Hot Chicks With Douche Bags

Your Christmas/Hannukah HCwDB Trump Cleanse

Yeeeeeech.

It’s like a fourth grade purple nurple delivered by Timmy Flynn to poor Gavin MacGarninkle mated with a greased up Arizona cactus and then that hybrid being vomited up a Poltergeist II tequila worm, only to see that purple cactus worm vomit hybridity coalesce into human form just to pinch Victoria’s tooter.

Happy Holidays!!

The Shunning of the Trump Voter

You. Yes, you.

You voted for Trump?

You are a human Zika virus. A walking Walking Dead walker with the rotting, fetid stench of seasons five through seven seeping through every cell of your corporeal body. Every pixel of your online presence. You are to be psychologically and conceptually quarantined. Forever.

I curse you with every elemental fiber of my being. I expunge you with every ounce of my soul, my shmeg, and my spirit. Let you be forever damned as the rank choadscrote that you chose to become due to your own misguided volition.

You deserve no forgiveness.

You deserve no retrial.

You are hereby cast out.

You are not a part of the legitimate discourse of a civil society. And you are certainly not invited to my next birthday party. And that party will be awesome. It will contain real people. It will have cheese dip. And premium gouda. And tasty Hostess treats. Yes, even Chocodiles. And people with actual souls. People with consciousness. From Socrates to Billy Ocean. The collective progress of Humankind. Of which you are no longer a member. Sorry, toad pimple. You forever vanquished your right to lay claim to the progression narrative of the human race.

You are douche.

But not just any douche. We need an invented moniker for the hypertext vortex of ferret pus suckage that you embody in the apex of wretchedness that your life choices reached. You are not merely standard issue douche. Nor are you an amusingly eccentric scrotey nitwank. You fall neither hither nor thither on the spectrum of ‘bag.

You are a new form of pimple lick. A collage assemblage of various marsupial poo, each a differing shade of fecal brown. The collective effect is one of patchwork shite. To name you a single feces is to do a disservice to the many sphincters and colons that collectively excreted the various elements that make up your kaleidoscopic dung discharge.

As such, we are at an impasse. For there are not enough neologisms to express my contempt for your retched life choices that you exemplify, occupy, taint, or otherwise smear with the vile spittle that pours forth like mildewy Mountain Dew from your scaly manure-built form.

You have an excuse for your actions, I’m sure. You hated Hillary. You just wanted a tax break. You wanted a certain kind of Supreme Court justice or just thought it would be hi-larious to mix it up by voting for an orange simian rhesus hemorrhoid.

Unacceptable.

Shove it up your ass like a week old slurpee stained dumpster outside a 7-11 in Sheboygan. Even if that 7-11 was once a White Castle. And even if the memories of those savory square burgers still haunts its myopic walls. The dumpster don’t lie. Once you pulled the lever for a preening con-man sexual abuser, you exemplified the narcissistic diuretic spew of that most craven core embodiment of American Douchebaggery.

For what is a douchebag if not you? Douches ignore the larger world in favor of the narcissistic self. ‘Bags discard consciousness, thought, communication, and honesty in service of core lizard-brain pleasures rooted in cartoonish fantasy. The fist pump and the hair gel are nothing more than extensions of amoral self-worship. And so is the Trump vote.

And therefore ipso facto cognito ergo leggo, so the mucky muck are you. You sorry, pathetic milk teat on the taint of a toad.

Douche.

You.

I’m talking to you.

You never shaved your chest but voted for Trump? You are douche. You never chugged a Bud Light Lime while calling a girl “bro” but voted for Trump? Douche.

I hereby micturate on your rug for all eternity. Because you live in the age of infinite, accessible information laying at your fingertips. And yet you chose ignorance and hysteria over consciousness and thought. Enlightenment beckoned. And you chose the Great Orange Darkness.

There is only one course of action left.

“Hot Chicks with Douchebags” calls for a complete and total shunning of all Trump voters from every aspect of respectable life. You aren’t just to be mocked for eternity. You are to be held in utter fucking contempt by all that value anything beyond the navel gaze. All that value the notion of humanity above primal animal urges and violent impulses of the jungle.

To the millions of us on the side of righteousness, I call on you to join me. Participate in this collective shunning of those that deserve nothing but shun. De-friend any Trumpdouches in your midst. If they’re family? Cut them off. Scientology style.

Gone. Dismissed. Forever.

They do not deserve reasoning. They do not deserve negotiation. They do not deserve even a rabbit fart iota of respek.

Christian Audigier and Ed Hardy are dead now. But the legacy of their wretched narcissism lives on.

In the Trumpdouche. The faux tribal tattoo on the bicep of humanity. They deserve to be scrubbed off and flushed down the toilet as soon as possible. As soon as the rest of us can gather enough Lysol to scrub your toxicity away. Forever.

This is our next challenge. Our calling. This is a war. Choose your side. And do not go weak kneed simply because a meat-sack in human form resembles an actual human when justifying their Faustian bargain.

View them for what they are. Condemn them for failing to be what could so easily have been theirs. A world of knowledge. Intelligence. Humanity.

They rejected the modern world. We reject them.