Saturday, December 24, 2011
Christmas Bros and Kelly Say “Merry Christmas!”
Nothing says Christmas like aviator sunglasses at night and a tasty Bud Light Lime.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good HoHo.
Hot Chicks With Douche Bags
PICTURES OF HOT CHICKS WITH TOTAL AND COMPLETE DOUCHEBAGS. WITH COMMENTARY.
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Hall of Mock
- Pfah
- DarkSock
- Baron Von Goolo
- Troy Tempest
- Steve L
- Wheezer
- Medusa Oblongata
- creature
- Crucial Head
- Mr. White
- Archidoucheis
- Mr. Biggs
- Vin Douchal
- Sergeant Scrote Stain
- boatbutter
- Captain Bringdown
- Whoop-di-douche
- Jacques Doucheteau
- massengill
- Dr. Bunsen Honeydouche
- Mr. Scrotato Head
- Deltus
- The Reverend Chad Kroeger
- mr.reeve
- Wedgie
- Et Tu Douche?
- Eliza Douchcoo
- dbBen
- soy bomb
- DoucheyWallnuts
- I R A Darth Aggie
- jonezy
- Hermit
- Chris in ‘Baghdad
- Douchble Helix
- the douche is alright
- Choad the Douche Sprocket
- Stephanie
- The Dude
- Dude McCrudeshoes
- Sir David Douchenborough
- Il Douché
- Bag A
- douche equis
- Capt. James T. Douche
- Charles Nelson Douchely
- THEONETRUEDOUCHE
- Merle Baggard
- ehcuodouche
- Franklyn DealorNo Doucheifelt
- Charles Douchewin
- FredN.
- Ol' Dirty Douchebag
- In memoriam: bcs
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Straya Day…celebrate accordingly!
I love how Santa-on-the-right has bling over his costume, just to let everyone know that his seemingly altruistic, generous appearance is just a facade for the materialistic douche-twat that truly lies underneath.
Nice bod. It’s X-mas, I’ll leave it at that.
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Happy Holidays all you muh-fuggers!
Kelly needs to bring me those red-velvet covered globes……..
Those suits probably haven’t been cleaned in years.
Oh yeah and happy Festivus. Hug your nepos for me.
Nice hourglass on this one.
Love that clip, creature. Sadly it’s true. The guys who made it are very funny. Christmas morning here now. I’m hitting the beach later this arvo but in the meantime will be laying low airing grievances. Can’t wait until this shit is over.
I’ve seen that body before a few times. It’s a wild banger that one, and fucking drunk. It get’s fat by 30 though, Ya poof. Get out a my country.
Nice thought. Mrs. Wedgie gave me a happy good morning, and pinched my nepos for good measure.
Go Chargers.
Mmm, Hohos… Anyway check this parody of an HCwDB vid starring Obama Girl (really) as J-Lo and Katie as Girl #1 (OK, not really, but close as you can get without being in The Presence which is Hindu Nirvana; takes most people a lifetime, and only a few get there): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6K6d9q6_f-Q
Well that roundly sucked (not really, just not intended for here, talking smack w/my archnemesis in Fantasy league champeenship). Try it again. This should work: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r79J4TgglGM&feature=g-u&context=G28bfc10FUAAAAAAABAA
@Champagne Katie’s Foot Stool, how did she take the loss? Also are you any closer to hittin those skins? Now would be the perfect time to swoop in and console her.
@ 1:15 Chrisco Hamper reference: this clever company has somehow convinced our local douche that waiting to have a massive basket of easily available foodstuffs sent to them is better than immediately getting the actual items they want from the supermarket up the road at half the price. There’s the Coca Cola Hamper which contains 2 slabs of coke (supermarket value $35), and a promotional beach towel, hat, Frisbee, and bag. Typically this stuff is only a few bucks each (or free) when coke puts a promotion on, because it’s basically advertising. Chrisco price: $137.80, or ONLY $3.21 PER WEEK! Only $3 a week for all that cokey Christmassy goodness? Thanks for the 300% markup, Chrisco, Christmas will be magical! Like I mentioned earlier: can’t wait until this shit is over.
Not sure if Champoo Katie’s Massage Table is any closer to ‘hitting those skins’, Dreuche, but I reckon you’re getting closer to closin’.
I’d like to jingle Kelly’s bells.
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.Ride her sleigh?
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.Go rum a tum tum on her tummy?
Merry X-mas from Vegas to all my fellow ‘bag hunters!
@Choad, put it all on black for me today.
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@tall guy, I always thought of myself as a closer, you know if we’re using sports terminology. I hope your Christmas wasn’t that bad. Remember, New Years Eve is just around the corner and that’s like Valentine’s Day to the ladies. Which equates to fish in a barrel for you. Get some, my Aussie friend.
Yeah, thanks for that, ND. I like New Years Eve although Sydney’s civic celebrations leave me somewhat frustrated. The fireworks displays throughout the evening terrify domestic and native animals. Being a animal lover I am saddened by this. I may be traveling interstate on the day but wherever I am I usually find myself looking at the broadcast with some curiosity. A few years back I worked at a fairly classy joint named Aqua Dining which is situated directly underneath Sydney Harbour bridge. Admittedly the fireworks display is impressive from that vantage point.
Will take your advice re. shooting fish. Elsewhere I’ve recently dispensed a little advice regarding hooking-up with the ladies. Mostly all in a humorous tone, yet I’ve noticed men are willing to listen to anything from anyone if there’s a chance of getting some. I’ll go out on a limb and suggest that most men wouldn’t notice an opportunity if she had a flashing neon sign over her head.
@tall guy, I guess that’s why we have to wear red to drive the point home. 😉
@ Creature: This guy partied like it’s ‘Straya Day!
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I hope he’s not your neighbor, Tall Guy.
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I can speak Aussie: “Chaize Froize, Plaize” (that means “Cheese Fries, Please” in English. Er, American? What language do we speak over here?
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Poofs.
If you say “Ho Ho Ho” in Compton, you get your ass kicked.
Those Santas don’t seem like douches to me,they all look baked,which is what I’m going to do as well.
And that elf sits on many Santa laps. Well what do you expect since they were busy making toys all year?
Great og, my family puts the dis in distinction. Leme go back to work soon and keep the wine flowing.
If you say “Ho Ho Ho” in Compton, Plinky’s Mom comes running over from the street corner.
And Mrs. Claus has a rockin’ body too.
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I’d come down her chimney.
I’d stoke her fireplace with my Yule Log.
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PLUS
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I’d roast her chest nuts…
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PLUS
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I’d put my figs in her pudding
I’d jingle her bells.
I’d be her little drummer boy and do the Rump-a-pump-pump…
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Herman Cain finger-bangs more draft animals in a week than Darksock will his whole life.
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Jealous
Test driving my whiskey-rocks I got for Christmas (small cubed soap-stones you stick in the freezer for a few hours) in some fine 22-year old Rittenhouse Rye I also got for Christmas.
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The cubes chill the liquor without melting and watering it down like ice cubes.
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This shit’s burnin’ my esophagus; I’m puttin’ a splash of water in.
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Fatty Livers.
@ DarkSock, fortunately he’s not nor is the TV show, A Current Affair, known for its journalistic integrity.
Melbourne poofs.
All I got for Christmas was drunk.
Ugh, it’s over. I can come out of hiding now. Since I was a wee Gorgon, I’ve hated Christmas. It’s true. Christmas day often found me crouched in a corner somewhere, sobbing for my mother to take me home, as I’d had enough of old Pollocks who stunk of Vodka and cheap cigarettes, kissing me and blathering on over my head in Polish. Christmas stunk of horseradish and duck blood soup and Papa Oblongata’s thinly veiled disgust over our failures, from my mother’s weight to my brother’s ‘sissiness’ (He grew up to be a mechanic, so suck it, you old coot). The tension in the air was palpable as December 25th loomed closer. Other children were giddy with the promise of Santa Claus, I felt the creeping dread of forced visits, impossibly high parental expectations and the reality of our meager finances, laid bare before us kids in the inevitable parental screaming matches that hit their apex around the 20th.
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I’ve gone from hating it to not giving a fuck. Mama Oblongata complimented me on how well I held up this year. Apathy, I have found, is an excellent curative, now that the damp oblivion of my sordid drinking benders are a thing of the past.
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Happy Boxing day to you ‘baghunters in America’s Hat, and to you down in Shrimp On The Barbie country. Do we have any English ‘baghunters?
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Enjoy the post-holiday nepos. I hope the hangovers don’t have sharp edges.
Please bottle your gorgon blood and send it’s Paxil-like nectar to me to include in a Tito’s-driven bloody Mary. By New Year’s Eve if possible. Just don’t let it scab over.