HCwDB
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Wednesday, September 3, 2008
OldBags on the Block
Woh… woh… woh… woh… woh. Hangin’ Scrotes.
Old, douchey and synchronized dance moves are no way to go through life, son.
Next thing you’ll tell me, American Idol’s Randy Jackson was a douched up Brothabag bass player for Journey.
Don’t stop believin’. Dawg.
EDIT: Probably better not to link to our mystery party girl.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008Tatty McTatterson
There’s a certain aesthetic genius when a scrote manages to match a chaotic hat design with his chest tatts. It’s like douchery designed by Edith Head.
Toss in the perfectly coiffed Hitler Chin, the smug yet subtle douche-face, and the ability to make hand gesture while in inverted ‘bag sandwich formation, and Tatty is impressive. And by impressive, I mean dead rodent.
Hard to say where the ambiguously quartasian Lemon Sisters rank on the hott scale. But them hindquarters look firm like angry bull on deepest summer. They could crush a walnut at fifty yards and still have time to enjoy a chipwich at the 7-11.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008Reader Mail: 'Bagling Hunters
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DB1,
My six-year-old son often looks over my shoulder as I peruse the wonderful world of Douche. What could I do? I had to begin his education, he was quite persistent. A small problem arose when he was playing at a friend’s house and let slip that he knew of this wonderful website. While his tiny companion was perplexed, the boy’s teenage brothers were fascinated and went right for the computer.
My wife gave me the business, but I rallied: what is HCWDB if not a wonderful educational tool chock full of intellectual stimulation? My son may be young, but he’s certainly not too young to be challenged, and horrified, by all that is Douche. Plus he’s the only person in the house who understands the need to rate the hotts. I won the battle.
Douche Regards,
Choad the Wet Spocket
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If there’s one thing I can contribute to Western Civilization in my short time on this earth, it is teaching six year olds to mock the choad and celebrate the hott.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008Caption This Pic
When Kendra ran away from home to become a roadie for the emo band “Jigsaw,” she didn’t know one of her jobs would include anal wart removal.
Droopy McScrote Seeks Woman to Bow Down to Him
From last month’s Monthly winner, Droopy’s actual Craigslist personals post:
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So basically I’m an amazing person that people love to hate because I’m so fly. So I’m about having a good time with my people. I love to party VIP for everything. I love to be the center of attention. So I’m looking for a woman that bows down to me and loves to wait on her man hand and foot. I consider myself a made man in my life. My hero is K-Fed that is a made man in you truly consider it. He got at the time a certified dime then had a woman on the side then got married and now has three kids by two women. All I can say is that fool is a pimp. So if you want to roll in style and be VIP to everything then feel free to hit me up…
Please enclose a picture to see if you get my stamp of approval
Thank You
(Droopy)
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On this, the day of the August HCwDB of the Month, it is important to appreciate when we’re in the presence of true douche greatness.
And by greatness, I mean droopy poo and Surfer Kelly hott.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008HCwDB of the Month
August was Boatbag and Beachbag month. We have no less than three beach hottie/douchey couplings in the Monthly. And one disturbing image that cauterizes wounds and neuters alley-cats. Which one will win the Monthly and earn a slot in the Yearly in December?
That’s up to you.
But lest I ramble too much as I nurse a mean ‘Train hangover on this post-Labor Day Tuesday, here’s your finalists:
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #1: Squidward
In an executive decision, I bumped Crapser The Douchey Ghost and am entering Squidward in the Monthly instead.
Since the vote had been extremely close, and Janice’s perky boobage made my happy pants do the happy dance while greased up Squidward burned holes in my retinas like melting Raiders of the Lost Ark heads, I made the switch.
But now I’m not so sure. Crapser’s a pretty tremendous rocker douche. And his Chiquita is delightful.
But so be it. Squidward’s oiled up douchebaggery has squeaked into the Monthly. Come to think of it, that guy is just a huge douche.
They’ve earned their slot as a couple. But enough to win the Monthly?
HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Rime of the Scrotey Mariner
The Scrotey Mariner doucheth one of three…
True, we have yet to link the Coleridge poem literally with this abomination mutant of oldbag and boatbag. But it works on the esoteric level.
The Scrotey Mariner’s sneer/hand-gestures go beyond the sum of their parts. He is ass-kick worthy douche.
While two happy party hotts think winsome thoughts of summer homes in the Hamptions, lunching on the veranda, and oiling each other up with Canola and reenacting the fight scene from They Live. Only with bikinis and suntan lotion, rather than bad acting and wrestler dudes.
Because life really isn’t complete without occasional They Live references.
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #3: The Hourglass and the Beachbag
As perfectus as Hourglass is, I’m wondering if we erred too much on the site of the Hotts this month.
Her beachchoad’s pretty generic.
Don’t get me wrong, The Hourglass deserves enshrinement in all of our collective psyches. But O-Prune really was the uberdouche of that week. And O-Prune’s hotts were nothing to shake an ugly stick at.
But the voters vote, and since I already overturned one vote, I can’t do a second.
That being said, The Hourglass’s excessive, almost cartoonish curves really are the hott response to a Stage-4 douchebag’s extreme cartoon douchery. So, in a way, she is the Fish Slap of Hotts.
So I take it back. For sheer power of hott, this coupling does deserve finalist status.
HCwDB of the Month Finalist #4: Mooby Dick
The Moobs burn the soul and render all of human accomplishment a waste.
Here is a person, if I can call it a person, that had a shirt designed to show off his giant man boob pecs. He then selected a large tan douche-belt to accent the stomach area. And lets not forget the stylishly “distressed” retro bell bottom jeans.
Combine that with a douche-face and a perky co-ed he’s coerced into fondling his moobs, and there’s enough rotting garbage to power the DeLorean.
If you’re voting on douche-power over hott power, it’s Squidward or Mooby.
If you’re voting on hott power enhancing lesser choad, it’s The Mariner or Hourglass and Beachbag.
But remember fellow ‘bag hunters, your vote should be guided by both hott and douche. In dialectic. Structuralist meanings of codes and signifiers linked through the negation of the negation.
Which of these four couplings rises to a Monthly victor?
Vote, as always, in the comments thread.
Monday, September 1, 2008Happy Labor Day
Pumpy may not be with us anymore, but I’m sure he’d want to wish everyone a happy and playful Labor Day.
Regular postings, as well as the HCwDB of the Month, will resume tomorrow. For today, it’s BBQs, Boobies and a frosty mug of PBR for all!
And for those enduring Hurricane Gustav in the Gulf Coast, stay safe. Pumpy’s boob grab is in your honor.
Sunday, August 31, 2008Sunday Musings: Melon Butt
It’s a lazy Sunday during this three day weekend for your humble narrator of douchetrology, The DB1. I scratch myself. I look at Melon Butt. And I scratch myself some more.
I sip cheap alcohol, munch on an extra-large bowl of Corn Pops, and consider the Bleeth. Those women of good breeding and firm perkage who somehow attract towards the Douche Fly.
Like Melon Butt here, and her posse of insectified scrotesects.
I think about what it means to be a scrotesect. How the male seeks to use his body as an eroticized gender inversion. Douche as “Hot Chick,” “prettified” by product, to confuse Hot Chick into wanting Douche. Eroticism imbedded in product. Armani/Exchange the golden calf of so many spiritual desert walkabouts. So many trips into the digital echo chamber of product enhanced validation. So many graspings at the elusive reaffirmation of the body using corporate brand as substitute for self.
And then Melon Butt speaks to me.
Melon Butt reorients the chaotic swirl of simulation, of pixelated echo, of digital performance as substitute for the authentic, into a singularity of focus. If Melon Butt could talk, it would say, “The real still exists. It exists in my curvy melon butt.”
And I hold onto Melon Butt as the guiding sherpa amongst the douchal untether that informs the age of mass media.
Which is a grandiloquent way of saying I’d knead Melon Butt like sparkling neon play-doh in the bouncing moonwalks of blacklit rubber padded cells of eros. For it is tasty. And it is real.
The rest may be digitized white noise. But Melon Butt is real.
Saturday, August 30, 2008The Marks Brothers
Mark #1: Tobey Maguire’s less successful cousin, Rocky Magdumbass
Mark #2: The escaped convict from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure with just a touch of Bruce Campbell chin
Mark #3: Head
Hott #1: A cross between Salma Hayek and the eyes of Jennifer Connolly, she makes arthritic frogs tap dance the love theme from Superman II
Mark #4: Has struggled with his music career since Cypress Hill broke up.
Saturday, August 30, 2008A Dude, a Hott and an Ass Salami
Dude on the left earns a borderline nottadouche pass, in spite of some hair spike and shirt loudness. He’s okay.
Hott in the middle tickles my nethers with her pouty stare, even if she is flipping me off.
Douche on the right needs to be dipped in honey and tossed into a vat of bad computer graphics red ants in an Indiana Jones movie that never happened.
He is pure Ass Salami. Sliced and for sale at $4.99/lb in Bay Ridge.
