HCwDB
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Thursday, September 18, 2008
Standard Issue Scrote
I think you get one of these free at the bottom of each box of Doucheios.
But Melissa on the left is on the Volleyball team. And so I would crawl through six inches of Madacascar leech refuse just for the chance to fondle her bobby socks.
On an unrelated note, a Baltimore Weekly jumps on the Douchebag Mocking, with some rather “uncanny” homages to the site.
Thursday, September 18, 2008Sideburn Harry's Night Off
You can take Sideburn Harry out of the clubs, but you can’t take the clubs out of Sideburn Harry.
As to Vanessa, I admire her introspection, groundedness, self awareness, humility and intellectual acumen.
And her boobie grapefruits.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008Ask DB1: The "Jimmy Question"
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DB1-
Last weeks Jimmy Question raises a topic that I’ve been letting swirl around in my brain bowl for quite some time. Are there different language dialects of douche?
I have no idea what the standard douche gesture is communicating to us, but there is some comfort in the familiar and easily genused and speciesed.
On the other hand, I do get excited when I read about some new species of whatever that they find in Madagascar every year or so. Here we have a Double Jimmy with full thumb extension accompanied by a third, even more rare signal.
It’s too much for me to decipher on my own. Thoughts?
– Madame Curie
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Deciphering douchal communication is an ongoing and highly nebulous process, M.C. That being said, sometimes the primitive language can indeed be deciphered quite clearly. Translating the image you’ve provided gives us the following exchange:
Jimmy: I find your style of dress and generally attractive demeanor pleasing to my eye. Would you like to engage in coitus?
Jimmy’s Hott: Yes, I would desire to do so, perferably twice. Thank you for asking.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008Anatomy of a 'Bag Tag
army of doucheness recruits a new ‘bag tagger to the community:
(5:02:51 PM) *help j:-Oe: dude there’s so many douches in my class that its funny
(5:02:58 PM) *help j:-Oe: they should all be on that site
(5:03:31 PM) MG: hahaha
(5:03:41 PM) MG: snap photos of them with hotts and send em in
(5:03:51 PM) *help j:-Oe: oh i will
(5:04:33 PM) *help j:-Oe: tomorrow theres a “law school gala” and the douches will be out, so they’re gonna post all there photos on facebook and i’m gonna take them and post them
(5:04:55 PM) MG: you gotta send em to DB1
(5:05:11 PM) *help j:-Oe: DB1?
(5:05:52 PM) MG: look at the site again
(5:06:02 PM) MG: dont be some lurker, give it the credit it deserves
(5:06:22 PM) MG: it’s not just funny pictures of douchebags man, it’s philosophy
(5:06:55 PM) *help j:-Oe: i’m gonna do it when i get to my apt.
(5:07:02 PM) MG: cool.
(5:07:05 PM) *help j:-Oe: cause peoples dont understand the dbags
(5:08:05 PM) MG: yeah. well you should read the site more thoroughly if you want to be part of the community, I quote Stacey Keech in American History X, “this isn’t some country club you can just waltz in and out of”
And a Tigger Tag no less, nice work, MG.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008Mencken
Nobody ever went broke underestimating the taste of the American public.
— H.L. Mencken
My country is pooey.
– DB1
Wednesday, September 17, 2008BREAKING: Marissa Miller Still Married to Douchepimple
Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue cover model and future bacon between my lettuce and tomato, Marissa Miller, is still married to a heaping douchepimple.
While this may not constitute “breaking news” like a tsunami or hurricane, it is still worth noting for posterity’s sake.
And by posterity, I mean her posterity. Which is round. And pink. And smells like flowers and petunias.
And by noting, I mean laughing hysterically at this clown’s Big Top, then yanking off his goofy white watch and throwing it in the Hudson.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008HCwDB of the Week: Acey Douchey
In a tough three way battle between three worthy hottie/douchey couplings, the ubersquat nature of Acey Douchey, posed or not, was too much to overcome. The debate was furious, but the people have spoken:
marita: They’re all sooooo good. But Acey Douchey is the only one that made me drop my jaw in cortorted horror. FTW. Jesus Christ Bananas.
dj douche: Acey Douchey for owning one of those gay-ass CDJ-mixer combos, and taking it on a boat. You know he used it to mix (badly) Li’l Wayne and that stupid Kanye West Daft Punk song.
jw: The poor guy is clearly as empty as a human being can be, the sunlight is causing him to lift off like a balloon. The bleeths and vodka clearly aren’t enough ballast, so he brings a gun into play and tethers himself to a mixer/turntable set to keep him on his boat.
douchngton chodeskins: Great Oden’s Raven, Acey Douchey just stabbed my soul with a jagged scepter dripping with forehead oils more pungent than the vile slush endured by the gluttons in Dante’s Third Circle of Hell … he also sucks chode.
cock-a-doodle-douche: Acey Douchey. I’d have voted for somebody else if he had been wearing both gloves.
douchemaster flex: My vote goes for Acey douche. Cause even though it is staged, (dollar bills on the left have the 1 dollar folded over so you cant see them) our man here has replicated the essence of why this site was created. I mean this is true mugging. Choke hold on girl on the left. Holding girl on right at gunpoint. And extraction of money from where those hott’s keep it. This and the look of the hott on the right, the seductive cat like stare. Arched back. Yeah we have a winner.
nook ladouche: Acey ftw. Gun, Grey Goose, God-damn you. Those hotts could’ve stayed in school and become either that hot barista at Starbucks or my niece’s preschool teacher. Instead, they are mere damaged goods, compliments of the anal wart on two legs.
But the “fake” debate will rage on, and rightly so. Is performative douchosity still enough to inspire authentic rage? As the everpresent anonymous argues, yes:
Serious or not, Acey Douchey is the biggest douche here. My vote goes to him.
Indeed. Even fellow DJ’s revolted. adrian.w. explains:
As a DJ myself, and one who likes to: a) stay in the dark corner and let the music speak; b) let the people (especially the Hots) enjoy the music; c) try to avoid oozing douchery from every orifice onto nearby Hots; d) wear a shirt; I feel Acey is making a mockery of what many talented DJs have worked years to establish.
Yes. Yes he is. Between Acey and DJ Bello, this has been a dark week for the D.J. profession.
But both Kenner and Sideburn Harry were worthy finalists, and found their fervent supporters. king douchankhamun votes for the robotic toy with the perfect Barbie hott, Kenner:
Kenner ftw. I don’t know weather you’re real or a mannequin or if realdoll started making guys. Either way I cast upon you the Mummy Curse of King Douchankhamun.
Lets hope it makes a difference, King. And fabled ‘bag hunter darksock lays the smackdown on the toy action figures:
The Kenner has less chest hair than an octopus dipped in a vat of Nair; less chest hair than Michael Flatley after river-dancing through a swimming pool full of disposable Bic razors; less hair than Paris Hilton’s rhesus-monkey-lipped poon 5 minutes before leaving to go clubbing on a balmy L.A. Saturday night. His front is the yin to Robin William’s back. He has no pores, hence he must sweat through his urethra just as manatee do. His testes shine hairless and proud, like two peeled eggs, oiled and boiled and hanging low over our heads like twin Swords of Damocles, except they in this case would be custard-cudgels, about to mount an insurgency into the equally grassless savanna that is Jenny’s kielbasa garage.
For the love and honor of all things hirsute (Sarah Silverman’s vag) we must rise, as does bile in a wino’s gullet, and spew our hot chunky justice across this land.
Spew that justice. With a vote for the Kenner.
A genius smackdown by D.S. But lets not forget the trouble with Harry. don’t bring me dowwwwwn, douche! (great song ref, btw), reminds us of the innovative sidekick move:
Sideburn Harry. Many reasons, but the clincher is the “I gotta take this very important call while I have a total hottie right in front of me.” Oh, and I MUST snap a pic of it.
Gotta find a 2008 Douchie Nom for Most Innovative New Douche Maneuver for S.H. creature rightly points out the quality of S.H’s hott:
Sideburn Harry is the rockabilly bag I would love to play ball-peen hammer pinball with & Maria is the promise of an endless stream of sweaty summer nights
Indeed. So would I, C. But douche springsteen explains why, fake or not, Acey Douchey deserves the win:
Some have decried him for being a faker, a charladouche if you will. My question to you is, does a suplex off the top ropes feel fake even though the wrestling match is staged? I have never been suplexed off the top rope, but I bet it still hurts. So does Acey Douchey, friends. He is essentially the nadir of humanity that this website strives to point out. If you notice he is standing in front of a mixer, which means he is probably a techno DJ, the douchiest of all music forms. And just look at those coppertoned hotts. It makes one weep.
As I sit here alone in my terrible studio apartment, an English degree being used as a coaster for a lukewarm tall boy of Mickey’s malt liquor, I shake my fist to the heavens in protest, for somewhere Acey Douchey is doing shots of Belvedere off of a honey colored bosom.
And there it is. Performative douchosity is still rendered real by the underlying signification of hegemony gone scrote.
Book a ticket in the Monthly for Acey Douchey and his dual bony bikini hotts. They’ve earned it.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008Summoning Cthulhu
Brothabags Karl and Darren have gone well past making simple ‘bag hand gestures.
They have just managed to summon Cthulhu using only hand formations and mystical hat rotation.
Vanessa and Beverly, are you aware the power of summoning Cthulhu with ‘bag hand gesture?
It means they will be far too busy to remember to buy you that appletini you asked for twenty minutes ago.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008I Say, Old Chap
Funny morn for a stroll, eh, guvnah? That time machine round old the Wells house is not to be trifled with.
Next thing ye know, yer wandering daft while searching for a drum n’ bang to shake off the ole’ hatties, in’t that right? Next thing ya got ta use yer loaf to better cover that Niagara Falls ya got fobbed onto yer nutmeg, eh?
Tuesday, September 16, 2008Little Carmacita Smells Poo
There’s hope for you yet, little caramel carmacita. You sense the toolshed manifest of this wonky uberchoad.
You smell the odor of a chinstrap drawn thinner than the subtext of a storyline on Entourage.
The proper response to this invasion of your personal space, Carmacita? Do not ask Rockabilly Pout why he’s making The Shocker while pouting like a retarded seal.
Simply kick him in the nads.
Then come cuddle with me under my blankie while we watch Touristas on cable. In hi-def. With cheetos and a bottle of Mad Dog. Because I’m classy like that.
