Reader Mail: Chris Makes it All Worth It
This email deserves a douche-free post:
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DB1,
I have no business visiting your web site as I am a 45 year old married father of 4 living in the suburbs of DC (that’s our Nation’s capital). I commute for 3 hours a day, work for 8, sleep for 7, am expected to perform with what little time I have left in the day.
But instead of changing diapers and reading “Goodnight Moon” to crying children at the end of a day I sit here and visit your website.
And I laugh, chuckle, and smile. And oftentimes weep….
Weep tears of joy at your comedy, brilliance, and downright hilarity. How you do it, I do not know. Nor do I want to…
I for one appreciate the free entertainment you provide. And of course I will (and have) contribute to your efforts.
You’re the best friend I never met. Don’t ever change.
– Chris
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It’s been a long, crazy, amazing run. In a few weeks, it’ll be seven years since HCwDB was born out of my rage at seeing every male my age putting on paint-spackled $80 Affliction shirts and dousing themselves in Axe Bodyspray in the vain hopes of getting female attention.
So much has changed.
So much has yet to changed.
The battle continues. And in many ways, the battle is also over.
Who knows what the future brings? For now, I’mma still post what I can.
“I laugh, chuckle, and smile. And oftentimes weep….”, sounds like Chris is a fan of the Revs prose.
A “douche-free post”? Wait a minute, that’s how I always see the “Where’s Waldouche?” posts…..and this is a trick, isn’t it?
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I still can’t find the ‘bags in any of these. Damn it…..or wait, not seeing the ‘bags is a good thing .
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But I like puzzles.
I like Chris. And I like the Milfy Cougar goodness provided by the Milfy Cougars.
Chris says, “I commute for 3 hours a day, work for 8, sleep for 7…..at the end of a day I sit here and visit your website.”
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So you fill out at least 18 hours a day of obligatory drudgery and wonder why you need a break? This is a great place to find one, and you definitely deserve one. Enjoy your visits, and post here once in awhile.
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Just don’t get into Rev’s stash.
I laugh, chuckle, and smile. And definately weep at the glimpse of blue bikini’s Ying Yang tattoo wishing I was hickey-ing it whilst having a fist up each of her down there oraficesessess. Oraficesessess, I saysessesses
Speaking of 7 years…as most of you know, when the switch was made from Blogger to WordPress, tragically all of the older comments were lost forever. If you go back a few years, say, to the EPIC Samurai Scrote thread (11,000 plus comments, if the n00bs amongst you aren’t aware) all you’ll see is “Comments Closed”.
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Then I found The Wayback Machine.
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You can now go to the Wayback Machine’s site, plug “http://hotchickswithdouchebags.com” into the search window, and BAM! You can revisit almost 90% of the original olde content.
So I looked up a long-forgotten treat. On October 11 DB1 challenged the regs to deliver an “Epic Poem”, in the classic Greek sense, in response to his post called “Ramblin’ Bag”. Go check it out. Here is what I posted:
Okay, I figured if I’m gonna do an Epic, I should stay true to literary form; it’s a seven-step process.
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So without further adieu,
my epic about a douche and his poo. I’ve been on an olestra bender, so forgive me:
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Introduction
An epic poem is a long narrative centering around a single hero, presenting his or her adventures within a suitably heroic framework.
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Step One
Write a brief statement of the poem’s purpose before you begin recounting the story
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This here’s an ode
To Billy Ray Choad
For a scrote I wrote this Epic.
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About Olean chips
and runny brown drips
And a case of intestinal septic.
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Step Two
Give a short, general outline of the action of the poem.
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Billy Ray sticks to his guns
In spite of the runs
He dared to battle anal leakage
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And his girlfriend Darlene
Who could have split the scene
Fought with him throughout the reakage
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Step Three
Invoke the Muse next by first praising her, then by asking her to aid you in the writing of your poem.
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O Queen Bleethe! O Yasmin!
With the hair scented Jasmine –
I beseech thy thundering buns
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Give me the strength
To write an epic of length
For one of your poop-drenched sons
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Step Four
Choose a particularly heroic event in the hero’s life at which to start. This will be the main action of your poem.
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Billy Ray was lazy
Jobless and crazy
Laid up in the trailer all day
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With him was Darlene,
Nick-named “The Sardine”
How she got that name I won’t say
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They worshipped the mullet
Pouring Pabst down their gullet
And watching Tivo ‘till they yawned
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They taped something crazy –
Spike’s marathon for Swayze
And they’d made it through most of Red Dawn
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Our Hero slammed down
A big bag (a half pound)
Of Ruffles Lite, made for dippin’
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He dipped chips of false grease
Into vats of faux cheese
On his wife beater it was all drippin’
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Watching Red Dawn
He and Darlene did yawn
He said “Babe, let’s finish later”
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She said “’fore we hit the bed,
I need to get fed”
He said “Hell, open another bag o’ taters!”
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Step Five
Begin the narrative by recounting earlier events retold through flashbacks. The past actions thus form a framework centering around the main action
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BUT – Earlier that day, grocery shoppin’ at Texaco
To the counter he went with burritos from Mexico
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And Pabst Blue Ribbon and Gatorade (green)
Cigarettes, rubbers, and many chips of Olean
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Some Chiclets, a Hustler and a tube of KY
‘cuz he hankered for anal, and wanted Darlene to try
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So anticipating butt sex while he pretends she’s a “Carmen”,
Our hero pays and leaves…but he forgets the Charmin.
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Step Six
Confront your hero with dangerous monsters and other incredible adventures. Include vivid and explicit descriptions of warfare (particularly weapons and combat).
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So back to our Hero; full of olestra and Velveeta
Covered in grease; he’s ruined his wife beater
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Red Dawn’s credits roll, and in the blue light
He remembers the lube and his plans for the night
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He reaches for the KY and to Darlene suggests porn
When a harbinger of doom erupts from his mudhorn
It came without warning; he did not expect
A loud ripping sound that left the sofa shit-flecked
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Like a fecal Vesuvius blowing brown goo,
He darts to the john as his ass fills his shoe
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He clamps to the can while emitting brown sleet;
He’s now a machine: squirt, flush and repeat
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Like possessed Amish girls, his intestines do churn
His eyes weep water and his nose starts to burn
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His colon’s turned into a cursed Mr. Coffee
Spraying a deluge of runny brown toffee.
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He peeks through the door thinking it could not be worse
In time to see Darlene hunching as she shat in her purse.
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Fighting off dementia from the thick anal vapor,
He yells “Darlene, honey, brang toilet paper!”
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But she’s in the living room, getting her cramp on
Trying vainly to wipe with her very last tampon
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Step Seven
Use the supernatural to get your protagonist out of tough situations. If your hero or heroine is in a no-win situation, simply send in a god or goddess to help out at the last moment.
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Our hero’s alone now, stuck on the can
Whimpering quietly “go get me some bran”
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Covered in poop, staring at the empty roll
He prays to Queen Bleethe as the smell takes its toll
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Then by Douche Magic there suddenly appears
An autographed towel from Yasmin’s Baywatch Years
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With tears in his eyes he besmirches her towel
It thirstily drinks the nectar of his bowel
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Then he wipes down Darlene, tarred with butt lotion
Rubbing her down with a circular motion
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They hop on his Harley and flee all things rectal
The trailer’s an EPA Superfund to be cleaned up by Bechtel
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The moral of this story, so you might avoid this ‘bag’s folly:
If you gorge on Olean, you gonna ride the Porcelain Trolley.
Laureates.
I laugh, chuckle, smile, and weep for Chris’ commute. Fuck man. Get a house closer to work. That will put you into an early grave all that driving and rage. Chris is my hero. The sober? father my children will never have. I complain about my two minute drive to work with Mrs. Kroeger and her partners, bunch of fucking dummies. That bitch is all pissed because i missed a few days cause of the getting off the wagon and shit. I’m a gonna eat supper, chug the 12 beers I have left and get drink as fuck and maybe do the commute tomorrow.
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At least I’m bringing the little rats to see Strawberry Shortcake and the fucking Doodlebops tomorrow. Doodlebops? Am I fucking insane? I’m gonna have to get really ripped for that shit. And then Disney on Ice the next week. Sweet fuckers I’m doomed if they don’t have a bar. But Montreal usually has some liquors. Chris for president, Son. That fucking Alabama Hot Pocket Michelle is getting just friggin annoying. Go start your Victory Garden and keep your fat ass off my eyes ya cunt.
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In honor of Chris and his life of family burden let’s check out some Zepparella.
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@ Darksock
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I call shenanigans. That entire poem section is side 3 of “Tales From Topographic Oceans” , to the word
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Nous Sommes Du Plagiarist
Du…Du Hast…Du Hast Mesch…
“Milfy Cougars”?
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I was gonna thank Chris for including the pic of his daughters.
I’d like to Du Hast those chicks. I call really clean living late 20’s for those chicks. The brunette is getting soft in the chesticles but ripe for hard anal rape play. And by rape play I mean Nazi uniforms and scat. Son.
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I love this guy
Chris, you are a champion, my friend!
because you’ll keep on fighting ’til the end…
What?
Chris, you’re a straight up good guy. And you’d be Hall of Fame material if you can post more pics of Hot Chicks sans Douchebags!
and, thanks DarkSock. I’ll have a probably goood opinion about it next month when I’m done reading it. I got stuck at ~EPA~.
I hope to be like Chris when I grow up (or just get older than my Matrix-inspired residual self). I mean, of couse, without the 4 kids and 3 hour comute.
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What I mean is… I just hope that I hate douchebags forever.
Seven years doing this? Well,you’ll be remembered for fighting the fight. Think of all the people you’ve touched,by making them laugh. And all of the assholes who needed to be exposed. If you plan on leaving,Just be sure to pass this site on to the right person who can do the same kind of honorable job,by posting cleavage,tilted hats on white boys, men who are roiided out, and the hundred other inbreds. Chris needs us.
Damn that auto correct finding a word and misspelling it for me. Roid.
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