Tommy Greasepitz Is Not Intimidated by the HCwDB of the Week
Until D.J. Froholio can inscribe Rushdie’s The Satanic Verses in Sanskrit on his pecs while pulling A-List Party Hots like the grown up Beezus and Ramona, he ain’t got nuthin’ on Tommy Greasepitz.
HCwDB of the Week: D.J. Froholio and Hangin’ On Kaylie
Last week was a particularly skeezy week of toxic nastiness. Between The Wiggas with Pear, Brothabag Jesus and Tall Jenny, The Duckface of Aswipius the III, the Ode to Tommy Pak, and the horrifying Crisis on the Way to Enlightnment. Yeesh.
The only true competition, however, was Armenian Glendale Toyota Dealer Hatoonian and his hottie Jenga.
We even had Granpa Oldbag and the Guy Who Flips off Camera Guy.
But for sheer classic assbaggery in a D.J. modus, D.J. Froholio is our winner (loser), and Hangin’ On Kaylie reminds us all to appreciate the mid-30s party girl confused about the rules nature has established regarding age and mating calls.
And lets not forget D.J. Froholio and Needin’ a Sammich Linda.
Hard to call this coupling a favorite in the next Monthly, but there’s more than enough HC/DB dialectics taking place to earn the Weekly.
Now someone shave that ‘fro with a rusty razor and put on some Flo-Rida for Kaylie to dance to.
And me, I’se a gettin’ a Pop Tart. Microwaved. Cuz that’s how I roll. With breakfast pastries.
“How to be a Douchebag”
Here’s an amusing and well written Canadian instruction manual.
“Dodies” the Confused Dog for the win.
Comment of the Week: Barron Von Douchehoven
Another of HCwDB’s many Barons wins the coveted CotW with this gem from Thursday’s Asswipius the III:
—–
Once as a young growing up in a quaint gingerbread Bavarian village, you know the one. I happened upon a near-fatally contuse and bruised tortoise left on a moist cobblestone road to expire. In haste I gathered him and his belongings into my satchel and rushed him to my “hidden place” where my childhood accomplice Kroeger (not to be confused with a Rev. by a similar name) and I generously nursed him back to health. Using only the finest faux gilded salad spoons that money could buy we would pry provisions into his ever hesitant gob. I never imagined in a hundred years that my wee countryman would grow into such an laudable gunk-mire of a thug.
.
Then today I see him frolicking with a deuce of Bleeth and their delicate suckle trove. He is now known as “Asswipus”, not “the Great”, or “the ever thankfull”, no! So I say unto Asswipus, go! and enjoy the unholy Douchepocalypse, for I have scratched myself of you and your evil ways.
——
Friday Thoughts and Links
Sometimes ‘bag hunters will stop me in the street and ask me, “DB1, why you smell like prunes?”
After I explain the intricacies of the digestive tract deprived of fruits and vegetables outside of a Hostess Pie, they then ask me something else.
“DB1, if you grant a performative leniency rule for scrotes whose job it is to perform scrotily, why doesn’t it apply to D.J.s?”
And I answer softly. Because D.J.s are camel poo. And Linda needs a sammich.
Here’s your links:
Your HCwDB DVD Indie Doc of the Week: “Kill Your Idols!”
The winner for douchiest energy drink of 2011? Blue Storm. Bringing douchey American culture to Afghanistan since 2002.
Speaking of the military, eagle-eyed reader justadouchalo catches Closet of Poo legend, Poo, being called out for pretending to have been a military P.O.W. Irony alert: When his ‘real’ name is “Winslow Jefferson Ballsworth” it may not be a real profile. Just a consideration.
Ever wonder what happens when a nerdy math geek meets a douchey hairstyle? Of course you have.
Jon Stewart takes on The Nanny. Back in 1997.
The greatest punk band of them all: The Buzzcocks. 1978.
Speaking of old music, there is only one B.O.C.
Or if you’re looking for current stuff, lately I’ve been digging on Cut Copy. Even if the video is hipster stupid, that track both evokes, and subverts, New Wave tropes.
More Cut Copy here. Walking the fine line of techno douchey, but I’d argue they transcend.
Some days I like to sit by a fire, enjoy a tasty chocodile and milk, and read some Vonnegut or Melville. Some days I like to gnaw on this.
But you are not here for Gummi gnaw. You are here for Pear:
Where droplets and Green Cards collide.
Enjoy. For the Weekend is upon.
Costa Wins at the Game of Life
Good on you, Costa.
Your style may be eccentric, a variant on “Castaway Tom Hanks” and mid-career Cheech, but your joy at briefly fondling the Holy Hott Chomp Suckle seen in Hot Mom Sarina earns you a nottadouche and a goinpeace.
Fare thee well, hirsute stranger.
Fare thee well.
Friday Haiku
Those of you aroused
Will be crushed to realize
This is my peen’s tip…
It is rare indeed
When meat curtains meet curtains
Smiles all around
— saulgoode42
Shrink wrapped ground ass chuck
Begs “Poke a hole with your thumb”
Like child at market.
— johnny applesack
gentle smiling butt
supple under smiling sheets
waiting for my peen.
— Troy Tempest
Fenny’s butt-cover
Does not fool a connoisseur
One-of-a-kind ass
— Wedgie
Hidden behind sheet
Round supple buttocks fart
In timid repose.
— The Reverend Chad Kroeger
Smiley faces; you’d smile too
If you were there
Up against that Pear
— Chris in ‘Baghdad
a hint of ass pear
wizard behind the curtain
enough here to fap?
— Douche Springsteen
You may be turned on
But will become nauseous;
This is a front view
— DoucheyWallnuts
R.E.M. gave us
“happy, shiney people”. She
gives I.O.B. cramp.
— Dr. Bunsen HoneyDouche
Smiley faced curtain
my cock would tear right through you
into glorious pear
— Mandouchian Candidate
During the drug raid,
The D.E.A agent asks,
“Where’d you hide the crack?”
— hermit
Reader Mail: The Recession and ‘Baggery
—–
Boss –
longtime reader and huge fan. Thought of you this wknd whilst reading the good (and all kidding aside, sad actually) 3 part series in the LAT about victims of the great recession.
One of the three was a heavily tatted out former owner of a recording studio who is now unemployed and acknowledged to the author of the series that perhaps the ink all over his arms might be hurting his job search…
Nothing funny about it given the 4 kids but did contain an instructive anecdote about some bagling admiring his tatts and the guy snapping at him that he regrets every single one. Or something to that effect.
Please let me know when you call the bottom, for it is then that I will invest my life savings in tattoo removal technology and service providers. Like all bubbles, this will burst.
Meantime keep up the great work.
Bilbodouchebaggins
——
I’m one of those who sees the great recession as somewhat of a good, or maybe just a necessary thing.
Our entire social fabric of the mid 2000s was corroded by a cesspool of preening narcissism, self indulgence, ego, greed, and vacuous navel gazing. It was a dark time.
Our nation spent those pre-crash years in a state of utter denial. Fetishizing the richest and assholiest among us for living a life of unfettered greed. The Douchebag, as an icon, began as a denial of community, responsibility, logic and education. A Cult of the Know-Nothing Self. Preening ego self-worship as virtue, rather than vice. We still see these impulses today, although they’ve given way to more violent forms of rhetoric like racism and xenophobia.
Back then it was credit card consumption as replacement for the boring realities of actual life. Bigger and bigger SUVs and Hummers, with shittier and shittier mileage, just to prove what badasses we were.
A giant f-you to everyone but ourselves and our own desires to gratify whatever urges we had. Thus, douchebag culture.
Then the bill came.
For all the Grey Goose and Red Bull shooters we ordered without checking the price first.
Finally paying the real-world cost for action we took that we couldn’t pay for is, in the end, a good thing. So long as we learn the harsh lessons about the corrupt douche culture we indulged in for far too long.
Three Fake Boobs
“Oh, how are we going to stop this fiendish tit?”
EDIT: Laurie’s Cantaloupes make national news.
Asswipius The III Says “Challoooo laddiez…”
