Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Biff Smirk takes nose-ring nina to the 7th ring of the disco inferno

Biff tries to sooth increasingly concerned mid-western goddess Nina that this strange new club is completely normal… “Sulfur? Nah, Doll, that smell’s just them sliders I had on the way here talkin’ to ya…yeah, dat’s da ticket…“.

APRIL'S FOOL!!!

DarkSock™ here, helming this week’s important work of posting pictures of  Hot Chicks with Total and Complete Douchebags™.  With Commentary™.

DB1 is out on field assignment (aka a booze-fueled week-long black-out binge in Vegas) so once again I grab his staff and hoist it high!  Wait…poor choice of words…but you get the picture.

In fact, the first picture you get is this one here.  It’s April Fools’ day.  Hence this Fool.  I dub him “PunchMe Douche”, for reasons that should be immediately obvious.  Toilet-swirl hair, metro soul patch, Gramma’s sunglasses…ugh.

And then there’s poor Judy, wearing on her face both the windshield of a ’78 AMC Pacer and a look of deep regret; she can still taste the brackish tang of his spittle from his last crass loveless kiss, streaked with the acrid flavors of last night’s nine ill-advised Red Bull and Goose shooters plus the thin grease of his morning throw-up and Crest.  The aforemented smooch being planted open-mouth on her in a vulgar display of territorial braggadocio as his brahs walked up fists a-pumping to the cabana to order a round of Sunday Bloody Maries.

Take that, Daddy…

Discuss the Freudian subtext of this garish spectacle, as always, in the comments sections.  And by the way, for you lurkers and acolytes…click that comments link.  For that is where the action is.  If you only read the front page and gawk at the picture before flitting off to your favorite cat-pictures website they you are truly missing out on The Rest Of The Story.  Son.