Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

"Love and Body Spray"

I hereby deem thee an artistic amalgam of all that is smelly in greater Long Island, and hereby bequeath this image to my show at the Guggenheim in 2023.

Car Self-Portraits With Camera Phones

Not just for the economic elites anymore.

And remember kids, when wearing a designer sleeveless rayon/cotton hybrid, the second, third and fifth button must remain unbuttoned for proper aesthetic achievement.

Angie prefers peppermint gum to spearmint.

Kaylee Gets Back at Her Distant Father Who Never Expresses Emotion

Revenge is a dish best served by dating Snoop Ferret.

And with a side of orange juice mimosa.

Happy Passover!!

HC1 and I will be celebrating our ancestral tradition by asking the four questions. I might even sing her a song.

To my fellow Hebraics, enjoy your seder, and may all your jelly rings be chocolate. To the Christians among us who ask “what is Passover?” it’s like Easter. Only with less Jesus and more guilt.

Riff Raff, "Spring Breakers" and Douche Metatextuality

Back in my New York east village days, I once met indie film whatsit somethingorother enfant whatevers Harmony Korine.

It was at a screening of Gummo at Anthology Film Archives. ’98 or ’99. I was fresh outta film school, back when there still was film, and kinda interested in seeing if there was any merit at all in some arty eurotrash made by a 20-something proto-hipster.

Korine and his posse came to the screening. They sat in the back, sipping 40s and talking loudly.

During the movie, Korine and his Prepster Posse would make weird humming noises at various points. Occasionally, they broke out in rhythmic clapping. They seemed to have come up with some plan for live “accompaniment” to the film.

Typical entitled prep school asswipes pretending to slum it as outsider artists, I thought to myself. I theoretically peed on them. But the movie was engaging in a visceral sort of way. I will give it that.

The “happening” ended. Afterwards, in the lobby, Korine stood around getting his ass kissed by the cineastes and stuttering in an affected way. I lit out for the glory that was the original (corner) Joe’s Pizza. Over a slice of perfectly heated cheese, I promptly set about erasing all synapse memory of that clown’s douchey-ass herpster hair, Eternal Sunshine style. Obviously, I didn’t fully succeed. As evidenced by this post.

Cut to now.

Korine’s back. Now he’s post-irony, fusing the avant-garde with hip-hop douche culture in the upcoming Spring Breakers. Co-hipster James Franco is even along for the ride, playing HCwDB poo-legend, Riff Raff. Selena Gomez and a few other Disney Princess pop up as Woo Hottie uber-archetypes to be stared at like zoo animals. Shit happens. Things go wrong. Who the hell knows. D.J. Douchewipe of the moment Skrillex even drops the proverbial mass marketed beat. More stuff ensues. Wacky.

So now the art-indie-pop thing is everywhere. And, with it, some P.T. Barnum carnivalesque media blitz strategy. Fueds. Fights. Backstory. Anything to sell tickets to the kids.

And it all centers on Riff Raff. Douche extraordinaire. Wigga to the x-treme, as Poochy might say.

A few days ago, Grantland’s Amos Barshad wrote up this nice take-down of the Korine-Riff Raff pseudo-feud. Barshad gets it right. Art-shtick.

Long time readers know that Riff Raff has been bouncing around HCwDB for years, although so rarely with hot chicks and so obviously a constructed performance, the mock seemed a bit redundant.

As the cycle of mass media echo runs its lap, Franco as Riff Raff is an important milestone. Riff Raff was the beginning of post Jersey Shore meta-ironic douche culture. The moment at which spectacle became recodified as the means of subverting any and all cultural critique. If the douchebag is in on the proverbial “joke” then the douchey behavior is suddenly acceptable. From the authenticity of true douche essence, Donkey Douche and The Gator, to the cashing-in ethos of the performative ‘Raff.

Franco-as-Riff-Raff is our hall of self-reflexive mirror hip-hop herpster douche amalgam. Like the great Woody Allen pastiching The Lady From Shanghai in Manhattan Murder Mystery, the line between homage, reuse, and parody all become concurrently blurred.

And so Riff Raff bitches, Franco denies, and everyone pays to see Vanessa Hudgens’s ass.

Selling sex by way of metatextual melodrama. Who ripped off the other by way of the authentic recreation?

Will the real Slim Douchey please stand up?

Spring Breakers is an important film. Spectacle for spectacle’s sake, with a knowing know-nothing wink to the audience of the utter meaninglessness of the cosmic dance. As The Coen Brothers once quoted Rashi in A Serious Man, accept with simplicity all that happens to you.

Phallic guns as homoerotic penis substitutes. Disney princesses doing blow. It’s all grist for the pop culture blender.

On to the next Adderal stimulant.

And the cosmic consumption dance keeps spinning across the increasingly meaningless classicism of some art-pop-mass culture divide. That never even existed in the first place, Da Da very much.

Ay La Ley Ley Ley Ley Chika Bah!!

The Middle East.

Not just for tribal wars, anti-Semitism, and falafel.

Also for douchey singers.

Wallnuts After Dark – What's With This Whole Pope Thing?

Ya know, for all a the mystery that surrounds this Pope selection process, it really ain’t all that complicated.  C’mon, in Italy, do youse all really think a bunch of Finnoch priests can run the most powerful and profitable business in the world all by themselves?   It ain’t all a them Cardinals or priests or whatever the frigg they are that choose il Papi, but a handful a old Mafia goombalas who really run the Vatican.

Ain’t ya never heard of the the goombalis? Madonna Mia!

I remember when Pope Paul the VI (that’s sixth for all a you Mama Lukes out there) was picked by Frankie and Sam Giancana along with Joe Bonnano and Cesare Manzella.   So Sinatra jaunts over to the Vatican on Bob Hope’s jet, see?  All for a big hush hush meet-up with all a the religious jamokes.  But no one was talkin about it, so Frankie was keepin’ it on the low down.  They was all set to elect, or whatever the f#@k they call it, some Polack priest and the Mob guys were screamin’ holy Mary Jabrones!  No way theys gonna stand for that!  Giancana made some calls and was all like, “No frickkin way a frickkin” Polack is gonna be the Frickkin’ Pope on my watch!” Hand to God.

So Giancana called Frank, and Frank called Skinny D’Amato and they all showed up in the Vatican with the Sicilian dagos and their goons like they was ready to break kneecaps just for the fun of it. Even the hardcore goombas was afraid a them Sicilian sons a bitches. But in the end it came down to the threat of Skinny givin’ two a the Papal Conclave Momos a Culo Punzone. Papal Conclave Momos a Culo Ponzone, I says.

An Ass Punch is an Ass Punch, regardless of the language. Na mean?

By the way, the Mob was constantly sending over high-end celebrity chicks to take care a the Pope’s helmet, ever since Benedict XV had a hard on for Clara Bow back in the 20s.

Pius the XI almost got caught schtupping Garbo in a cloak room in the Sistine Chapel, Pius the XII loved to be dominated and Joan Crawford used to dress up like a Nazi and wack his Guinea Pope Ass with a belt until he was satisfied, and John the XXIII was the guy who told Jack Kennedy what a great lay Marilyn Monroe was. Oofa, all a those Roman Numbers make my head hurt.

Remember that Pope who died after about a month who was supposed to have had a heart attack and was found sitting up in his bed? The real deal is that he was bangin’ Lola Falana.  That goomba had a hankering for the Sammy Davis Jr. chicks, if ya knows what I means, and got a little too much sacramental wine and was workin’ it a little too hard, and blew a gasket.

The Mob had to cover up John Paul I goin’ tits up with a renob real quick and paid off a bunch a nuns and priests and others to make the whole thing go away. No investigation, no nothin’.

Friday Thoughts and Links

Thanks, Roidbags!! Without your help guiding my optic gaze, I had no wherewithal whatsoever!!

And yes, that is what we call, sarrrrrrcasmmmm.

I have no idea why I’m writing in my teenage voice.

But sometimes we all just gotta let that venty, moody, pissant teenager that still resides in all of our chestal cavities out to air out the old verbiage.

Ohhhhh, reallllllllly. Is that what you haveeeeee to do?

VYVYAN!!!!

Stop it.

Get back inside.

Here’s your links:

Your HCwDB Random Amazon Link You Should Click on And Buy Stuff to Help Pay For the Costs of Keeping the Site Going: “They say that it was so hot in the city today, grown men were walking up to cops on street corners begging them to shoot them.”

For the future DB1 Jr., this will be for his fifth birthday.

For you Bill Simmons fans, ever wonder what the sound of a rusty steaknife cutting through a well aged steak sounded like? Now you know.

Speaking of which: Truth In Advertising.

Clan.

Bored this weekend? Why not take some time to enjoy some repetitive photos?

So what’s up on the Jersey Shore these days? Shoe-holes.

Speaking of which: The Jersey Thor. I still blame myself.

In case you missed it yesterday: A High School in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania smells a whiff of freedom.

Nice. And from good news in the war on douche, I takes you to Pear. First up:

Baby Mama Pear

Not enough to ride into your weekend? Okay, have some

Members Only Pear

Don’t ever say I didn’t do nothin for ya.

Friday Haiku

Kim Kardashian’s

Make-up artists celebrate

The end of their shift.

They don’t use bronzer

Since the gyroscope was put

In her Monkey Hole

— The Reverend Chad Kroeger

Skittles and vodka

Ecstasy, too much dancing

Results in Puke Fest

— DoucheyWallnuts

Broseph and the

Amazing Technicolor

Dream Coat II – The Rave

— Magnum Douche P. I.

Brainless skull vacuum

Sucks pressure out of the room

Glowstick Explosion

— Justin Timberbag

Shining the Blue Light

Reveals the bacteria

That indicates Poo

— DoucheyWallnuts

HCwDB After Dark

It’s all about the cufflinks.