Brothabag Phil Makes "Shocker," Still Thinks It's 2007
The ladies may giggle at Brothabag Phil’s wacky hijinks, and the boobies may come out to play, but the stupid glasses remain.
Surf Gronkowski Is Laid Back with Sophia
Ya know, I was gonna tag a stage-1 due to the chin pubes and herpster hat, but those haciendas are a well groomed garden delight.
So what the hell, have a notta and a goinpeace Surf G. You seem content with yourself, and the obnoxious quotient is low. Shave the chinfung, though. For it is obtuse.
You and Sophia are set free. May your coital escapes be pure and with resonant integrity.
Ask DB1: Economic Recession and Poppin' Bottles
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Dear DB1,
I’ve been wondering if the wretched state of out economy has finally caught up to douchebag culture.
Less and less are we seeing $100 bottle service baggery, we see Ed Hardy tanking as a business.
The jeans de rigueur such as True Religion, Diesel et al with the garish back pockets & button flaps a thing of the past.
Can one surmise that the one good thing to come out of the economic raping of our society has been less dbaggery? or has it just shifted to another subclass?
Yours in mock
ETD?
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When I first began HCwDB, wayyyyy back in 2006 (1912 in human-to-internet years), we were still a nation of credit-card living assmunch. A heaping collection of head-in-rectus delusional nitwits that thought tilted baseball caps and popped collars looked good and invading Iraq was a swell idea.
A land of moronitude in which image, excess, and primal urges superceded rational thought and critical perspective.
We now live in very different times. Douchebaggery continues strongly, albeit in recoded forms such as herpsterbags and John Mayer. So it is still very much there. But the credit-card excesses of the mid 2000s are thankfully, washed away, leaving only recession, debt, and economic disaster in their wake.
Mr. Vomitorious Rebuts Our Collective Jest
K.V. himself responded in last week’s comments thread with the following:
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If you can’t handle me when I’m bulking then you sure as hell don’t deserve me when I’m shredded 
and its “Calvin bangin” not “kv” google me
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In a noteworthy coincedence, when my colon is bulking I eat shredded wheat.
EDIT: K.V. is on the Facebook.
Welcome Back, Bitches!
Another week of the mock here at HCwDB!!
Sure this website’s an archaic relic of the pre-app pre-feed days of god darnit actual blogs with unique names and destinations. Back when the internet at least vaguely resembled a digital simulacrum of spatial certainty.
But HCwDB carries on like ole’ Clint. Shoutin’ at chairs and strangely befuddled by working faucets.
We’se still got the hotties with the purple hairs all up innit.
And douchewanks with stupid shirts.
And never the twain shall exchange DNA without collective ridicule.
May your Monday morning be snow-free and filled with tasty snack treats.
For the work week is uponst. So get yer lazy ass in gear. This world won’t consume itself.
The Greatest Thirty Seconds in the History of Television
This is not arguable. For this is sublime.
Wallnuts After Dark
Madonna Mia! I just read a story where some guy who works for the government is getting jammed up because he farts too much at work.
I mean, what kinda pazzo, mixed-up world is we livin in where a guy can’t drop some Wolf Bait when the urge strikes?
It’s not like he was Bangin’ Down a Stiff Lucy, for Chrissakes. A Stiff Lucy, I says.
I can think a some pretty famous folks who’d be outta a job if Blowin Kumquats was some kinda disqualifier. I remember some a the biggest stars in the world who had some a the most terrible gas you coulda ever smelled, and yet nobody said nothin. It was a weird kind a code where it would be okay for a guy to float a Rotten Air Biscuit, but then it woulda been considered outta line if another guy said somethin’ about it in a complainin’ kinda way.
One time this wise guy Jimmy the Beep, who was from the Midwest and was a Button Man for some a the families back there, came out to Hollywood as a guest a one a the big movie producers who was into the mob for some serious shcarole.
So we was at a gig at Frank’s in Palm Springs and Henry Silva let fly with a really loud and odiferous Neapolitan Butt Belch, and The Beep starts carryin’ on like he just got shived in the shower at Sing-Sing whilst gettin’ boned up the shoot for bein’ a f@#kin’ Wise Guy. Odiferous, I says.
So Silva, who was a legit tough guy, walked over to the Beep and slapped him in the mush and tole him there was dames who was tougher than him, and who did he think he was actin all c@#ty over another guy blowin’ heat. C@#ty, I says.
Everyone held their breath waitin’ for The Beep to rip out Silva’s larynx, but he backed down. Plus Silva laid down another Methane Brick whilst he was face to face with the Beep. We didn’t never see The Beep again.
And you don’t even know what kind a pollution that was bein’ snuck out by some a the choicest skirts in all a Hollywood.
Janet Leigh was known for Cuttin’ Walnuts whilst doin the deed and would Queef like an old Studebaker with a clogged intake valve, with regularity.
Some guys loved that noisy shit.
That’s one a the reasons that half-a-Finnoch Tony Curtis married her.
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Friday Thoughts and Links
Okay kids, time to play another round of “Homeless or Herpster”! It’s the easiest game to play in the world!! Every guess is correct and everybody loses!!
Yup.
Undies Kelly makes the cockles of my hearth glow fond with burning ember.
The weekend is here. And it is weekendy.
I dunno, I keep hearing about this massive snowstorm but it’s 75 and sunny out. Huh.
Here’s your links:
Your HCwDB Classic ’80s DVD Pick of the Week: “This is the Cosby decade! America loves black people!”
Angry Ink rants about the four worst trendy tattoos. John Mayer’s body is still not a wonderland.
Meanwhile in England, celebrities you never heard of flash sideboob.
I have ambiguous feelings about this being a tattoo: Death Before Duckface.
Your humble narrator may just cancel his suicide plans after all.
Smartphone app to predict penis size. Owning a white BMW 535 also a pretty accurate gauge.
Okay. You’ve worked for it.
Wait for it…
Wait for it…
Not enuff? Okay. Have some
There ya go. You’re all set. Bundle up, East Coast. God’s dandruff’s about to bury you.
Friday Haiku
The ‘Sock Lost at sea,
Douche and Bleeth to the rescue,
800-Lip-Herp.
– Management
For her – Same ol’ thing:
A bunch of buzzing noises
Down between her knees.
Tough economy
forces pimps to flagrant means
of advertising.
— Douche Wayne
Ready to call that
number but then realized
it’s for bike, not her.
— Eliza Douchecoo
She has bugs in teeth
Since the gyroscope was put
In her MonkeyHole
— The Reverend Chad Kroeger
The glorious crash
That will ensue fueled by hair
Gel and silicone
— Capt. James T. Douche
They’re living the dream
Moped. Motel Six. Cheap beer.
It’s a real short dream
— Mr. Scrotato Head
Trying to use a
scooter to haul ass is like
farting in windstorm.
— Dr. Bunsen HoneyDouche
Caption This Pic
After Angie, Roberta, and Zach passed their third hour in the tub, the scented patchouli oil began to smell more and more like rancid fishmeat. Which was okay by Zach. For, coincedentally, rancid fishmeat was both the smell of his basement apartment at his mom’s house, and also the nickname he had for his facial pubes.
