Friday Haiku
DarkSock is back, kids;
Reporting from Sick Duty.
So let’s do this. Son.
******************
What do you see here?
Reboot of “Charlie’s Angels”
The Craigslist Version…
Why seventy-two
virgins when just five pros can
get the same job done?
– Douche Wayne
Whilst I hate that douche
I admit I am jealous.
Would love a “Sixsome”
– DoucheyWallnuts
Joe’s craps winnings
make for one helluva night.
Back to mop next day.
– Dr. Bunsen HoneyDouche
Douche wears camo pants
Thinks he needs to hide huge penis
Suzy can’t find it
– THEONETRUEDOUCHE
Camouflage fatigues ?
The only combat time this
tool saw was Xbox
– Magnum Douche P. I.
five hoo bag jump offs
party Vegas style with guns
plan his kidney theft
– Dickie Fingers
Maid service, next day
Finds hardass in iced bath tub
Kidney, one eye gone
– Vin Douchal
Redneck Joe Scores Way Above His Paygrade
I’m inclined to give Redneck Joe a nottadouche and a goinpeace. Aside from tacky everything, just not enough ‘bag to convict.
As to Rural Becky, all is good in the milfy hinterlands of yore.
Then again, this post is autoposting, as my ass is probably 30,000 miles above Peoria as we speak.
Love that Dirty Water…
Boston Bound
Speaking of wigga tool pantload crapstain koala spittle yak in a noose hanging from a eucalyptus tree wrong.
So it goes, Billy Bob and Katie.
Your humb narrs, HC1, and, of course, BC1, are all on a plane headed home to Boston.
Our mission: Allowing my grandparents, newly minted as great-grandparents, to oggle my spawn.
On a related note, “Oggle My Spawn” the working title of the Osmond’s Christmas Specials back in the 70s?
The Greasepitzer and Eve read Shakespeare
“Life’s but a walking D.J, a poor playah, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by a douchebag and hot chick, full of sound and fury, signifying dubstep.”
Bottle Spray as Phallic Substitute
One of the most bemusing of the rituals of douche culture is the overt sexual sublimation taking place when the alpha male of a given rave/party decides to suddenly spray champagne fluid on all those hot chicks around him.
Like the marking of territory among bonobo chimpanzees, this ritual celebratory spraying of fluid is simply semantic semen, a Dionysian display of performative coitus by the king douche meant to communicate fertility and viability to the larger tribe.
When understood anthropologically, the ritual ceases to symbolize a celebratory moment and becomes very, very silly.
Reader Mail: Jacques Doucheteau Hands out the First 2013 Douchie Award
Master thespian Jacques Doucheteau sums up HCwDB’s current state in Monday’s Hanz and Brigitte comments thread:
————–
In fact, let’s just get the 2013 Douchies out of the way right now since I know it’s not going to happen this year (Lesson for all you single guys out there, this is what having kids will do to you. Shattered dreams and ruined aspirations clouded by the instinctual urge to devote your entire existence caring for a diseased little human grub that pukes on you, doesn’t know how to sh!t in a toilet, and once it learns how to do so will tell you to go f@#k yourself and leave home, only to return with a little sh!t grub of its own that you’ll be taking care of half the time because “I gotta go to work and Rob’s being a dick and f@#king some skank so I’m not letting him have the little brat this week”, and will still stick your aging ass in some sh!t-cheap old-folks home because they don’t feel like wiping your ass once you can’t control your bowels anymore, so you’re left to die in a puddle of your own piss and septic bed sores while they argue with their siblings about who gets your TV).
Uuuhhhh… where was I? Oh yeah. I know officially kick off HotChicksWithDouchebags.com 2013 Douchies!!!! (applause)
Every Category: Hanz, aka The Prince of Pompoos
There you go. See you all again next year for the 2014 Douchies, which will consist of no entries, no finalists, and definitely no amusing quips in the comments section. Just a couple of us old diehards refusing to let the poor old site die an honorable death as we hark back to the “good old days” of 2008-2010, when the Samurai Scrote thread topped 10,000… when Sergeant Scrote Stain would grace us with his witty observations and one liners… when Dicy showed us a picture of her cotton panty clad ass… when Medusa DIDN’T show us a picture of her ass… and when the peeing in horses jokes were still funny.
I’m going to bed, f@#k you all.
———-
All accurate. And scathing in all the proper ways. Good work J.D.
HCwDB may not be the arbiter of cultural influence that it once was. But we carry on my wayward sons (and daughters).
And on the bright side, there’s this. The war continues. I may not do the Douchie Awards this year because I’m a lazy slacker. But the mock will continue. Oh yes.
Meanwhile in Brooklyn…
Logan: Hey, Maya! Dig my ironic artisanal scarf!”
Maya: But it’s cold out and most people are wearing scarves, so how is that ironic?”
Logan: Uhm, well, it’s ironic because I, like, totally, am not this guy. I’m just pretending to be a hipster douche. So it’s like mocking the hipster douches, but in such a subtle way that most people can’t tell the diff.
Maya: So, then, if no one can tell the diff, then aren’t you basically just the same thing as the actual hipster douche?
Logan: No, you see, it’s like a test. Those truly in the know can, like, figure out that I’m not really what I seem. And then they and I share a laugh. Ha. Ahah. We are not as we appear.
Maya: Wait, don’t you share a loft in Bushwick with a techno-grunge-synth-pop band featuring two DJs, a didgeridoo and a ukulele player?
Logan: Well… yeah. So?
Maya: I suppose that’s ironic, too.
Logan: Of course. My lifestyle is fully dedicated to postmodern deconstruction of alternative lifestyles as a form of meta-commentary.
Maya: I see. I heard that commentary and dissent merged to form dysentery.
Logan: Whoa! Did you make that up?
Maya: I gotta go. My raccoon has hepatitis.
And…. scene.
What, you thought today would be filled with pics of uberdouche Hanz? Then you get this. Smell it… smell it… smell it… now take it.
Hanz and Brigitte's Wild Sunday Afternoon
8:00am — Arise to the pulsing sounds of techno-Wagner
8:12am — Shave all untoward hairs that might have grown during sleep time.
8:47am — Seven minute abs. Complete in five minutes.
8:53am – 9:48am — Shower, steam, sauna, groin-shave.
10:00am — Matching mani-pedis at the Gunterstrassen Nail Salon.
11:15am — Mint juleps and waffles brunch at Luftwaffle House.
12:41pm — Suppress traumatic memories of family history and legacy that remain unrecorded by subsequent trials and investigations
12:42pm — Reflect with fondness the dulcet pumping baseline of Avecii’s Wake Me Up.
2:01pm-6:23pm — Oysters
