Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

A Very, Very, Very, Very Hott Woman Named Sophie Poses With Fratpud Wally

Very, Very, Very, Very Hott Woman Named Sophie (VVVVHWnS) knows perfectly well that she is very, very, very, very hott. She does not need every man within a 1/4 mile radius to remind her.

Nonetheless, every man within a 1/4 mile radius will remind her.

Because that’s what men do.

The Saddleranch: Still A Vortex of Suckage in 2013

So I had a meeting at the Starbucks next to Los Angeles’s infamous Saddle Ranch Chop House yesterday.

For those of you who don’t know what the Saddle Ranch is, picture a faux-cowboy pickup scene with bad 80s music blaring from the sound system. Add in uber-hottie bartenders working the paid-to-pose angle. Then toss in hordes of beefy douchewanks with jock itch who read somewhere that the ‘Ranch is where “the Los Angeles 10s hang out.”

Then factor in greasy-as bar food smear and an electric bull vibrator, and the whole place reeks of the stench of all that is crotch itch in the pukey nostalgia hued wasteland/dreamland of the infamous Sunset Strip.

This isn’t to say the awfulness of my proximity to Douche Mecca of Los Angeles was a complete waste of time. Side benefit: oggling the leg reveal trend of the Bleeths as they came into the Starbucks to get a latte. Many a giggle pooch presented itself for suckle thigh fondle prod.

So there are small victories in the abyss.

I smirk and I smile. The mock continues, albeit subdued these days as I grow older and more pensive. But mock onward, I will.

Veronica Bits An Orange, World Goes to Hell

I’m pretty sure it was Nostadouchus who first predicted that when the Bikini Hott nameth Veronica first tastes the orange of sin, then really douchey chin fung will course through the veins of all able bodied men.

While Sidekick Joe is glad to meet you and Kathy Kim laughs playfully.

Your Sunday Laugh-At-a-Medical-Condition Karaoke

This is the… TITS!!

Wallnuts After Dark – What's all This Yackety-Yak About Gun Control?

One time I was at a party Bert Convy was trowin’ at his place in Pacific Palisades an I was hangin’ wit Baron Mikel Scicluna, Jim Backus, Ann B. Davis, Rip Taylor, Lee Merriweather, Jim Neigbors an the chick who did the voice of Jane Jetson who was a real doll face, amongst others.

Ann B was packin’ heat, which a lotta dames did back then, believe it or not. So in the middle a this gig she pulls out her piece, a big friggin’ .357 Magnum, an starts braggin’ about how good a shot she was an that there weren’t no guy who could shoot as good as she could.

Now in another group a Hollywood types, this Adrienne Barbeau dame hears Ann B carryin’ on an whips out her .45 caliber pocket cannon an starts chimin’ in that the chicks are better shots than any a the guys. This Barbeau was a young chippy at the time an she had a set a knockers on her that she loved to show off that woulda made the Pope hisself take a second look. Na mean?

So we got this hot babe packin’ a heater, which off-sets Ann B who was kinda a homely broad, and they set off to the backyard to have a shootin’ contest, all the while callin’ out the guys sayin’ they’s chickens for not steppin’ up to take the challenge.

Barbeau proceeds to shoot a round into the air, at which time Backus pissed his pants and then went to the bar for another Old Fashioned.

So anyways, in walks this guy who was on that TV show about the family band and played the guy who was the manager of the band that had the mom in it – played by Shirley Jones who was a real doll – and had those other kids in it. Reuben Kinkaid was his name in the show. The only reason I remember that is he’d go by that in real life cuz it helped him get laid.

He says he can shoot better than the broads, and he has all kinds a trick shots that they can’t do. So he shoots a couple a shots between his legs an over his shoulder and knocks some cans off of a fence and nobody quite gives a Fucc until he pulls out his schwantz, threads it through the trigger and proceeds to shoot a bottle of Chivas off a the head of Alan Hale, Jr. usin’ his hard-on to pull the friggin’ trigger. Who ever heard of a Trigger Hard-On! Madon!

The place goes nuts an Barbeau puts her .45 between her knockers and somehow squeezes those puppies together so’s she can fire off a shot that knocks off one a Ruben Kinkade’s blazer buttons, which made ole Ruben evacuate his bowels into his BVDs. Fin-less Brown Trout, I says.

By this point Ann B was all worked up and starts yellin’ to everyone that’s she’s got ’em all beat. So Ann B hikes up her dress, drops her trau and when she turns to face the crowd we see she’s got her .357 hangin’ out a her Quim, Gabiles and everything.

Then out a nowhere’s the blonde broad who played the non-monster family member on that show about the family that was all monsters like Frankenstein and Dracula or whatever the Fucc they was, starts trowin’ shot glasses inta the air an ole Ann B firin’ out a her Snapper knocks all 6 of ’em out a the air in the blink of an eye. Mama Mia! Talk about gun control!

Friday Thoughts and Links

Kinda hard to keep up with the mock when Fratbags become terrorists.

But, as terrorist versions of Chainsaw and that Blonde Guy from Summer School wrap up their terrorism spree, my thoughts turn to… Watertown???

Seriously, Watertown?

Even Somerville mocks Watertown. Truckers don’t even stop for bathroom breaks in Watertown. Although I did spend many a high school Saturday journeying to the Arsenal Mall because I was convinced that malls were where the chicks hung out and there were no malls in Brookline.

It turns out that, back in the 80s, high school chicks did not actually hang out in malls. At least not in Boston.

Consider that a life lesson learned.

Here’s yer freakin’ links:

Why not take this time to learn more about Chechnya?: A Small Corner of Hell: Dispatches from Chechnya

Eel Shoved Up Man’s Anus Eats Its Way Through His Intestines. Or, as I like to call it, dating.

Let the attention whoring Thrift Shop parodies continue: Pot Shop.

Sorority Bleeths in the Slimeball Doucharama. Or perhaps “greatest email ever.”

Ah screw this. I got nuthin’ while this crap is going down. Time for Pear:

Zig Zag Pear

Not enough?

Blue Quartet Pear

It’s almost enough to distract you from a chaotic week. Almost.

More Craziness in Boston

No, this picture is not of the Boston Terrorists/Clowns. But, hey, it’s what I post around here.

As Twitter, Reddit and other forms of social media continue to pwn the joke that is CNN and the rest of the cable news jokiverse, we here at HCwDB want to do our part.

Since J_tsar is the real twitter account of Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, I thought we’d (dis)honor some of his actual tweets.

The day after the bombing:

‏@J_tsar 16 Apr: I’m a stress free kind of guy

Two days before the bombing:

‏@J_tsar 13 Apr: Got me a haircut, I don’t usually do those

And my personal fave:

@J_tsar 11 Apr: Now we aint come here to start no drama, we just looking for our future baby mamas

Or the fact this dude was into Rent.

Well, I can’t do much else here at HCwDB except mock a Fratbag in these clowns dishonor.

Friday Haiku

Calvin, wondering

If Claire’s “carpet” matched her “drapes”,

Conspires to go down.

Victorian Age

Douchebag goes exploring in

Her oyster gully

— Capt. James T. Douche

He hasn’t breathed in

Since the gyroscope was put

In her Monkey Hole.

— The Reverend Chad Kroeger

Victorian Douche

Preparing to go down on

Victorian Bleeth

— DoucheyWallnuts

In the days before

feminine douche invented

The smells could be strong.

— Franklyn DealorNo Doucheifelt

1809 was

A momentous year, as muff

Diving invented

— Capt. James T. Douche

He put the helmet/em>

In the basket with a hose

The Purple Flesh Hose

— DoucheyWallnuts

“I’d like to be in

HER Octopus’s Garden!”

pondered Phineas.

— Douche Wayne

This dude just loves to

Swim with bow-legged women,

Dives between their knees.

— hermit

Friday haiku shows

mock is applicable to

douchebags throughout time

— Charles Douchewin

Bathrooms without Lysol

If you look closely, that’s the ghost of John Mayer peeking through the doorway. He’s wondering if the microbal count of the bathroom sink is 2 billion parts per inchron, or three.

I have no idea what an inchron is. I assume it’s a measurement of very small units. You know who would know? John Mayer.

Because he has a small peen.

Small peen jokes for the loss.

I need a coffee.

Bleeth Bleeth Tell Me Now….

Is there something I should purchase to cure this itch on my inner thigh?