HCwDB
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Friday, October 17, 2008
Ed Hardy Smells Like Poo
Someone needs to say it. So I’m saying it.
Ed Hardy? Whomever you really are. Kiss my rosy red shiny rudolphian butt cheeks.
Kelly, I know you had a rough childhood, but I will forgive you. By pretending to listen as you tell me about your dreams for finally completing your dental assistant’s degree at Cal State Northridge. And then I will awkward rub your thighs with chicken fat.
Friday, October 17, 2008The HCwDB Book Will Get You Lucky
But don’t take my word for it:
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Hey, DB1-
Like many of the untold millions who bought Hot Chicks with Douchebags the book, I keep mine behind the toilet. I live in Miami (DB center of the universe) and recently I had a lovely Brazilian girl over for cocktails. She came out of the bathroom laughing hysterically. She said, “I hope you don’t mind my prying, but I thought this is the funniest book I’ve ever seen.” How could I fault this vision of loveliness having good taste?
She flipped through random pages laughing at each headline. The book halted conversation for 10 minutes. I’ve seen her since, and she told me that she ordered her own copy so that her loo is now as classy as my own.
Please note that this is the God’s honest truth. I wouldn’t make it up cause I have better things to do. Like mocking the bags.
Keep up the good work,
-Poppa’s Got a Brand New Bag
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Not only that, my book can cure rickets, de-virginize Catholic Girls (who start much too late), and solve conflicts in the Middle East. And by Middle East, I mean your pants, and by solve, I mean make happy.
Buy a copy, dammit. My living room rug smells funny.
Friday, October 17, 2008Friday Haiku
The Flame Twins… upset.
Middle Finger Bleeth, also.
How now, Samurai?
bandannas galore
used to be reserved for gangs
now a douche wristwatch
— bcs
Ned Grimley’s spastic –
He is always flashing signs:
ASL for “‘tard.”
— don’t wheeze the douche!
Dragon Ball Z scrotes.
Goku rolled over in grave.
Manga surely dead.
— holbrooks douchestershire sauce
Mary contrary
Oh, how does your garden grow?
gels and cockle shells
— thuferhawat
Friday, October 17, 2008The Ballad of Billy the Choad
(sung to the tune of Rawhide):
Keep Greasin’, Greasin’, Greasin’,
Though I look like Jackie Gleason,
Keep them hotties greasin’, rawhide!
Don’t try to understand ’em,
Just rope and throw and grab ’em,
Soon we’ll be living high and dry.
Boy my heart’s calculatin’
My chest shave will be waitin’, waitin’ at the end of my ride.
Douche ’em on, head ’em up,
Head ’em up, douche ’em out,
douche ’em on, head ’em out Rawhide!
Rub one out, ride ’em in
Ride one in, rub one out,
Rub one out, ride ’em in Rawhide!
Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’
Though my nips are swollen
Keep them boobies rollin’, Rawhide!
Clubs and Goose and leather
Hell-bent for Sarah and Heather,
Wishin’ my bling was by my side.
All the things I’m missin’,
Good hairgel, and Snake Plisskin’,
Are waiting at the end of my ride …
Yeah yeah, I know the one on the left isn’t hott but I’m hung over so go with it.
Thursday, October 16, 2008Night of the 'Bag Hunter
I’m just not sure about this remake of Night of the Hunter, what with the Robert Mitchum character being played by a whacked out tool.
What, too obscure? Hey, it’s not my fault no one knows what Night of the Hunter was anymore. Was I supposed to make a Radio Raheem reference?
That’s it. I’m gettin’ a coffee. Stupid PBRs.
Thursday, October 16, 2008Caption This PIc
When the ladies said they liked “tri-tip steaks,” the Douche Clowns of Alpha-Zeta-Jones thought up a hilarious play on words.
The Guessbag
There’s something not right with this dude.
I don’t have enough to call “douche,” other than maybe the goofy shirt. But look at that sneer. I’m convinced there’s hidden nodal scrotundae at work beneath the veneer of benign quasi-douchewankery.
And it’s not just because I want to softly paddle the lovely quartasian’s pokey cleavite with a powder puff, a semi-melted marshmallow and sixteen jelly bellies dipped in wasabe.
Thursday, October 16, 2008Crawdaddy
To achieve the perfect pinnacle of faux is not an easy task, thought Crawdaddy to himself.
And so he pouted.
Not even a classy Smirnoff Ice, giving the middle finger to the camera, nor the rubbings of Kimmy, Kelly and Kathy, could cheer him up. For his Faux was not yet perfect.
But someday it would be. By Ganesh, he swore it. And so it would be done.
Thursday, October 16, 2008The Douchafella Skank
When not studying for his Masters Exams at NYU’s Stern School of Business, Scroteboy Slim likes to relax by the pool.
And become aroused.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008Pud Soup
Hotts and ‘Bags, Hotts and ‘Bags, Hotts and ‘Bags, add a dash of paprika and it’s Pud Soup.
With three Ubiquitous Red Cups keeping watch.
I’ll give guy on the far right a nottadouche pass. The rest of you bozos, not so much.
