Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Reader Mail: Brett is Upset

“Brett” writes in from an email account with a different name:

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to: douchebag1

Brett —-

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The email address that did it? Who really does anything? Can any of our actions really be construed as choice in this chaotic netherworld of worldly nethers we call the underwear trapeze of life?

I believe it was Ionesco who first posited the notion of the meaningless circuity of life itself impacting any claims to defining the lived experience via the accumulation of knowledge. And by Ionesco, I mean Tommy Lee’s self-aware peen. Which ain’t got nothin’ on what Berle was packin’.

The Ballad of Mack the Nozzle

Like all great douchechoads, the Ballad of Mack The Nozzle tells a dark, sordid tale of a once preening nitgargle who stood on top of the club world, only to sink into a pit of second rate hotties as the years wore down his spirit and his credit rating.

And so we witness the descent. From the peak purity of Francine, to the initial descent to quality but slightly skeezy suckle hotts, and to our present condition, peddling pandas for blow.

Tragic.

But not as tragic as those idiotic face tatts.

And yes, when I get off my lazy ass, The Mack is destined for enshrinement in our hallowed Hall of Scrote.

Ben Scribblememore and the Meth Sisters

I can only assume that Ben found some of that Heisenberg Blue to match Kelly’s bottoms.

"The Critique of Pure Reason"

As Immanuel Kant once wrote in his seminal treatise, “The Critique of Pure Reason”:

Whether or not the douchebag can be understood, a priori, as a product of cause and effect, this causal result relies entirely on the limitations of sensorial understandings of douchepoo. It is therefore my observation that only insofar as douchepoo is mocked sufficiently, then boobies are a form of higher truth.”

Yup. Need a coffee.

Ask DB1: Whither the URC As a Totalizing Icon

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DB1,

I have several questions about Red Cup (and Blue Cup, Yellow Cup, et. al).

I’ve noticed that Red Cup’s SOP is to watch pensively.  Does Red Cup do anything else? Does Red Cup stare in hopeless infatuation with Hott? Does it look disappointingly at bleethed-out skank? Does it look on in contempt at tatted-up GSR douche? Or does he only watch pensively?

And, if Red Cup is so ever-present among douchebags/hotts/bleeths, is Red Cup not douche in and of itself?  As Seinfeld once said, adjacent to refuse is refuse.

Yours yet again, yada yada yada, you know how I sign off these missives,

Dan

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The URC (Ubquitous Red Cup) is a totalizing signifier. By this, I mean that it orients the douchal pattern, operating much as a test grid or color bars do in assisting calibration.

The URC reminds us of the purity of primary color and the simplicity of the agency of the primitive tool, at the same moment it operates in stark contrast to the post-structuralist explosion of commodity that marks douchebag in pursuit of hott.

The URC is never douchey in and of itself, since it reminds us of the purity of essence beyond the specificities of cultural marker. In other words, the URC reminds us of essence beyond culture. Color. The act of drinking. The achievements of the human race over the elements.

In so doing, URC only further heightens the repugnance of douche poo making booble fondle.

The Surferbag learns a valuable lesson in sunscreen

Douchetatts are 0 SPF.

Bonnie is a perky and bubbly Omaha 10. There is a reason not too many people live in Omaha. It involves potato chips.

Douchey Feldman Approves of the HCwDB of the Week

From the pinnacle of Hollywood success to see-through rayon douche poses with hot chicks in just under three decades.

So it goes from the days of wine and roses.

HCwDB of the Week: Hipster Skeet and Meg

Props to the excellent and holiest of crappy boat captains, the ‘Sock, for an amazing week of substitute mock.

Your humb narrs is on his way back to lala to renew his alcoholism and love/hate relationship with the Hollywood hoi polloi. And by love/hate, I mean loathing floating in a sea of bitter rage and emotional dysfunction.

But I digress.

To honor the ‘Sock’s week of Pear (and mock), I down an extra shot of Mad Dog with my morning HoHos. And I burp. For his work, Sock earns an honorary pants salute.

Getting back to the mock, we’ll go with Hipster Skeet and Meg for the Weekly. There were more toxic ‘bags, more horrifying everythings, and disturbingly large bazongagons, but in cohabit, The Skeet’s douche-hair and Meg’s innocence combine to form the right combo.

And by right, I mean woodchipping a woodchuck just to see how much chipped chuck a woodchuck could be chipped into. Hipster douche suckles piglet teat.

Sunday Movie: Get Me to That Particular Greek

Apparently “Pear” in Greece is spelled “Perra”.

Star-Shouldered Sneech Evinces Disturbing New 2012 'Bag Trend

Wedge-Vertabrae Vin sported a scapula star on the site Thursday. Now the Sneech sports stereo scapula stars.

One more be-spangled ‘bag and it’s a trend.  Not good.  But better than the dreaded Shaved Groin Reveal Plague of 2011.

Salvageable Sara beckons hope with corseted compressed cow cones.  So there’s that.

Speaking of nobody at home…I will be out in the Gulf deep sea fishing most of today…wish me luck.  Perhaps the regulars could have a “what’s the worst that could happen” contest in the comments thread.