Douchiest Doucheface: Mongor
The first of our regs awards, lets give out Douchiest Doucheface.
DoucheyWallnuts gives out the award (click on this link for the 48fps aural experience):
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The Douchiest Doucheface is a signature award, in that without the properly douchie facial expression a douche may go unnoticed, or at least under-appreciated. Let me tells ya, its a real friggin honor to be selected to give this here award.
So, keepin this in mind, this year I focused my attention in lookin for the Douchiest Doucheface amongst our monthly winners and contenders, as these egregious examples of the lowest rung of human existence set the bar (low) for the next generation of human detritus. Detritus, I says.
The year started with the old standard Kissy Lips Face (KLF) being the prevalent mode of expression. But as the year went on we saw a trend towards the blank expression and a look of not-so-mild retardation.
Was this change of expressions due to actual chromosomal damage caused by inhaling too much Axe Body Spray and cheap booze, or was this, “New Face” a willful act on behalf of Douches across the globe; is the Blank Face the new Kissy Lips?
So without further ado, let’s hit it.
January represented the end of the old era, start of the new, with Grover McPocalypse topping three classic douchefaces; Andy Swirlwind, Tony the Curdle and Blender Barry. In years past one of these three f@ckwits would have been candidates for the yearly, but the body odor and scary demeanor of Grover scared the Kissy Lips face off of every douche in the country.
Voguegina (May) – Nuance thy name is Voguegina. The slight drawing in of the cheeks gives this douchebag of the month contender a smarmy quality that makes you want to punch him until the flesh on his face resembles Jenna Jameson’s Zool after Tito Ortiz gets done with her. Zool, I says.
Sleepy Jerkenstein (April) – Jerkenstein gave a drug-addled flavor to the Blank Face. Huffing no doubt contributes to Sleepy’s expression as much as punching it would assuage the feelings of hatred and disgust you have for him. Assuage, I says.
Orangudan (May) – Orangudan sprouted from an abscess that formed on Tendon Ted’s hip that was the result of too many steroid injections in that site. His variety of the Blank Face is the Gas Face. And if you ever have the displeasure of speaking to Orangudan you will find that he makes as much sense as do the lyrics of the song of the same name, by 3rd Bass. “A box of Newports, and Puma sweats (“Damn!”)
“Tex feeds and frowns upon Emus To give up Gas Face he drinks from a Thermos.” The Orangudan never uttered a more incoherent statement from his expressionless face. You don’t want to hit Orangudan in the face. No you don’t. Unless you want dead.
Jack the Lipper September – Jack gave it a shot on behalf of all the hipster pussies out there. Really he did. But rather than exude toughness or attitude, he just exudes a prodigious amount of pussiness, just as his pie hole would exude cries of pain and anguish as he gets punched about the head, face and neck area.
And finally we have Mongor, who’s been hangin around for the last few months – Mongor’s blank expression, whether it be due to retardation or cocaine and Extasy abuse, is the baseline from which all other douche faces sprout. It is very difficult to get a more Minimalist facial expression than Mongor, and this douchebag’s face sets the new standard. One has the sense that Mongor would remain expressionless even with a barrage of punches raining down on his punim. Punim, I says. Mongor is our winner (loser) for 2012 Douchiest Doucheface.
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“Assuage, I says” for the win.
The Ricky: SweaterMan Twists
The hallowed Ricky Award, named after this legendary dancing everyman, is given out every year to the Joe Schmoe caught in mid-bustin’ dance move.
This year it goes to the ambiguously gaynonymous Sweater Man.
Maybe not ambiguously.
But for worst dance move of the year in service of everyman douchery, the annoying SweaterMan takes the prize.
Douchiest Hair: Mickey The Polyp
While voting’s going on, lets give out the first official 2012 Douchie Award.
This greased-up Weekly Winner from April beats out the more overtly laughable douche-hair candidates.
Lets look at the candidates. There was The Poo Tip, The Putzschmuck, The Hawkward, Harvesthead, Froey Buttafuco, The Rusty Trombone, even the ridiculous Shmuckholio and Jewfroey Toddfro.
Meegods that’s a helluva lot of stupid for one universe.
But Mickey The Polyp brought the truly douchiest hair grease to the year, and so we hand out the first official 2012 Douchie Award for Douchiest Hair to this anal cyst.
HCwDB of the Year: Bracket 1
It is here. It is on.
Your first of three brackets. Bring it:
HCwDB of the Year Finalists #1 (Bracket #1): Mutato The Bug-Eye Freak and Sister Christie
Our most recent Monthly winner starts things off with a ‘bang.
And by bang I mean she-bang. I mean she-bop.
I have no idea what I mean.
But this is the first classic out-doors douchey/hottie inchoate cohabit.
And it is rank festering poo.
But this is a four entrant category. Three winners in the semifinals, then 3×1 to the finals.
Or something like that.
So we’s gots a long ways to goes.
HCwDB of the Year Finalists #2 (Bracket #1): The Uberbros and Pear Alice
From back in March comes this Monthly winning idiocracy or inanity.
For sheer ridiculosity, the Uberbros bring the douche spectacle in shades.
And by shades, I mean ‘spray.
Skunk ‘spray.
The ‘Bros are peacocking ninnies of nincompoopery.
Pear Alice offers soft supple curvature of the finest choice Pear Wine.
Together, they make a bad night in Hoboken.
But enough to win entrance into the finals?
One more entrant in the first bracket, and it’s a doozy:
HCwDB of the Year Finalists #3 (Bracket #1): Kisseus Vomitorious and Margaret
Winning the monthly in July, the odious and tragic
Kisseus V had his inglorious run of ‘hawked makeouts with a variety of party hotts over the summer months, an epic scrotitude of grandious putridosity. Witness the run: I should’ve stayed in bed, drunken makeout, Naughty Nape Nanine, fauxhawk spittle, seal nads punch, threesomes with Margaret, toxic Jesus chew, and, finally, a new rose tattoo.
Thats’a some epic’a douchebaggery’a. And Margaret holds up her side of the hottness as well.
But enough to win bracket #1?
Now it’s your turn. Vote, as always, in the comments thread.
Comment of the Week: Mr. Scrotato Head
Like a younger and more innocent pre-face-tatt Mack the Nozzle, Mr. Head brings the verbal smackdown in the My Daily Checklist thread and and wins the coveted HCwDB of the Week:
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Why the Hell do they need watches? You need a watch to maintain a schedule. To get to work on time. To be there for someone when they need you to help move furniture, or paint a bedroom. Knowing the time contributes to a well lived life.
You don’t need a watch to pick up your welfare check; you just check the mail-box every time you run out of Cup-O-Noodles. You don’t need a watch to know when the club opens; you just wait until its dark and your thirst for liquor is running rampant. You don’t need a watch to have sex because anyone can count ten seconds, even middle school drop outs. You might need a watch to buy a tattoo, but only a stolen watch so you can pawn it to pay for the tattoo.
You know when you’ll see a douchebag look at the satellite dish on his wrist and proclaim, “Drat, sorry chaps but I must be going. The touring display of pre-Scankophile vagina castings is opening tonight at the ‘Met and I simply can’t be late as they’ve asked me to say a few words and pose for some photos.”
That’s right. Never.
If you’re really really lucky you might see one look down at his watch with furrowed browl, call his bro over and complain, “I forget, does I get beer when the little hand is on the loopy number or on the one number what makes the sex joke when you put it with the other number?”
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Friday Thoughts and Links
The 2012 Douchie Awards, a much smaller and intimate affair, begin on Monday.
Mongor’s ready.
Are you?
Speaking of Mongor head sheen, I haven’t seen plastique forehead like that since the Millennium ‘Bag back in the halcyon days.
But I dither.
For I forlornly eat my HoHos and stare at the milky sky.
Here’s yer links:
Your HCwDB Israeli Indie Cinema Great Hanukkah Gift DVD Pick of the Week: “I’m on the verge of giving up on you.”
Chevos the Movie, a Kickstarter project run by a fist-pumping anal wart, may be the douchiest thing I’ve seen in months. Props to this blog for summing up the ridiculous scrotosity.
How to promote a comedy starring your annoying wife? Feature Megan Fox Boobies.
No matter how bad your high school experience was, at least you never had your jock inspected. Or did you?
Yup. The mid 1980s. When the DB1 reached puberty. And when high school kids were all played by actors in their mid 30s.
Wanna know the exact moment your humb narrs realized puberty in 1985? Right here.
It’s beginning to look a lot like a douchey-ass dubstep herpster Christmassss…
Wanna see the HCwDB equivalent of “The Ring?” Don’t look in the mirror.
Okay, so’s my links got nuthin’ this week. At least there’s Pear:
For the angelic mofo win thatsswhatisetalkinbout.
Friday Haiku
Smiley McFlatChest
Looks on as History’s made:
OldBag meets No-Sag!
Those aren’t pasties
Her nipples are infected
From a bad boob job
— DoucheyWallnuts
The old guy prays for
Pinkie’s adhesive to fail
before his nap time.
— FoghornLeghorn
Frosty the Blow Man
Traded corn cob for crack pipe
Climbs gum drop mountains
Kandy Kane wants a
Kiss under her cameltoe
My yule log ignites
— Mr. Scrotato Head
Fake tits fake hair fake
Fur fake diamonds fake smiles,
Fake woman — real dick
— Ich verstehe sie ist heiß
Mike the Suburban Homie Makes the "Double Rocker Horns"
Mikey doesn’t normally attempt such a delicate move as the “Double Rocker Horns.”
But when the ladies of Sheboygan are ready to party, Mikey will bring it.
Joey The Creepy Kid You Went to Basketball Camp With Mugs Hannah
Joey, The Creepy Kid You Went to Basketball Camp With, is all grown up now.
He lives in the garage over his parents house in Dix Hills, Long Island.
He works in a paint store.
He saves up for the weekends, where he blows all his cash on tattoos, Bud Light Limes, and betting the over on the Brooklyn Nets.
Sexy Mayan-Eye-of-Coitus Hannah may be in community college in Great Neck, but her dream to become a costume designer for Broadway shows (a dream ever since she first saw Avenue Q in high school) is still very much alive.
Or at least it was.
Because Hannah’s father, Mr. Glickenfeld, has fallen down on the father job because he’s been overworked at the office and tired lately.
And Joey’s taken advantage.
There’s not much we can do to stop this atrocity, except for mock from a safe distance. And hope Hannah takes that roommate share on the UWS asap.
