Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Igor Bag is droppin' chromosomes like they hot, and pickin' up Milfs like they not

…Whilst his envious cousin Slav Darkly fumes in the background.

This tawdry scene, replete with DuckFace™, makes me despair.

Which rhymes with “pear”.

Which begs the question – if you squeeze a grape-colored pear, will she let out a little wine?

Caption This

The bigger they are…

If you have a clever caption for Lurch and Mini-Tracy-Ullman here, please share it in the comments thread.

***REMINDER***

This will be a scholarly week spent on discussion of all things DoucheBaggish. There will be no distracting gratuitous pear. We are here to do serious work, not ogle glistening buttocks of callipygian goddesses.

That is all.

Welcome To Sock Week on HCwDB. Son.

To Hell with Shark Week. It’s Sock Week.

I understand that The Boss has a new child. I’m not going to incriminate myself by asking where he got it from. But I’m recovered from my surgery, I’m back in the saddle, I am back at work providing precision architectural services and I even feel good enough for a little horse play with my friends Stoya and Sarah Jessica Parker.

Now, this week will be one of purity, with no gratuitous distractions.

So we begin with a classic coupling of appalling douchosity paired with lip-biting hotness as we rage “Damn, Girl; what you thinkin”?!? As B&W Douche here manages to lift his chicken wing to display the stink finger to us all, despite the 20 pound watch, I think the Secretly Stern MILF’s expression in the background says it all for us.

Comment, as ever, in the, ummm, comments section.

The Gator Gets Freaky

Ah yes, The Gator.

From purchasing a town in Bulgaria to starring as the next villain in Doctor Who in just seven bankruptcy and lawsuit filled years.

But at least the legendary Hall of Scrote member is still shreddin’ (warning: not safe for life).

Wallnuts After Dark: On the Beach With the Jews

As I said, I’mst down at A.C, for an little R ‘n R with the Missus and have been spendin’ a little time wit some a my crew, both new an old.

Now I need my peace and quiet as much as the next guy, but it’s kind a hard for me to go down to A.C. and be totally incommunacating an not see some a my paisanos and my good Jew friends. So what I do is I don’t tell no one I’m here for a couple a days so I can get my alone time with Mrs Wallnuts.

There is a big difference between the Jews and the Goombas, everybody knows that, but havin’ ’em all together makes it that much more noticeable. And on the beach, fuggetaboudit!

First of all so many a these old school Guinea bastards don’t know how to friggin’ dress at the beach. Blind Frankie Petrillo – who ain’t really blind – shows up wearin’ a Cabana shirt wit some kind a bathin’ trunks but he’s got on black fuccen knee-high dress socks and loafers an he’s carryin’ a chair that looks like it came from his fuccen kitchen dinette set. Hand to God.

I says, “Blind Frankie,” I says, “Oofa! Where the Fucc do you think you is?” He just shrugs and sets his chair down like everything’s normal.

An it takes a lot to embarrass me, but c’mon with this get up! And the chair, Madon!

But you ain’t never seen or heard nothin’ ’til you spend time on the beach with Jews. First of all, they never stop talkin’ like God-forbid there’s a friggin’ second a silence. It don’t matter what, but everything’s a fuccen topic a conversation.

An I got a mix a old Jews and new Jews I hang wit. There are some a the retired dinosaurs from the Lansky Crew and then there’s the New Jews who run the diamond and precious metal business out a Brooklyn, these Acidic Jews or some fuccen thing. And their wives…

It don’t never stop. “The sun is too hot.” “Oy, it’s cold when the sun goes behind the clouds.” “This beach is sooo sandy!” “The water is too rough to go in!” “Look at that bathing suit! You can see her Kishkahs and whole Tukhus, she must be a shiksa!” “What say you we try the pool?” “These towels are too rough. What are they made of, sand paper?” “Who made this beach chair, Dr Mengele? It’s torturin’ my back!”

It never friggin’ stops. And they never stop talking about the next meal. Now, not the food itself, which is somethin’ the Wops is always jawin’ about, but the meal. When? Where? Shall we take out or have it delivered? Do room service, order Chinks, go to Buffet, eat by the pool? Ah, vaffanculo!

We just have breakfast and we’s just settlin’ into our chairs and Moe Gectman wants to know where we’s goin’ for lunch. Walkin’ back from lunch, Zig Tuchbein starts askin’ about dinner. Between that and the constant yammerin’, it’s friggin’ exhaustin’.

Now me, I just like to sit an watch what goes by. I have my chaise lounge an umbrella, a book, the TV Guide an Reader’s Digest, an maybe a drink or two. I used to have a portable 8-track tape player but that’s on the fritz and can’t get it fixed, so I can’t listen to my music.

I’m all for a little small talk, but the constant chatterin’ drives me bananas, so I had to tell ’em I was gonna scram so I could get some relaxation. But now I’m stuck with Blind Frankie an the rest a the Wops, who ain’t no bargain neither.

Friday Thoughts and Link

Babies poo a lot.

Languorous Bed Pear.

Friday Haiku

That ridin’ toy there?

Benz rents hourly. He also

Rents that jet ski, too.

Beachcomber looks out

Keeping the sand free from trash.

You missed a spot, bro…

— Tits McGee

As I have told you

It won’t move on the beach. Now

Get of the jet ski.

— THEONETRUEDOUCHE

Not sure why he has

a life jacket on. It’s well

known that turds will float.

— Magnum Douche P. I.

She don’t get seasick

Since the gyroscope was put

In her Monkey Hole

— The Reverend Chad Kroeger

Bleeth is so low rent

He’s Jet Ski-ing her instead

Of Motor boating

— DoucheyWallnuts

E.P.A. finds new

oil spill at sea. B.P. ? No,

from Benzino’s hair.

— Magnum Douche P. I.

Katie decides to

ride something going nowhere

Then hops on jet ski

— Jacques Doucheteau

Crews out chumming the

water anticipating

best Shark Week ever.

— Dr. Bunsen HoneyDouche

Reader Mail: Carlos the Jagoff is nottadouche?

Responding to yesterday’s pic, reader doosh disputes whether Carlos the Jagoff is really a ‘bag:

———

Seems the standards for douche mocking have fallen off over the last year or so. No douchy tats, no douchy hairdo or facial hair, no douchy clothes. Yeah, his shorts are a little douchy and the pose is too, but I would consider those circumstantial evidence. This guy is NOTHING compared to the legends on this site, and IMHO – nottadouche.

—————-

Perhaps this pic of Carlos with his suburban Asian hottie gangsta harem will help clarify the situation.

You have learned nothing, grasshopper. Nothing.

Carlos the Jagoff and Kim Kill a Saturday

I’ll take “Patriotic Bikini Hotts With Attitude” for $1200, Alex.

Yup. Carlos the Jagoff and Kim are back. Once again posing like the true suburban gangstas they is. The kind that roll all up into a 7-11 like hustlahs, yo. Word.

Proving that you don’t need a job, a personality, or any consciousness above and beyond that of a vibrating eucalyptus tree to operate a digital camera and post the evidence to the internets.

Or, as the great John Lenin once said, You say you want a revolllutionnn.

Benzino Puts on the Ritz

Only the chosen few ‘bag legends can perform narcissistic feats of transcendence while cuddling with Bottle Blonde Ashley and her ultra poochable suckle tauts.

Your humb narrs is still bottle burping and sleeplessing. Sorry the site can’t update as much these days but there will always be room in my life to mock the atrocious asspimple that is Benzinobag.