Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Antonio Prays for Peace
And by peace, Antonio means group oil wrestling.
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
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- 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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She’s taken the beaded curtain look to wonderful extremes.
I’d love to see Antonio on this bus. That woulda make-a me so happy!
This looks like the line at a nose job office …
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… and in the back, J. Preston Wilkers Largeman, MD, FRCSC performs another discount rhinoplasty , low down payment and affordable monthly installments
The beads are working, and by ‘working’ I mean could someone loan me a couple Grovers — I haven’t been to a Bead Bar in way too long.
J. Preston Wilkers Largeman, MD also does boob jobs. Fact!!
He looks like he could be a bastard son of Grieco from an obscure 80s one night stand.
You could spread that face on toast, a whole loaf of it.
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Speaking of Grieco…
http://dlisted.com/2012/03/14/open-post-hosted-richard-grieco
Those beads are giving me the Buyan Buy of Boy-Would-I-Get-All-Upp-In-Dose-Beads look.
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Her nose looks like she picked a recent Mickey Rourke photo at the Rhino clinic.
Antonio is signaling that it’s gonna cost 2, count’em 2, grand for the soul draining privilege of spending 1 hour max for boning PTP scrag.
J. Preston Wilkers Largeman, MD does most of the boob jobs for the trannies that frequently get pointed out on this website.
you spelled piece wrong
I don’t mean to be a downer dudes, but you guys are being socialized while you watch the March Madness and drink your PBR’s. You gotta get rid of Obama. I’m no Glenn Beck New World Order dude except when I combine sake and mushrooms, but you gotta read this shiznit that MSNBC and Fox don’t talk about, yo! Buy ammo and and hoard seeds brothers cause the end as we know it is near!
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Fuck.
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http://www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office-/2012/03/16/executive-order-national-defense-resources-preparedness
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A Concerned Neighbour
Fuck me. They already know I’m spreading the truth. I’m going to hide for the night before posting it again as Nancy from the library.
It’s the night of the seventy daggers my friends. It was fortold that five days after the One chose to take ultimate power the jackal would work into the night to suppress the cries of the knowing and the innocent. And Oprah would lose 200 pounds before revealing herself as the mother of the One and the One would march mercilessly to slaughter the Lambs. Find the document and read it before the hour strikes dawn and what is yours becomes ours under the One. Sons. Amen.
It’s the night of the seventy daggers my friends. It was fortold that five days after the One chose to take ultimate power the jackal would work into the night to suppress the cries of the knowing and the innocent. And Oprah would lose 200 pounds before revealing herself as the mother of the One and the One would march mercilessly to slaughter the Lambs. Find the document and read it before the hour strikes dawn and what is yours becomes ours under the One. This man is clearly insane. The authourities have him under guard. Go back to your business. One.
I just saw a glitch in the Matrix.
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I just saw a glitch in the Matrix.
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Cats
How can we be sure that’s not just the way his date like to dress when they go clubbing?
Antonio makes 2 bucks per hour.
Well it was great talking to you all again but I’ve pretty much run out of stupid shit to say. You guys have been a great audience. Thank you and goodnight. This site is still one of the funniest I’ve come across and I’m gonna enjoy it like I used to as a casual lurker. Remember, douchebags will come and go but you can’t pick your friend’s nose. (Would you look at that, I had one more in me.)
Funny how the right outfit can make an otherwise average looking chic smoking hott. Trust me on this though, gents. The next morning, when the pillows smell like tequilla and your mouth tastes like a mummy’s dried out old snatch. When you are trying to remember exactly when you smashed open the mini-bar, and the sun is beaming between the curtains like a plasma beam… You will be praying to the dark gods that she just grabs her spangles and splits without stealing your watch or using your toothbrush. There is no magic at 7am. That’s the hour of reckoning.
WTF, Drueche? They replace your meds with Folgers crystals? I hate it when they do that. That and when they electroshock your balls. Anyway, drama down and stick around.
The Paraguayan disco scenes just keep coming. The cage dancer’s union in Asuncion limits interaction with male disco patrons so as to limit toxic Axe and hair gel exposures.
THis pussy is a contender for the weekly. The virus is so strong in this one, his hair APPEARS greasy, but it is actually full of gloppy cooties full of grieco virus.
And her fake rack matches all the work on her butterface which could still use a nose job and a brain transplant.
@McCrudeshoes, but being all emotional and dramatic is what I do best. Plus my other alias/personality is Stephanie so its not like I’m really leaving. Pretty genius, no? 😉
@McCrudeshoes, also if “Stephanie” denies that she is not me just ignore it, I’m just doin’ what I do, dramatic style. Don’t hate the player McCrudeshoes, don’t hate the player.
Er I meant to say if Stephanie denies that she is me ignore it.. Grrrrr it’s just so hard to keep all this subterfuge straight in my wee little lady brain, I might have to start making charts.
Praying for peace? I figured he was praying she likes it doggy style. Yeesh. Like a coyote. A coyote I says!
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@ Rev. Chad–Canada was my first choice of countries to flee to; I found Toronto to be lovely and there’s that whole speaking English thing. Then I got the hookup with Mr. B and figure it’s only a matter of time before it goes this way: Hordes of Americans hit the shores of Europe, teary-eyed at the thought of freedom. And they sit down with the grandkids some day, and in their very strong American accent, tell stories about what it was like in the Old Country.
Yo! Kroeger, watched a documentary on topless restaurants in Montreal tonight. One joint was named Le Princesses and the other Houster. Interesting… Truck driver dudes hitting on scantily clad bleeths with fat arses. I mean, you’ve got better looking woozas over there. Why not show ’em?
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Speaking of which, funny with that Dreuche shiz, eh? I mean, Jeebus, common opinion held she’d stormed off in an illusory rage of victim induced bullshit but she stealthily kept checking on things (which I knew) until I both made her then forced her out with my tight analysis of her inhaling ice cream every time she breaks a fucking a shoelace or something. Yawn…
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Also, ease up on Obama, dude. At least he’s not homophobic nor is he racist.
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Waitresses.
Is she actually picking his pocket while he poses? Cheers to you, miss spangled semi-hott Peruvenerealian.
@tallguy, is the goal of this place to force people out over a petty squabble? I don’t recall reaching for a pitchfork when you were sucking my grey matter out of my ear canal with that grueling German chick epic. I just figured you were a little bit gaytarded.
when antonio met his biological father, had he been a more sentient being, he would have said what we all would have said,
joey lawrence is heterosexual?
blossoms.
If you cut this girl’s head off and stuck it on Rodney Dangerfield’s body, you’d have the spitting image of the bastard that sold me that used ’82 Cadillac Cimarron.
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I’ve laughed out loud at both Dreuche’s and tall guy’s comments. It’s a bummer that nobody comes out looking good in an internet squabble.
Antonio softly whispers into Maria’s ear, “I’ll bet you I can find and smoke two Eye-tal-ee-yan sausages at the glory hole before you can make it back with my drink.” She whispers back, “You’re on you ugly motherfuccker.” knowing that it takes a few good minutes of rest for the salami sticks that she’s had to go off again.
@ Tall Guy, and I should know better that to get in on this, but I’d take a racist or a sexist over this shit. I’d rather hear wise cracks about how I should get back in the kitchen, than to not have a kitchen to go to.
@Medusa, check your sources. This is the same ‘news’ outlet that ran a story suggesting Andrew Breitbart might have been assinated using a CIA heart attack gun :/
Maria’s forced, pained smile barely masking a bottomless sea of regret will haunt me for 20 or 30 minutes
Dude McCrudeshoes, before I tell you what the thing is I really ought to warn you that you’re not going to like it because by all accounts you’re a bit slow on the uptake but here goes: the thing is, there was no German chick…
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Medusa, you’re country was founded, maintained and developed on racism and sexism. And slavery, misogyny and abuse. Why then are most Americans so utterly willing to have an essential part of their hearts sliced away and discarded like so much waste? What am I to make of this American obsession with happiness, an obsession that could well lead to a sudden extinction of the creative impulse, that could result in an extermination as horrible as those foreshadowed by global warming and environmental crisis and nuclear proliferation? What drives this rage for complacency, this desperate contentment?
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My suspicion is that the predominant form of American happiness breeds blandness. This kind of happiness appears to disregard the value of sadness. This brand of supposed joy, moreover, seems to foster an ignorance of life’s enduring and vital polarity between agony and ecstasy, dejection and ebullience. Trying to forget sadness and its integral place in the great rhythm of the cosmos, this sort of happiness insinuates that the blues are an aberrant state that should be cursed as weakness of will or removed with the help of a pill or by producing more and more unwanted consumer goods. And no, I’m not questioning joy in general. For instance, I’m not challenging that unbearable exuberance that suddenly emerges from long suffering. I’m not troubled by that hard-earned tranquillity that comes from long meditation on the world’s sorrows. I’m not criticizing that slow-burning bliss that issues from a life spent helping those who hurt. And I’m not romanticizing clinical depression. I realize that there are many lost souls out there who require medication to keep from killing themselves or harming their friends and families. I’m not questioning pharmaceutical therapies for the seriously depressed or simply to make existence bearable for so many with biochemical disorders. But The American Dream of happiness might be a nightmare. What passes for bliss could well be a dystopia of flaccid grins. A passion for felicity that hints at an ominous hatred for all that grows and thrives and then dies. I’d hate to awaken one morning and regret what I’ve done in the name of untroubled enjoyment. I’d hate to crawl out of bed and walk out into a country denuded of gorgeous lonely roads and the grandeur of desolate hotels, of half-cracked geniuses and their frantic poems. I’d hate to come to consciousness when it’s too late to live…
‘Medusa, you’re country was founded,’ okay, correction for the grammar marshals.
marshalls…
Sandrogyny Bullock.