HCwDB of the Week: Aqua Vulva and British Sexy Sophia
How’s about we get a lil’ country AND western mock all up in this place?
Ya hear?
Countrybags get short shrift these days. But as Blake Shelton Zombie Eyes tells us, they ain’t no non-douche to be reckoned with, by which I mean they is.
And sheeeeoootttt, that fine filly British Sexy Sophia sure done make me want to have hominy grits and carry a gun so I feel important!
Okay, I’ll stop with the country textology.
But they’s the first Weekly off our new album.
The DB1’s hamper is filling up with pooper pics. And a glorious Monday it be.
Hot Chicks Something Something
Here’s another entry in the Rebecca Black irono-sweepstakes. It’s both annoying and depressing.
Fuggit. Sorry about this one.
Have some Sexy Granny Undies Pear as my apology for such mediocre Sunday entertainment.
Comment of the Week: Mr. Scrotato Head
Mr. Scrotato Head ponders the high crimes of cornrows in the A Crime is About to be Committed Thread and wins the coveted HCwDB Comment of the Week:
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That’s the same look he gives you when you tell him the Chili’s signature spinach dip is cold.
.
God! Why does life keep kicking him in the nuts?! He’s good looking. He works out. He pours his paychecks into fine clothes and clubbing. Sure, he’s two months behind on his Nissan payments. Sure, he’s using one credit card to pay off the other. Sure, he only made it through half a semester at Santa Clara Community college, but seriously, introductory math is hard! Sure, it burns when he pees and the explosive diarrhea makes him dizzy. And sure, having to move back in with mom and the step douche is no fun, but his roommates could only give him so many passes on the rent.
.
Maybe, just maybe, if he puts his hair in corn rows, things will change. YEAH! That’s it! ‘Cuz nothing stops the nut busting better than winning some hot strange while the collections calls pile up in voicemail.
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Friday Thoughts and Links
Tonguetwats.
Still out there.
Still ruining pics of raver girls who haven’t learned the life lessons that will switch their major from drama to pre-med.
Glorious, glorious holy Cleavite…. praise Tebus for dying on the Football field for our sins…
Your humble narrator Tweets an electric toot across the virtual landscape of Los Angeles scrub suck.
All is well in the nooning hour.
All is well, she said.
And then I had to pay.
Here’s your links:
Your HCwDB DVD Pick of the Week: “By the power of Greyskull!”
The douchiest thing you’ll see all week: RoboBros.
Still not convinced Semitic Hotts are the finest of all the ethnic subdivisions of the hott hierarchies? I give you exhibit #521: Rafaeli Hott.
“The Royal Lifestyle.” Smells like asschoad and petunias.
Douchey Cell-Phone Self Portraits: Now for Professional Hockey Players.
The Bleeth is a ‘Bag of Trouble (vintage style)
Hangover Heaven. Cures your hangover while turning you into a douchebag.
Want to giggle at something stupid this weekend like you’re twelve years old again?: Funny Restaurant Names. “Hitler’s Cross”?!
Predator: The Musical. Makes life worth living.
However, the DB1’s sanity hangs by a thread.
Uberblogger Andrew Sullivan muses on why men’s fashion is so straight. My guess: Because it took a wrong turn at Albuquerque.
Okay, you’ve earned it. Here’s your Pear:
But soft! It is the East! And Juliette is a Butt Globby Globb!
Ask DB1: Realtorbags
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DB1,
So the other evening whilst I was harmlessly robot dancing to myself in the shower it occurred to me are there careers that are douchey or more appropriately careers that are douche signifiers?
I mean we all have to make a living right?
But it occurred to me douches seem to gravitate to certain careers. Usually ones associated with quick easy money, vanity and a veneer of psuedo-celebrity attached to it or something. Jobs where they can believe they are a master of the universe when really they’re just a peon to a much bigger fish (DJing, Club promoting, personal training and to a degree finance).
So I remembered that most people I’ve encountered working in real estate or have ever had to deal with in real estate were arrogant douchebags with an over developed sense of self-worth and importance. They usually drove the gaudiest model of luxury or sports car they could find with some kind of stupid slogan spelled out on thier vanity license plates and wore the tackiest, flashy clothes they could find.
Here’s a real estate scammer bag that appeared on A and E’s “Flip this House” turning the art of real estate scamming and cheaply fixing up crappy houses to unload to willing suckers into a reality show.
For some of his greatest hits google Armando Montelongo.
Regards,
Capt. James T. Douche
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This brings up an important addendum to the Rockstar Leniency Rule. No exemption for reality TV show hosts.
None.
Friday Haiku
New movie being shot,
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Pear,
Director calls, “pooch!”
This is the only
tiger that Siegfried and Roy
would be afraid of.
— Douche Wayne
Modern Art eats my
Mind. My mind wants to eat the
Modern Art. Mother?
— The Reverend Chad Kroeger
I am not quite sure
How to ask this question now
but tiger’s tongue, where?
— Master Pee
It puts the whiskers
Horror film or comedy?
Hose again. Skin hose.
— The Reverend Chad Kroeger
^Damn you, Reverend…I can’t stop laughing… -DarkSock
If this faux tiger
Sticks out its tongue or roars
That’s it, I’m leaving
— saulgoode42
This is the first time
A wild animal has
Given me boners
— Doucheywallnuts
The Assphlegm Twins Get Lucky
Oh Glorious Gloria. You are uberhott of uberhotts.
I tongue your shoes with orgiastic delight.
How your potent smile sings melodic homilies of poetic aural dissonance across a landscape of bunnies and tree humpty hump. How I long to gnaw wistfully uponst your used bobby socks while juggling your grandmother’s seat cushions upon which you sat last Saturday while condescendingly joining her for tea before you went off to your professional pillow fight at a private party in the Hollywood Hills. Allow me to poke your buttock for but a tock of the ticking clock, and the fact of my mortality will be accepted with grace and aplomb.
Where's Poolpud?
Somewhere in this lineup of taut quarter bouncing car alarm sounding vibratorio bellyrub giggle spackle, I’ve carefully hidden a six pack of Poolpud.
Look closely. Can you smirk in three months when they’re manning the fryer at Bob’s Big Boy?
The Captain and Tetnus
I need a shot. Actually, two shots. Penicillin and Johnny Walker.
Lets move on.
HCwDB of the Month: Sleepy Jerkenstein and Cindy
This wasn’t a vote so much as a coronation. And that wasn’t some easy competition. Mickey the Polyp and Savannah were hottie/douchey enough to win a Monthly. So were The Lickwipe and Sexy Poochtickle Trina.
Hells, Enrique and Paid-to-Pose Tammy weren’t no chump change neither.
Between this pic of tattoo cheek and half-lidded disinterest in presence of Purity Suckle Cindy, and the Guggenheim worthy art masterpiece Innocence and Poo Face, we have us a winner (loser).
The readers speak:
Scoopy Douche: Jerkenstein FTW. Cindy for the back seat of my mom’s ‘67 Chrysler Newport, where I would show her the meaning of “box score”.
Douche of Hazzard: I gotta go with Sleepy. I think he is posing like that to show his eyelid tatts. Stupid tattoos, stupid hat, big fat belly and a hot chick. WTF?
Vin Douchal: Worst combo is Sleepy Jerkenstein and Cindy. Therefore , they get the vote. And by vote I mean no 9-1-1 call or heimlich when Sleepy chokes on Beef Jerkey. Just a lot of pointing and laughing
FoghornLeghorn: Tough choice this month, but I have to go with Jerkenstein and Cindy. The “Taco God” tattoo on his face pushes him beyond the other douches.
fatness: This one is a matter of extremes…SJ is extremely toxic and Cindy is extremely cute but naive. You just know this evening ended badly with her wandering some dirt road with no memory of the last six hours.
Wheezer: She is everything that is girl-next-door cutie, the one you liked to watch as she’d wash her Dad’s car, help her Mom in the garden, and sit on the school bus laughing and giggling with her friends. She’d always have a nice “Hi” for you when she saw you outside or at school, so you find yourself seething with rage that she’s in any way interested in this rat pizzle.
Indiana Choad and the Temple of Douche: Gotta go with Sleepy Jerkenstein and Cindy. Assclown deliberately did that so he wouldn’t have to get a job, and can sit around and suck on the welfare teat all day. When he’s not dipping into Cindy’s student loan, that is. Where’s a good chainsaw when you need one?
ehcuodouche: There’s no reason on earth to tattoo “Fear God” under your eyeballs unless you want it to be the target for fists.
Mr. Scrotato Head: Sleepy Jerkstein and Cindy. Because she is real world bad-decision making but not so bad that it’s permanent (unless she’s got Hep-C), and because I want to hear Sleepy’s acceptance speech which will no doubt include something like “Mm-umm-mph. Uhhm. C’n I have sum Cheetos w’that? Yaaaaaaaaaaaaawn, h’come m’eyelids hurt?”
Charles Nelson Douchely: The only way Sleepy could be any scrotier is if it was a Yankees cap tilted sideways on his empty skull. Sleepy FTW.
A total domination of taint. Lets let Dr. Bunsen Honeydouche take us home:
Sleepy Jerkenstein and Cindy FTW! Why? THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE! He’s like the MacLeod to all the other immortals seen here. They all have their own special skills and weaponry but none is the ultimate match for Sleepy. His face tatts and utter lack of anything even remotely resembling the ability to comprehend that he is considered sentient gives him the the ability to win “The Prize”. All the others are upright, have a facial expression and seem to have the necessary locomotive skills to move unassisted but not Sleepy. No way! Life is WAY over-rated (in his opinion) we’re just all living in his world. AND for that, he wins (loses).
So true. And so tragic. Chalk ’em up for the poo-ly, and me for breakfast cereals of indeterminate origin.
