Thoughts and Links
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Friday, January 17, 2020
2020 Thoughts and Links
So what would Hot Chicks with Douchebags actually look like in the age of selfies and social media image awareness?
Good question.
And who better to answer it than legendary Hall of Scrote ubersquat, the one and only The Gator?
Now your typical’choadal bagscrote might have a brief moment of douchey Vegas Greasewank ascendance in chasing the ladies. But that’s all it is. A brief moment of youth. A grasp at the douche ring before they eventually fade quickly into suburban ennui and CostCo runs.
But the true ‘bag legends? They shmear snail slime on suckle thigh forever.
Just leatherier. And with more skin cancer.
And who is Grator than the Gator?
Here we see The Gator 2020, replete with latest conquest, Leopard Selfie Hott taking inspiration from 80s teen comedies.
Gotta give mad respek to his sandbaggery visage for staying in the ‘bag game all these years. And by respek I mean poop.
To paraphrase the immortal words of Wooderson, The Gator might get wrinklier and leatherier, but them hotts, they stay the same age.
Just like the Gator’s leathery appendages and saggy pec mounds, so too do we find ourselves in 2020. Still here. Still lumpy. Still present. But hanging on to past glories even as the ‘roids begin to turn to ashes and colon cancer.
It is I. Your humble narrator. The originary Douchebag1. And you. Loyal ‘Bag Hunter, Mocker of Choad. You have come back. Perhaps hopeful. Perhaps melancholic. Hoping to figure out when the playful innocence of the early 2000s gave way to an epic, lurid global clownshow. The world might be burning. But we still have each other.
The DB1 might not have all the answers for you. We have moved on to greener pastures. But every so often we check back whimsically on the time when social media had not yet been commoditized, monitized, caramelized, and Liza Minnelli with a scary clown at a birthday party in the 1950sized.
Here are your 2020 Thoughts and Links:
If you like and miss the rants of your humble narrator, check out an article I wrote on growing up in Boston for a new magazine called Fifty Grande. I’m honored to be in the first issue. You should subscribe. Then you’ll be into these dudes before anybody.
This leaked clip from the upcoming Judd Apatow directed Pete Davidson movie looks hilarious and promising.
I’m so tired of all the racism on TV these days. From now on I’m only letting my daughters watch The Flintstones.
Someone sent me this interview of me from 2007 the other day and I don’t remember it at all. But then again I don’t remember most of 2007. I was jacked up on Night Train and HoHos and other assorted tasty Hostess snack cakes while sitting on my rug in my one bedroom in the not-yet-cool neighborhood of Los Feliz, grappling angrily with where it all went choady/hottie.
If you want to see the imitation palatial apartment building where the DB1 lived for most of the years writing this site, here it is. The fact a UPS truck blocked the Google Camera pretty much sums up those years.
Los Feliz is now a trendy enclave where annoying fake nerd sexual abusers live and they shoot ironic self-aware serial killer TV shows. But back when the DB1 lived there, Los Feliz was mostly just sitting around and having coffee at House of Pies.
I miss those days. Now it’s Family life in the valley.
Speaking of the Valley, this is how they make love in Tarzana.
At what point is mid-career Eminem just Max Perlich in Beautiful Girls?
No joke, speaking of houses of pie, if you’re ever visiting LA, go here and order the steakburger and a slice of apple pie. You’re welcome.
This clip of Zach Braff and his girlfriend Florence Pugh celebrating her Oscar nomination is hilarious.
And here it is, your moment of Zen.
Have a great 2020!
Wednesday, December 7, 2016The Shunning of the Trump Voter
You. Yes, you.
You voted for Trump?
You are a human Zika virus. A walking Walking Dead walker with the rotting, fetid stench of seasons five through seven seeping through every cell of your corporeal body. Every pixel of your online presence. You are to be psychologically and conceptually quarantined. Forever.
I curse you with every elemental fiber of my being. I expunge you with every ounce of my soul, my shmeg, and my spirit. Let you be forever damned as the rank choadscrote that you chose to become due to your own misguided volition.
You deserve no forgiveness.
You deserve no retrial.
You are hereby cast out.
You are not a part of the legitimate discourse of a civil society. And you are certainly not invited to my next birthday party. And that party will be awesome. It will contain real people. It will have cheese dip. And premium gouda. And tasty Hostess treats. Yes, even Chocodiles. And people with actual souls. People with consciousness. From Socrates to Billy Ocean. The collective progress of Humankind. Of which you are no longer a member. Sorry, toad pimple. You forever vanquished your right to lay claim to the progression narrative of the human race.
You are douche.
But not just any douche. We need an invented moniker for the hypertext vortex of ferret pus suckage that you embody in the apex of wretchedness that your life choices reached. You are not merely standard issue douche. Nor are you an amusingly eccentric scrotey nitwank. You fall neither hither nor thither on the spectrum of ‘bag.
You are a new form of pimple lick. A collage assemblage of various marsupial poo, each a differing shade of fecal brown. The collective effect is one of patchwork shite. To name you a single feces is to do a disservice to the many sphincters and colons that collectively excreted the various elements that make up your kaleidoscopic dung discharge.
As such, we are at an impasse. For there are not enough neologisms to express my contempt for your retched life choices that you exemplify, occupy, taint, or otherwise smear with the vile spittle that pours forth like mildewy Mountain Dew from your scaly manure-built form.
You have an excuse for your actions, I’m sure. You hated Hillary. You just wanted a tax break. You wanted a certain kind of Supreme Court justice or just thought it would be hi-larious to mix it up by voting for an orange simian rhesus hemorrhoid.
Unacceptable.
Shove it up your ass like a week old slurpee stained dumpster outside a 7-11 in Sheboygan. Even if that 7-11 was once a White Castle. And even if the memories of those savory square burgers still haunts its myopic walls. The dumpster don’t lie. Once you pulled the lever for a preening con-man sexual abuser, you exemplified the narcissistic diuretic spew of that most craven core embodiment of American Douchebaggery.
For what is a douchebag if not you? Douches ignore the larger world in favor of the narcissistic self. ‘Bags discard consciousness, thought, communication, and honesty in service of core lizard-brain pleasures rooted in cartoonish fantasy. The fist pump and the hair gel are nothing more than extensions of amoral self-worship. And so is the Trump vote.
And therefore ipso facto cognito ergo leggo, so the mucky muck are you. You sorry, pathetic milk teat on the taint of a toad.
Douche.
You.
I’m talking to you.
You never shaved your chest but voted for Trump? You are douche. You never chugged a Bud Light Lime while calling a girl “bro” but voted for Trump? Douche.
I hereby micturate on your rug for all eternity. Because you live in the age of infinite, accessible information laying at your fingertips. And yet you chose ignorance and hysteria over consciousness and thought. Enlightenment beckoned. And you chose the Great Orange Darkness.
There is only one course of action left.
“Hot Chicks with Douchebags” calls for a complete and total shunning of all Trump voters from every aspect of respectable life. You aren’t just to be mocked for eternity. You are to be held in utter fucking contempt by all that value anything beyond the navel gaze. All that value the notion of humanity above primal animal urges and violent impulses of the jungle.
To the millions of us on the side of righteousness, I call on you to join me. Participate in this collective shunning of those that deserve nothing but shun. De-friend any Trumpdouches in your midst. If they’re family? Cut them off. Scientology style.
Gone. Dismissed. Forever.
They do not deserve reasoning. They do not deserve negotiation. They do not deserve even a rabbit fart iota of respek.
Christian Audigier and Ed Hardy are dead now. But the legacy of their wretched narcissism lives on.
In the Trumpdouche. The faux tribal tattoo on the bicep of humanity. They deserve to be scrubbed off and flushed down the toilet as soon as possible. As soon as the rest of us can gather enough Lysol to scrub your toxicity away. Forever.
This is our next challenge. Our calling. This is a war. Choose your side. And do not go weak kneed simply because a meat-sack in human form resembles an actual human when justifying their Faustian bargain.
View them for what they are. Condemn them for failing to be what could so easily have been theirs. A world of knowledge. Intelligence. Humanity.
They rejected the modern world. We reject them.
Sunday, April 19, 2015Hot Chicks with Douchebags After Douchebags
A little over a year ago I ended this blog as a daily force for douche mock.
After eight years of glorious dissection of the choady/cutie dialectics, I felt I had said all there is to say about hottie/douchey cohabit.
My rants had been forced to give way to little more than idle chit-chat in a post-douchebag world.
The word itself, “douchebag,” that I had so carefully and lovingly developed to mean something specific (a preening tool using spectacle to try to attract a mate), gave way to overuse and linguistic slippage. A million HCwDB-inspired ‘douchebag’ memes were started (aka stolen) by a million wannabe mockers. The word lost all importance. Enough to make Chomsky blush.
As Ed Hardy and douche face and stupid selfies faded, as cheesy facial fung and orange spray tans and ninny hair receded like Antarctic snow, the douche blended and molded into hipster wash. The obvious mock was no more.
But I still wonder what if.
I sit and pensively sip my Mr. Pibb. I perch on the veranda overlooking my alpaca sex farm. And I ruminate on the increasing importance of culture mock in a post-individual blend of Reddit/Nerdist blandness, sameness and genericism.
Where are the next generation of cultural critics and woodland creature fetishists to rage against the pop culture vortex of industrial acquiescence?
Can we find these voices any more in the age when Buzzfeed listicles substitute for thought? Where fake-nerd comic book men-in-tights CGI spectacles substitute for character, narrative, and plot? When Jimmy Fallon dances in pre-packaged viral bits set to random 1980s one hit wonders because he knows aging Xers will circulate any form of 1980s nostalgia? When all our male movie stars are 30-something Germanic Aryan Teutons named “Chris” or “Chad” and all our female movie stars refuse to let me powder their knee muffins with talcum and spittle?
I do not have the answer to these questions.
I only know that douchemockery must continue in some form. If for no other reason than to critique and overturn the assumptions that cultural dictates are inherent rather than learned.
My rumination and isolation, like Yoda by way of Siddhartha, continues.
But more to come.
Wednesday, December 24, 2014Meaty Meat Santa Pud and The Paid-to-Pose Elven Hotts Wish You and Yours a Jolly Douchey Christmas!!
On the Twelfth Day of Christmas, my true blave gave to me… Meaty Meat Santa Pud and the Paid-to-Pose Elven Hotts peeing in the egg noggggg…
Well hello there. Yes. DB1 here. Your humble narrator still wanders the barren landscape of pop culture vibrato.
Still occasionally tripping the riff linguistic with emotive gusto and a packet of HoHos for sustenance.
I may not post all that often these days. But I will do my best to post here and there, or at least every blue moon, in the new year. And then there’s always your noblest of crusaders, DarkSock, leading the regs and bringing the mock via time-travel to 2005.
Christmas may not be my holiday. But it’s most people’s holiday. So on behalf of HC1, BC1, and myself (DB1), here’s hoping you have a Merry Christmas, a Happy post-Hannukah, a Festivus grievance or a Spaghetti Monster’s noodley appendage. Just make sure you never run into this toxic de-coupling, and that the new year will finally see satan’s douche army of Criss Angels macking on tasty brunette cocktail hotts smoted once and for all.
Smited?
Smate?
There is no denying it. The scragglewanks still walk amonst us. Our work is not yet done.
I may no longer lead the daily charge. But I tip my cup of ‘Train to all that carry on this noblest of noblest Tikkun Olam. Fight onward. Mock harder. And repose with an enjoyable, tasty sandwich once in awhile. For that is what the great Warren Zevon recommended before he passed onward to that great kitchen in the sky.
Truer words were never spoken.
Monday, July 7, 2014Douchebags are Apparently Back
I’m not okay with this.
Not.
Okay.
With this.
Unironic braggadocio with stupid hat and doucheface. Performed by shamelessly moronic hip hop suburban choadwanks. Flashin’ Benjamins, luxury (rented) cars, and lots of paid-to-boobs as proof of alpha male package.
The stupid. It burns.
Yet The Huffington Post just called this the proverbial jam of the summer.
Not okay.
Reeks like foot fung. Like donkey dung. Like the absolute worst of the mid 2000s.
I’m not saying HCwDB is back. I’m focused on my Podcast these days.
But after we’d accomplished so much over the years, I am not okay with this. A pile of rank taintstain. A pustulous music ‘video.’ It is a step back into a fetid pile of sheep piddle. It rankles the cockles of my benevolent soul.
Friday, February 21, 2014Friday Thoughts and Links
I’m in a generous mood these days. So I’ll probably give Army Bob a nottadouche and a goinpeace for scoring Tonya The Hott Older Sister of Your Best Friend In Tenth Grade.
Even if sleeveless army tanktops are all sorts of 1980s festering festoon.
So’s while your humb narrs was in New York, I sat down to go an in-depth podcast with the great Mandy Stadtmiller of xoJane and News Whore. I’ve long been a fan of Mandy’s writing ever since she first interviewed me for the New York Post back in the day when my show was debuting on MTV.
And since we’re probably approaching some sort of finality around here at HCwDB, I thought it was high time to sit down and talk through the journey of my life and all things hottie/douchey dialectical. Check out the podcast here.
If you do listen, let me know what you think of it in the comments thread. I’m curious to hear your thoughts.
Anyways, and aways we go… here’s yer links:
Your HCwDB Buy Some Amazon Stuff and Help Support the Site Link of the Week: “Experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger portion of the truth arises from the seemingly irrelevant.”
Brothabag Leon. Still out there. Still with swirly fung.
Well, that’s one way to fight the power I suppose.
200 year old douche discovered. It wasn’t Gene Simmons.
Billy Ray Cyrus’s Achy Breaky Heart 2 drips with douchal stank.
Real life Barbie wants to be ‘brainless.’
White Trash Alert: Twinkies now available at Big Lots. I love Twinkies but have never been in a Big Lots. I am half-white-trash. Gray Trash?
An abandoned high school in Detroit comes to life with photographs from the past. Eerie and beautiful.
And so we drift off into another weekend eve… the languid smells of lavendar and burning tar choke the Hollywood freeways with the congestion of a million piddle butts. And so many carry on for a two day break from a five day week with the peanut at the end of the rainbow the chance to do it all over again.
Friday, February 14, 2014Valentine's Day Thoughts and Links
Yup. That’s Pert Fertile Fiona and Greaser Chadwick Von Dickhead.
Turns out the height difference wasn’t so easy to spot back in the car. But the hottie/douchey stench remains the same. Yet again cohabitating in ways that make digging out from a snowstorm seem like pointless pathos.
Albert Camus once took a poop with more spiritual meaning than these two.
They make me piddle cry weep for suckle taut waste.
Anyways. Another Friday, as the kids say. Only a minimal set of links as your humble narrator navigates the wily streets of wintery ol’ New York. But here’s ya go:
Your HCwDB Buy Some Shit After Clicking this Amazon Link to help support the site link of the Week: “I may not have been sure about what really did interest me, but I was absolutely sure about what didn’t.”
RIP to East Village poetry legend Maggie Estep. The New York I knew in the 90s really is gone. But in the 90s they were bitching about the lost New York of the 70s. And so it goes.
Sharknado 2 announces its cast. I’ve already cynically live-tweeted through the whole thing in an alternate universe. Especially that part with the fake looking shark.
Here’s some old Star Wars posters you might not have seen. I would pay serious money for the one from Hungary.
Do Jewish men have a thing for Asian women? Do puff piece articles about ethnic stereotypes have a think for click-bait headlines?
Speaking of geeky click-bait headlines: Twenty five Critical Theory Valentine’s Cards
I just bought Drake’s new album. Not impressive.
“And remember folks, the initials for Valentine’s Day are “V.D.” — Says my third grade self if I could have Tweeted back then.
Okay. Ya done good kid. You earned it:
For how all of life should wake up.
Friday, February 7, 2014Friday Thoughts and Links
When Sharon Whose Hair Smells Like Premium Suave Conditioner with Coconut Scent cohabits with Oily Bohunk Dave, then you know life is a shriveled nad of nad prune.
Your humb narrs is heading to the big NYC next week. HC1 and BC1 in tow.
First time back since I gave up that sweet sweet East Village rent stabilized apartment a year and a half ago.
Oh how sad to be a tourist in the city of my youth.
Back when the internet boomed, the deficit balanced, new subway cars were introduced with robot voices, and many, many hot 20-something ladies watched too much Sex and the City, decided to drink cosmos and exhibit loose moral behavior.
Them’s were the days.
Now I’ll be changing diapeys and hope I can hit Joe’s at least twice.
Here’s yer links:
Your HCwDB Buy Some Shite after Clicking this Amazon Link And Help Support the Site Link of the Week: “Dope will get you through times of no money better than money will get you through times of no dope.”
The Grieco virus during incubation.
Justin Bieber’s father. What’s the word I’m looking for? Oh yes. Spincterpeanutbutteraardvarklick.
My new favorite xBox 360 game: Call of Doodie.
My interest in the Winter Olympics is the equivalent of a scary balloon clown.
Have you ever seen this much muscle on a man?
Club institutes new rules for douchebaggery. I approve.
People in photos with dogs pooping.
For those humorless hipsters of the greater San Francisco area: The underground economics of Dolores Park.
The most terrible, misleading statement about pear of all time.
Here’s your moment of zen: Twenty-four hour time lapse of lawn furniture in snow.
Okay. That’s all I got. It’s a little bit scary but here ya go:
Kind of a bummer. Literally.
So how’s about to make up for it:
A Lineup of Masked Bums
Go forth and gnaw.
Friday, January 31, 2014Friday Thoughts and Links
Two boobs.
And two boobs.
Thank you. I will be here all of the week. Be sure to tip your hostess. Try the veal. In Soviet Union, ears aren’t only on corn, they also on walls! Whatta country!
Not a lot o’ links on this quiet end-of-January Friday.
Your humb narr’s little one, BC1, is turning six months old. Sheeeeiiiittttt. Changing diapers and passing out by 8pm is the new going out to Hollywood parties and hitting on hot starlets hoping to break into the biz. So they tell me.
Meh.
Feh.
Feta.
Mmm… Farmiga.
Here’s yer links:
Your HCwDB Click on this Link and Buy some Shit on Amazon to Support the Site Link of the Week: “Well it’s Ninth and Hennepin
All the doughnuts have names that sound like prostitutes, And the moon’s teeth marks are on the sky, Like a tarp thrown all over this, And the broken umbrellas like dead birds, And the steam comes out of the grill, Like the whole goddamn town’s ready to blow…”
Bored this weekend? An interesting article from Salon on the middle-aging of the unfortunately labeled “Generation X.” Lots of cliches but some interesting points made. Oh Winona, where art thy hottness to save us now?
Why all those years of drinking cheap bum wine was good for your humble narrator.
Bruce Springsteen’s recollections of the late folk singer Pete Seeger resonate with the historical importance of music across time. Don’t ever forget that. No matter how many Biebers make meaningless noise, music can change the world.
For my Canadian readers: Pictures of Rob Ford getting tickled.
Nooooooo!!!!! Just when I think we’re winning.
Some website calls Made Man attempts some HCwDBian mock with middling success.
Librarian Hotts go digital.
Fashion dos and don’ts. No word on doe.
Okay, ’nuff of that.
Stretch that one, Opus.
Friday, January 24, 2014Friday Thoughts and Links
Ah yes.
To Run with the Goose.
When douchewanks purchase overpriced alcohol and hold it in a phallic way to court the laziest and most inebriated of the female herd.
It’s like when bonobo chimps fling poo as part of ritual courting.
Economics can always be explained by the reproductive force. The more we desire to mate, the more rules can be put in place to extract cash through our efforts.
But that’s neither here nor there.
What is both here and there is Evil Yellow Sunball. Evil Yellow Sunball sees all. EYS often discusses the decline of our mating habits with Ubiquitous Red Cup. They concur. We suck.
Here’s yer links:
Your HCwDB buy some shit on Amazon to support the site link of the week: If you’re ever upset about an ex-girlfriend, imagine them like this in forty years.
Guy Fieri, featured here on HCwDB as a douchebag of the month back in 2008, and again in 2009 and as recently as last year, continues to contribute to the scrotation of the planet.
The push-up muscle shirt. For douchebags who want to get there the lazy way. Oh wait, it’s viral marketing. Damn you for stealing my shtick, Old Spice. Here’s another example.
But the hillbillies still hate us.
Best thing I’ve read all month: Grantland’s oral history of Swingers. Phenomenal.
Hungover? This doctor will flush you.
Be careful, part-time douchebags. The internets is watching.
The increasingly impressive Vice produces some genius local news headlines. It’s like Jay Leno’s headlines, only funny.
Okay, ’nuff of that, lets get to the tautness:
It’s like doing a wash. Of your brain! Brainwash! Because you now lack the ability to think! Ha… heh.. heh.. okay, I go now.
