HCwDB

    Sunday, April 15, 2007

    Ass.. The Other Douchebag


    No it’s not ironic.

    You are a douche.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Sunday, April 15, 2007

    McDoucheburger


    Here’s a Sunday McDoucheburger. Supersized, with lots of special sauce.

    And two orders of small fries. With salty goodness. And by salty goodness, I mean boobies.

    It’s pics like this that make a crisp Sunday morning worth savoring. Because no matter how slimy McDoucheburger is, I’m still looking at his girl’s cleavite. So… uh… take that, burger boy. Yeah.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Saturday, April 14, 2007

    Milk Tongue


    Ladies, when your man has a white furry substance all over his tongue, he just might a douchebag.

    If he’s a forty year Satan mutant with jacket collar pop, he just might be a douchebag.

    If he’s this guy, he just might be a douchebag.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Saturday, April 14, 2007

    Ab-solutely Bagulous


    I could almost believe someone photoshopped a gnome head onto a mannequin dipped in orange if I didn’t realize this muscle ‘bag has to be real, if only to drive me insane.

    If you stare really closely and long enough at the ridges in those abs you can see the faint outline of Tickle Me Elmo. Or at least, I can.

    Just a warning. Tickle Me Elmo Abs are laughing at you.

    EDIT: The site’s been buggy as hell today, I’m trying to get it cleared up. I blame Orange Gnome head’s abs.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Friday, April 13, 2007

    The Hollywood Bagtor


    I suppose I should be used to the Actor ‘Bags. After all, I live in Los Angeles, swamp nest of what I like to call “Bagtors,” those hairy, muscely bartender wannabes who haunt every streetcorner from Trader Vics over to Hillhurst. But I’m not. Watching them smear hotties with their circa 2003 solid-color-shirt and jean-jacket look and oozing Grieco Virus from every clogged pore is enough to make me itch in uncomfortable and mostly psychosomatic ways.

    Bagtors shouldn’t bother me by now.

    But then again, I think we’ve safely established that I’m a bitter-ass douchebag myself. And so I dream happy thoughts of their eyebrows catching fire through the careful use of a butane cigarette lighter, and their hotties awakening from their slumber to realize the grease stains on their walls aren’t the latest exotic desert mold but where their Bagtor left a stain when he bumped into the wall after too many energy drinks and vodka shots.

    Which leads us to this D-List choad. When not busy getting killed in the first ten minutes of “The Hills Have Scrote III,” he’s busy cleaning up the cocktail waitress hotties like a douche vacuum cleaner. For that alone he deserves our collective mock.

    So since it’s Friday, and we’re all prepping for hoped for binge drinking and boobie grabbing filled evenings, lets take a moment to Zen ourselves and use our collective mental energy to simply perform that most ancient of social rituals, The Mocking of the Bagtor.

    There. Don’t you feel better?

    # posted by douchebag1
    Friday, April 13, 2007

    Kenny G Scrotae


    YEEEAGHHHHH.

    The good thing about Kenny G. Scrotae is that in addition to producing the soothing sounds of melodic early 1990s alto sax Christmas albums, he can also snag an extremely curvaceous hottie.

    Good on you, Kenny G. Scrotae. Sorry to hear about the douche face.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Friday, April 13, 2007

    Angry Young Poo


    Well, at least he’s honest.

    I haven’t seen three scrotey mugs posing that awkwardly since I got lost in the Turkish section of Brighton Beach while trying to find Coney Island. Stupid F train.

    This little Persian flower may find herself amidst three angry young poos, but she is certainly in bloom. I would nurture her delicate petals with rose geranium essential oils, then dance Natya style to Indian musical numbers with six thousand extras until it faded to black just before we kissed.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Friday, April 13, 2007

    Purg Hotties Say Woo


    Everybody say woo!!

    Okay, lets see… that’s one DB for you… one HC for you… one HC for you… one giant fish-smack to the face for you.

    Okay, that about does it.

    # posted by douchebag1
    Friday, April 13, 2007

    Friday Haiku


    Tongues touch, College Lez.
    But Hairy Choad doesn’t see,
    Must pose for pic. Ass.

    Like paperclip bling?
    I can play my bass for you.
    All I know is ska.

    — metalmilitia

    Bi-curiousness
    You have taste buds, but lack taste
    Seriously, him?

    — danny bonnadouchey

    while hotties make out,
    pythagoras ‘bag seeks own
    tongue partner, in vain.

    — vinegar water sack

    Lezzy tongue action!
    Teens go wild on Grandma’s couch!
    Killed by PubicFace

    — el doucherino, if you’re not into the whole brevity thing

    # posted by douchebag1
    Friday, April 13, 2007

    The Lobster


    Urge to kill rising…

    There’s a certain plateau of douchitude a scrote reaches in which nothing touches him. And by nothing touching him, I mean that literally.

    Then again, this perky carrot is touching him. Which makes me want to touch a light socket.

    Why, perky carrot, why? The man has literally undone his shirt in public to show the camera his lobster abs. And you smile? What happened to you, perky carrot? Were you dropped on your head as an infant? How has lobster’s douchey charms worked on you?

    Then again, the gold hoop dress suggests a covert Bleeth infection. Which would explain that pile of sea cockroach to her left.

    # posted by douchebag1
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