Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Reader Mail: Australian Shane Warne is a Cricketdouche

Despite the retirement of HCwDB from the public discourse, Aussie Pete demands that the mock continue by calling out some foreign sports playing tool with an extremely douchey haircut by the name of Shane Warne.

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DB1,
Would love to see you break into the world market, mocking the detritus that washes up on the shores of the world.

– Aussie Pete
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I have no clue who this clown is. But since he stole the lavicious and lascivious Liz Hurley from that dude who starred in Lair of the White Worm, I will temporarily cast off my hermetic hiatus for a brief mock.

This pathetic pudtwiddle of twaddling pudwankery is the definition of douchebro.

I could spend a fortnight simply mocking his posture.

But that is not the purpose of this post.

The purpose of this post is to marvel at the genius that is Warne’s unbelievably ridiculously garish wall art. Not since Jeff Koons sculpted Michael Jackson and Bubbles or the rumored Alex Rodriguez centaurs have I been so simultaneously aghast and amazed. This piece of pop horror that apparently took seven years to concoct, may be the douchiest collection of oils in one place since Brian Austin Green switched to decaf.

Humpster Dumpster

Humpster Dumpster sat on a wall,
Humptster Dumpster had a great fall,
All Stephanie’s besties,
And all Stephanie’s friends,
Agreed that Humpster Dumpster’s ginormous douchelips should be smacked with a rusty kaiser blade by Anthony Michael Hall.

Billy Wankowsky Sings Yacht Rock to Youthful Kelly

Billy Wankowsky has a secret.

That secret is Yacht Rock.

What is Yacht Rock? That lame douchebro fratchoad music for over forty years of lip biting, high fiving, boat sailing and Bud Light Lime summers.

Like Melville’s symbiotic whale/fish interplay that circumnavigates their douchey-ass trawlers, Fratrock and Douchechoad are a perfect margarita blend of trust fund pablum and culture blender generi-spittle.

All should beware when fratchoads like Billy hum along to remixed Doobie Brothers and fry up some ‘awesome dogs, yo’ on their boat grill. For theirs is a self contained ecosystem. A wretched hive of scam and Valium. The perfect modus operendi for wanky trusty rusty twatwaddles. Whilst lame soft rock seventh chords strummed to falsetto repetition provides the generic soundtrack to their aging, deadened, sun ripened soul shard.

But the greatest tragedy lies in what is slayed on their veritable whale hunt of pop culture somnambulism. For their overplayed ‘classic rock’ soundtrack is not merely accompaniment. It offers the soothing Steelydanitude of inappropriate dazzle. The harmonic wailings that woo ubersucklefondle quality of Youthful Kelly and her purity of holistic hottitude.

And that is true tragedy of the spectral rotting whale corpse beached on the sands of a grossly unexamined life.

Happy summer from the DB1!