Ninety-Nine Problems and that Hat Definitely is One
I was supposed to go to that party but my raccoon had hepatitis.
Wall Street Kenneth Discovers the Fruits of his Labor
It’s a wonderful journey from swapping derivatives to a night out with Office Stacy, and Kenneth plans to make the best of his Grapefruit Sour.
Kenneth may be a traditional nottadouche, but sensing something about smug Wall Street entitlement, and the boob stare, I’mma go with a stage-1 ‘tag.
Speaking of boob stare, HCwDB’s legendary attention whore and confused hottie Champagne Katie has turned insecurity and daddy issues into a terrible decision, apparently ruining perfection by getting an out-of-focus boob job. A Jacobean tragedy for our times.
Breaking: HCwDB Celebrity Culture Stains Marissa Miller and Some Leechy Goober About to Spawn
First the Snooki baby, and now this.
Thankfully, ABC News was all over the breaking story of Marissa Miller tweeting a pic of herself swimming underwater:
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Former Victoria’s Secret Angel Marisa Miller revealed her baby bump to her Twitter followers on Tuesday while celebrating her 34th birthday.
The former model, who is expecting a baby with her husband music producer Griffin Guess, shared an image snapped of her in a bikini while swimming underwater.
“Thanks so much for all the sweet birthday wishes! Love you all! I had the best day and spent most of it under water…,” she wrote.
Miller is entering the third trimester if her pregnancy. On August 2 she tweeted an image of herself, writing, and “This was a month ago at 17 weeks. My belly seems to have doubled since! Had to paddleboard to get to this cave.’
Miller joins model Bar Refaeli and reality TV star Kim Kardashian in what seems to be a new trend of women tweeting images and video of themselves underwater.
Israeli model Refaeli tweeted a sexy black and white video ad earlier this summer of her swimming in a pool for her under.me underwear line. In early August, Kardashian tweeted a photo taken of her flaunting her curves in a two-piece. The starlet simply wrote, “Swim good” to her followers.
Miller and Guess, who wed in 2006, are expected to welcome their first child in December.
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The next-generation battles of HCwDB Mock will be epic Bruckheimerian spectacles of ridicule and boobie.
Peter Pumpinhead and Mary Mammageddon Approve of the HCwDB of the Week
This legendary HCwDB freakshow expresses approval in the only way they know how.
By becoming a cloud.
HCwDB of the Week: Jack the Lipper and Pouty Michaela
With lip fung of herpsterian proportions, plus a punchworthy douche face that Seal Team Six really needs to address, combined with the sexy skeevy hott bank account ruining pout of Pouty Michaela, we have ourselves a winner/loser.
Faux rock-star douche jackets punch the Baby Vishnu in the elephant trunk.
And lets not forget the followup atrocity, Jack, Michaela, and Tom Petty Hott.
It’s a worthy pool of pubeshake that flies poo on. And your humb narrs for Raisin Bran.
Happy Labor Day!
Vacationing King Douchuous the IV and Hottie Whose Name He Forgot After The Last Round of Mai Tais want to wish you all a happy Labor Day.
The King, and all his douchebag ilk, never worked a day in their lives. Too much time and money for the children of privilege define the douchebag class. Which reminds me that Labor Day is also an important function in fighting the douchebag plague. Entitled inheritors with attitude, who have no clue of the battles that came before.
Let us all take a moment and honor the working class, and all they represent to this world. For the workers of the world, who deserve respect and not the contempt that some of our leaders spit out, I offer a symbol of my gratitude:
No labor needed.
Legendary Satirical Douchefail "Riff Raff" Gives Back to the Community
The community of groin crabs.
Comment of the Week: Et tu Douche?
Superlative ‘bag mocker ETD? deconstructs the dysfunctional WASPian shame underneath the polite whiteness of Connecticut in the Connecticut Sue Makes a Poor Life Choice thread and wins the coveted HCwDB of the Week:
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Back home in Darien, after seeing this pic of his daughter, Connecticut Tripp rues the day he and his wife allowed her to attend Choate Rosemary Hall if she had only gone to Miss Porter’s this probably would not of happened. Oh well I guess a few Vicodin and a stiff couple of Dewar’s should ease his shame.
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Friday Thoughts and Links
I realized yesterday, as The Jersey Shore enters its final season, that days go by where my mind blocks out that I am ultimately responsble for the world knowing the name “Snooki.”
I am in denial.
The mocking of ‘bags has brought me much important positive Karma for my Buddhist afterlife and rebirth. So Vishnu told me, by way of Elijah, at the last interfaith Seder.
But I must still make penance for the great cardinal sin of my ‘bag mocking leadership. The poo stain on my flag. The shaming of my ancestors.
The Snooki Baby will be stopped. By my future child. In an epic battle. With way too much CGI. And a wacky robot sidekick.
Here’s your links:
Flight of the Conchords reunites for charity. Brett? Check. Jermaine? Check.
My kingdom and a bottle of Charles Shaw wine to anyone who can explain this pic of Kisseus Vomitorious and Margaret. Regardless, they’s making a serious play for HCwDB of the Year.
It’s good to see Seinfeld keeping busy these days.
The difference between how men and women deal with breakups is pretty clear.
Bros.
HCwDB regular Mr. Biggs observes a Go Topless protest. In a related story, the DB1’s “Shaved Alpaca Pride” convention was not granted a city permit on animal cruelty grounds.
San Francisco coffee shop launches a war on herpsters. Take that, Instagram! Who uses Insta-… oh wait. D’oh.
OKCupid Enemies. I’m thinking of starting “JDateShiksas.com”.
This card is a fraud. There is only one King.
Happy Birthday to Paul Reubens, who turned 60 on Monday. He’s Sorry He Took the Money.
But you are not here to celebrate the birthday of the great Paul Reubens. You are here for pear:
Not enough? How about
Mmm… like succulent globules of pink booble fondle suckle thigh.
Where's Douchelegs?
Somewhere in this pic of…
Oh who gives a crap where douchelegs is.
I would suckle and grope my way through a mound of uncooked raisinbread challah dough while blindfolded with an ancient Mayan dishrag while slapping my upper posterior with a gel encrusted fly swatter just for the chance to triple thigh bongo each of these pooch spackles after arranging them in chronologically descending Ms. Clairol hair dye color order. Then I would rub softly on Stripped Bikini Kayla’s belly pooch and lower back thigh with mint juleps and a faded doily. And then I would make them kick me with their legs like an S&M version of the Rockettes while whimpering and crying out for an answer to Fermat’s Last Theorem.
