HCwDB

    Friday, December 14, 2007

    King Douchuous IV's Gettin' Ready

    The King is getting ready for The Douchies. Are you?

    # posted by douchebag1
    Friday, December 14, 2007

    Asbreastos

    Say what you will about that hair, but a little in the attic and you’ll save over 30% on your heating bills this winter.

    The hotts are scrumptuous. I would dip them in melted peeps and munch on them sandwiched between two nutter butters.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Friday, December 14, 2007

    The Physics of the Doucheface


    That smirk.

    It haunts me across the spectrum of hottie/douchey variation. Dallas, Chicago, Vancouver, even the ‘bag pics I get from overseas, from England, Australia and Germany.

    So many douche-faces.

    Different. Yet interconnected. Part of a larger whole.

    Spread across the ether like scrotological dark matter. Like Chaos Theory neutrinos of four dimensional interweave. Like Dancing Wu-Li Masters or a metaphysical pendulum swinging across time, through superstrings and that spinning spiral cone in the opening credits of the Twilight Zone.

    Surely they’re joking, Dr. Feynman.

    Or can the douche-face be proof of Kabbalah’s God Shard? And if so, why does God mock us with the douche-face?

    Can I find solace in stripey boobies? Are they enough to smother me in reassurance? It’s worth finding out.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Friday, December 14, 2007

    Friday Haiku


    Blonde Riding Hood fears,
    The wolf in douche’s clothing.
    “What bright hat you have.”

    Playboy reject hott
    wanted to stay at mansion
    settled for greasebag

    — d.baggins

    Arching of the eyebrows
    A clear tell that she’s posing
    Because of lost bet

    Frodo Douchebaggins

    look into my eye
    starving artists are waiting
    for you to pass out

    — the bag apple

    Dirty trucker hat
    Smells like feces and man love
    Giving me herp sore

    — ‘bagavad gita

    # posted by douchebag1
    Thursday, December 13, 2007

    Ask DB1: Nature or Nurture

    Tripping the Lights Douchetastic writes in:

    —-
    DB1-

    In the continuing quest to determine if douchosity is the product of nature or nurture, has there ever been an empirical study of the timing of the onset of douche-itude?

    Are there baby douchebags? Child douchebags?

    Or are douches the product of modern culture or bleethed out mamas?

    I must know.
    —-

    In grappling with this question, TLD, I’d have to side with “nurture” as the key formative influence in early douchal development. While it is true that some are inherently douchey no matter their time and place, by and large it is about environment.

    Learning how to acquire the key cultural signifiers to attract the hott to his oily pecs and overly quaffed hair, the young ‘bagling must become indoctrinated within the larger codes of habitus.

    As I’ve remarked many times before, each of us, male or female, contains the inherent force known as The ‘Bag Within. It is not dictated by genetic design, nor even extensive Red Bull and Grey Goose consumption in Cancun. The young ‘bagling must be guided down the dark path through the causality of douche attributes (douchetributes) and the attainment of the boobie hottie.

    Only whence learning these lessons, does ‘bagling harden into fully formed ‘bagscrote.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Thursday, December 13, 2007

    The Troll Doll and the Tri-Hotts


    I don’t quite know how far up the ‘bag scale Chia Pet Troll Doll goes. He’s got a little of the lip fung, but no real hand gestures and only the faintest “Mark of the ‘Bag” on the forehead.

    And yet, I want to fling Arkansas roadkill into his face with the inchoate distrust of an inbred banjo player.

    The tri-hott Alpha Betas appear to be smelling something.

    Could it be?

    It could.

    Douche poo.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Thursday, December 13, 2007

    Ringu Lipsatsu


    Be warned.

    The ancient Japanese Legend speaks of a Ringu Lipsatsu, the legend of the Kissy Lips.

    Seven days after viewing those lips, you’ll turn into a herp sore.

    Just as these two Bleethed Jerseyites have fallen.

    Those lips.

    They haunt me like Brechtian theater. A spectacle of hyper-reality within a false structure that finds truth. Like smelly cowpie on a farm in Vermont. The odor of poopie as the means of refracting my own psychoanalytic absence.

    Nope. The coffee did nothing.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Thursday, December 13, 2007

    Clint Asswood


    Something about Porkpie’s gaze looks like Clint Eastwood somewhere after Dirty Harry but before he was driving cross country with an Orangutan.

    Hang in there, DJ Clint von Petty. The small brushfire behind you should take care of things in a moment.

    Maria von Hott has a bit of that stern taskmaster look which always sort of scares me. The type who would psychologically tear me down until I went all Stockholm Patty Hearst and robbed a bank in a ski-mask to pay for her Botox.

    Dammit. I’m making no sense today. Time for a coffee.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Thursday, December 13, 2007

    Choad Salad


    Pass the Oil and Vinegar.

    Here’s the Choad Salad pic I had up last nite when Blogger was crapping out.

    Now that’s a quality and well balanced serving of the Rubber Band Chow Yun Fat in Bullet in the Head Lips Douche, your standard issue Stubble Vegas Turd, and two delightful servings of vino.

    Note ubiquitous red cup stopped by to say hi.

    As did requisite hat tilt and dog-tags on the one-pack.

    Also, after the punishment Leelee Sobieski took in the Orange pic, I’ve remedied the situation as best I could.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Thursday, December 13, 2007

    The Homie Pirates

    While the couple dancing is annoying, check out the two Homie Pirates in the background, head bobbing approvingly.

    Until the music takes hold of one.

    And he must dance.

    # posted by douchebag1
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