HCwDB
-
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Doucheran Doucheran
PIC DELETED
I don’t care what they say about cheesy 80s synth bands, Simon Le Bonbag and Nick Scroades were two visionaries, okay? I mean, look at these lyrics:
I’m on the line,
Douches like slime,
I’m on the douched out hunt for you,
I smell like Old Spice,
My forehead’s like ice,
I’m on the douched out hunt for you,
I’m all made of choad,
I act like a scroad,
Cuz I’m douchey like the Wolfffff…
T-Bag
Since it’s apparently Tall HairBag day here at HCwDB, and we already featured a Will Ferellbag, might as well toss in Vince VaughnBag into the mix. Or that could be the same guy in the ‘Bag Patch, for all I know. Maybe the ‘Bag Patch works like Clark Kent’s sunglasses. By day he’s ‘Bag Patch, by night he’s VaughnBag.
Here’s to you, VaughnBag.
Because you’re so douchey and you don’t even know it.
Thursday, June 14, 2007The 'Bag Patch
Looks like the ‘Bag Patch is making a return to the douchebag arsenal of weaponry. I refer, of course, to that creepy hair stain living fungally upon choadboy’s chin. We saw it with FerrellBag and now here with PudgeBag, busting the greatest Mt. Everest Hair on the site since, well, Mr. Everest.
Any guesses on the vertical measurement from ‘bag patch to top of head? I’m guessing at least 16 inches. 16 inches of pure uncut street scrote. That’s gotta be worth a small fortune in Tag Bodyshot bottles.
Speaking of the Bleethed out hottie on the right, a happy 39th Birthday to Yasmine Bleeth, the Hottie who remains our greatest cautionary tale to warn all hot chicks who dare to cohabitate with douchebaggery for any length of time. Yasmine, I don’t care if prolonged exposure to the Grieco turned you into the Bleeth from which all Bleeths take their name. I’d still love you by candlelight. And by love you, I mean flop sweat while staring at your boobs until you called the cops.
Thursday, June 14, 2007Will FerrellBag
I haven’t seen Will Ferrell enjoying himself this much since I sat through his 90 minute Applebees commercial, Talladega Nights. But I’m not sure what the white fungus is that’s gnawing on green dress cutie’s face. Perhaps one of FerrellBag’s chin pubes leaped over and mutated. Either way, it scares me. Eye fungus chin pubery is no laughing matter.
As to the five all-American perky Delta Delta Deltas, I would read them Kafka until surreal images of fog-lit Prague caused them to question life’s meaning, and then I would suckle on their toes like a nursing lemur.
'Bag / Not a 'Bag
Not sure if William H. MacyBag actually qualifies as ‘Bag. Probably not.
But god damn I’d go through basic training dressed as Richard Simmons in Sweatin’ to the Oldies VII: .38 Special’s Greatest Hits if it meant I could storm their beaches at Normandy, plant my flag at Iwo Jima, and salute their Privates.
At the conclusion of which, I’d expect an honorable discharge.
And after all that, I would, uhm, have sex with them.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007Uhm…
Its…
shaking and cowering in the corner
I’m…
head spinning, must find bottle of Night Train to cure the shakes
She’s…
Soooo cold, I’m soooo cold. There is no God.
Gach.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007Bags of Steel
I tend to stay away from famous people caught in moments of utter douchebaggery, but Pittsburgh Steelers kicker Jeff Reed getting caught looking like an inflated troll doll the other night has to be site worthy.
Dead Spin is featuring a number of pics with this utterly ripped specimen from the National Football League ‘Bagging it up shirtless and coiffed in some bar.
Wide right, Jeff. Wide right.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007Rock and RollBag
Okay, look. It’s bad enough you have drool on your lower lip and are making a douche-face powerful enough to run a Prius, but must you make ‘Bag Hand Gesture #61, the Devil’s Horns?
I’m going to pretend Tiny Redhead with the adorable tongue isn’t making the exact same expression. Instead I will picture her with candycanes and lollipops, dancing through my living room while tossing mixtures of rose petals and jolly ranchers in the air while I roll around in a giant bowl of cheetos and unsold Kelly Clarkson CDs.
Because I’m freaky like that.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007Babaganouche BlueBag
I don’t know the backstory of creepy Babaganouche BlueBag. I don’t want to know the backstory of creepy Babaganouche BlueBag.
All I want to know is whether I can pretend to be interested in East Village Hipster Hottie’s ironic collection of Power Rangers action figures and lunchboxes before giving her the most mediocre thirty seconds of awkward dry humping she’s experienced since high school.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007HCwDB of the Week: The Creeper
It wasn’t even close. A total doucheslide. A six inch tongue of utter rank spew domination.
While auto-HallofScrote JoeyPorsche charmed all of us into gouging our eyes out with rusty spoons and gargling with windex, The Creeps also managed a dominant victory. And by dominant, I mean herpes.
Why? It’s simple. That tongue. That alien creature from 1980s campy horror films tongue.That tongue enforces a bleak and nihilist world view. It kills philosophers. It ends all hope.
As feh23 puts it:
My first instinct was to vote for the Clown. Fish lips on an ass face always make me want to vomit out my eyes.
However, as a woman, I’m going to have to vote for the Creeper as the biggest douchebag of this week. He’s skeezy in a “oh, let Uncle Moe show you” way, and obviously smells of a combination of Axe and fetid balls. Where does a man that old get the idea to get a tongue piercing? Or does his douchbaggyness just make him seem older? No sober woman would take a whiff of those pants, and one can tell just from looking in those red, squinty eyes that (soon to be) herpes riddled chick with him is obviously no sober woman.
A verbal smackdown from the hottie side of the aisle. I like it. Nicely done F23. douchie howser, m.d. takes the verbal broadside even further:
the creeper is one of the most vile, douchespicable scrotephibians i have ever had the misfortune of encountering. this is an uncanny combination of all that is wrong with humanity. he has clearly drugged (look at those bloodshot glazed over eyes) and probably mortally threatened this poor girl in order to get her to offer her tongue to his filthy pierced serpent fork. i imagine she spent the next 5 minutes in the ladies room projectile vomiting while scrubbing her tongue with lava soap. lord knows i did.
Woe is the power of the Bleeth to destroy even the sweetest hottie in the presence of the uber-douche. As Ronald Mcdouchenald aptly puts it:
There is nothing worse than a 40 year old club promoter, except a 40 year old club promoter with that tongue and that hair.
The 40 Year Old Club Promoter. Sounds like a Judd Apatow sequel in the works. But instead of losing his virginity, he gets Douche Cooties and dies. Yeah. And, suffering from grief and dispair, his girl comes over and cooks me a lasagna, then gives me a backrup.
Hey, it could happen.
Toss The Creeps into next week’s Monthly and lets pray for all of our souls.
