HCwDB
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Thursday, November 8, 2007
You're my boy, Blue!!
And by boy, I mean a spectral echo of pure loser.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007The Limey
Wednesday Limerick Guy says, I may be a douchechoad without a shirt, but I can be just as ‘baggy with one on.
Yes you can, Limey.
Yes you can.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007'N Stink
After seeing the ‘Bagstreet Boys, and now staring at the lost member of ‘N Sync curling up with sultry Brit Hott, is like:
A) Getting your head stomped on by jack booted skinheads followed by Savion Glover tap dancing the lyrics to R.E.M.’s It’s The End of the World As We Know It in morse code on your groin.
B) Huffing rancid paint thinner then attempting to draw out the mathematical formula for the Lorenz Contraction in chalk on the sidewalk. With your feet.
C) Sitting through six straight episodes of 7th Heaven. Commercial free. Post Biel.
D) Realizing that Fish Slap is real. And heterosexual.
E) All of the above.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007The 'Bagstreet Boys
Tell me why?
Either these two young ‘bagling goofs are the lost members of The ‘Bagstreet Boys or the alternate douche universe cast of the John Hughes classic, Weird Science.
Wyatt, your kitchen is blue.
Exotic ambiguously Hispanic chicka, you may well be underage. So I will simply ask your older sister to give me a call, so I can take her out for hot wings at KFC, where she’ll complain that I’m a cheap ass and text under the table the entire time with a big dude named Lars who works as a bouncer at Hooters.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007Wednesday Limerick
In Vegas, there’s a D.J. named Dave.
Who pounds down six Red Bulls and raves.
While talented, he’s not,
He scores with the hott,
By showing off neck muscles and crotch shave.
HCwDB of the Week: Jack Scrotington
It was a landslide for the skeezy cornrowed ambiguously D.J. animated Tim Burton skeleton douche.
As supreme ‘bag hunter darksock sums up the case for the scary white boy with paid hotts:
Most definately Jack Scrotington. Look at this fecal goiter. Unlike the other two goobs, this guy makes the urge to commit homicide rise like the Pillsbury Doughboy trapped in a microwave. I want to jap slap him repeatedly with a fish net filled with treble hooks and then fingercuff him with a dremel and a concrete slab core sampler.
I don’t even understand that fantasy torture sequence, which means it must be good. Or, as eradicatoor puts it:
Scrotington for sure. His hotties are paid for, but his baggery is the real deal. The only reason you could get away with not voting for him is the possibility that he’s Peter Stormare.
The legend that is Stormare will never be mocked as ‘bag on this site. He is pure nihilist genius.
That being said, the boobies of the Boobie Sun God found their worshippers. And by worshippers I mean boobie lovers. As jessemoya puts it:
BOOBIES SUN GOD FTW.
This isn’t even a competition this week. Bleethed from the neck down, burnt onto my retinas from the neck up. She’s… dare I say perfect?
I agree, Jesse. And poor Species Killer came in a distant third as rampant suspicions of Halloween ‘baggery undercut the purity of his ur-douche. This is Jack’s day to scrote. As rev. douche sings the hymns:
I vote Jack. Of all three he looks the most sinister and filthy in his douchebaggery. The Hotts may be Notts but he inspires more vitriol than Unassuming Scrote (Sun God looks too fake and pressurized for me) and the possibly-faking-it Killer, whose Boob-wielder looks as trough-style as his sloppy pink shirt.
Jack Scrotington it is. Raise his skeletal frame as this week’s winner, and punch his 12 frames per second Hanna-Barbera head a ticket in the finals.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007Purg Hottie Still Loves Me
Oh Purg Hottie. You’re still there for me. You always are.
You’ve upgraded from your succuban ability to pull choad to that of a middle aged cop who looks exactly like Bud Abbott. You’ve even brought along a lovely blondie in matching lei.
Thank you for being you.
Your delightful smile and lunchable lower stomach area will always carry me through.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007Blogger Software Sucks
Apparently keeping up with early 1990s technology is too much for the ad wizards at Google, so the site’s being extremely buggy today. It keeps jumping back and forth between old and new posts.
Appearing. Then disappearing. Then appearing again.
Kind of like that boozy Loyola sorority chicka I met on Spring Break in New Orleans one year. She and I shared a special moment. We connected. Like, for real. Deep emo stuff. By which I mean boozy hook up.
Thanks to alcohol.
Alcohol. Is there nothing you can’t do?
Tuesday, November 6, 2007Logan Five
There’s something vaguely European retro-future about this hottie/douchey coupling. A sort of pre-digital 1970s version of 22nd Century douchebaggery. With Euro odor thrown into the mix. Logan Five, all douched up and ready to take on Sanctuary.
Or like when you smell something foul at the airport and glance over to find three Austrian dudes named Sven, Jan and Uter rubbing themselves under their rugby jerseys and hitting on three girls from Iowa.
It’s not that I don’t like Europe. Heck I’d trade Texas for Prague any day of the week, even if they forced me to take Luxembourg.
Yeah, I’m looking at you, Dallas. Mass factory of all southern douche. Nice everything. And by nice, I mean not nice.
Android Hottie’s boobies are like golden wrapped candies of chocolate deliciousness from Asimov future-land by way of Barbarella. They are I, Robots of tiny yet firm nanobot goodness.
EDIT: It appears to be a halloween Posh Spice/Bend-it douche costume. But my original comments stand. For what, I have no idea.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007Pajama Choad
Smirk it up, Pajama Douche. That’s still the lamest lower stomach tatt this side of the Fish Slap star.
Holy sweet can cans, I would chew through a field of cacti while juggling drunken hamsters just for the chance to dry clean her grandmother’s lederhosen.
