.
