Boo!!

Sorry folks, Ween'Bag wrote in and complained so I had to take that pic down. Not to mention the girls were apparently in high school, even though the alcohol fooled me into thinking it was a college pic. Damn, they sure didn't look highschool.

So instead, I give you this Shocked out scrote to end your Halloween festivities. No hotties in this one. But a glass of ice cold Pepsi-Cola.

And who doesn't love a glass of ice cold Pepsi-Cola?

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Okay kids, before you go trick-or-treating, make sure you toast your Mike-n-Ike Fun Paks to bandana boy here, a true 'ween bag for the Hallow's Eve.

Yes, faced with the fantastic fact that hotties dress like total sluts on Halloween, 'WeenBag instead prefers to star vacantly into the camera. Even with the best child bearing thighs I've seen since my last trip to Tuscany staring him in the face.

And hotties, if you dress like slutty princesses, half naked cats, or french maids tonight, I have one thing to say to you... god bless you. And I'll take the "treat." To go.

I don't know how douchebaggy this dude is, he just sort of looks happy to be there, but man alive is that a big forehead. I could land planes on that thing.

The head puns run through my mind, yet I must resist...

He's a fan of the book, "How to Get ahead in Advertising." Stop it. Head on, apply directly to the douchebag. Enough. If he studies hard he'll get a good headucation. His favorite director is Head Wood.

That's it. I quit.

Great.

Boo!

Happy Halloween fellow hotties, 'bags and 'bag hunters.

For your treat, I've hidden a total and complete douchebag somewhere in this pic filled with Halloween Hotties. Can you find him?

Speaking of Halloween Hotties, when did halloween became a chance for sexy little things to suddenly dress as porn-star slutty as humanly possible and have it be completely socially acceptable? And who can I thank for making up that rule?

I apologize for subjecting you to this so early in the morning. Please don't be mad at me. But I can't tell if the Backstreet Boys let themselves go or if Scrote's Anonymous got out early. I thought of a number of names for these two wankers but then I got hungry and made myself breakfast.

But it's vital that we sear our eyeballs every day with the pain of our societal scrote. To study the douchebag in its natural habit so we can learn from our communal tragedy and perhaps change course. Maybe we can hunt down those 'bags still in the wild like Double-Fisty here, and his partner, Look At My Shaved Chest and Dimples. And at least rescue their hotties.

There's one thing for certain in this crazy mixed up world. That gorgeous slice of turkey in the middle could freeze vodka. I love her. I'd marry her and let her divorce me and take half my money. She's my soul mate. For at least the next fifteen seconds I will dream of spending the rest of my life with her. Then I will move on to the next pic.

The last time I saw this 'bag I was aiming my laser gun at his forehead while playing "The House of the Dead" in the lobby of the Loews discount movie theater on 52nd Street and 9th Ave in the mid 90s. I'm still pissed about having to pay 75 cents to play that game. Although blowing off this undead scrote's head was worth any amount of quarters.

I'm not sure that that facial hair is human. Busting the "death metal t-shirt + sportscoat" look has to qualify for uberdouche status. And look at how he holds that drink. It's wrong. So terribly wrong.

Blondie's skinnyness makes me see and appreciate bulimia in a whole new light.

All hail Sir Douche-a-lot, King of all Scrote!

Slaying dragons and saving hottie maidens wherever he may go, Sir Douche-a-lot has no need for armor or fancy clothes. His simple untucked white shirt and old-man-in-Miami
shorts simply work to conceal his enormous power in an aura of pathetic and weak k-mart douchitude.

But Sir Douche-a-lot is not to be trifled with. He hides behind the clothes of the Kathy Lee Gifford 'Bag product line to belie his powerful presence and kingly demeanor.

So bow! Bow to Sir Douche-a-lot!

I see you're still fooled by the extensive facial pubes and sub-Supercuts Flowbee haircut. Sir Douche-a-Lot cares not for outward appearances. Sir Douche-a-lot simply lets his scrote do the talking.

And what tales that scrote can tell. What fables those balls can spin. Listen closely for Sir Douche-a-lot's scrotum sings the poems and fables of ancient lands where douchitude runs free and hotties are Bleethed out beyond all recognition.

Listen.

Listen to Sir Douche-a-lot's scrote. For it weaves a magic tapestry of rhythmic delights and eternal longing. Of years of fruitless quest and loneliness and isolation. Of unchanged underwear.

He is Sir Douche-a-lot. And he is saluting you right now in ways you can not, and would prefer not, see. Hail to his kingly presence once and for all! Lest he pull his sword from its stone. And believe me, that's not a pretty sight.

I'm not sure when twelve year olds with mutant ears are allowed to cuddle with three Soviet hotties as absolutely perfect as these three. But I do know Carlsberg Boy hasn't had it this good since he won his Junior High Halo II tourney, beating Chet, Bradley and Scooter. You go, Master Chief.

I would read Marx and contemplate the inadequacies of hegemony simply to fondle their bikini tops in inappropriate ways. They would break me, Ivan Drago style. I would embargo their Cuban Missiles. I would Gorbechev their Yeltsins. I would vodka their Dostoyevsky.

There are douchebags. There are uber-douchebags. There's Pat. And there's Helmet. Helmet performs the Triple Lindig of douche, engaging in 'bag hand gesture #17, 'bag face gesture #4, and 'bag mouth toothpick variation #A53. Toss in douche glasses and only the lack of popped collar prevents scrote orbit from being achieved.

Oh yeah. I forgot.

The hottie. Who is super smoking fantastalicious. I know what you're thinking. "DB1 said this about other hotties." And I have. And I will again.

And I'm saying it now.

I would scramble eggs on her stomach, and make a pot of chai tea. She is butter stick hot. Pancakes sexy.

Mmm... time to hit up Ihop for the rutty tooty fresh and fruity. Yup. My life is pathetic.

Blogger, the software I use to update the site, has been buggy as hell all weekend freezing the site and losing a bunch of comments. So my apologies if it continues for another day or two. I guess I shouldn't complain, what with the software being free and all, but I'm convinced Blogger is run by a douchebag like this guy. That being said, there's some great douchey/hottie combos for the upcoming week as well as the long awaited 'bag smackdown -- the HCwD of the Month contest. That will go up either Tuesday or Wednesday.

It's almost a shame Pat didn't make it for this round, but maybe I'll throw him in there as the Division Winner who got to skip the wildcard rounds. Because seriously, what sums up douche more than Pat and his hottie sister/girlfriend?

It kinda looks like Porcelain Man's snagged Big Red's only shirt from his closet. But the Ayn Rand Bling is certainly a new direction in douchebag accoutrement. P.M. can't even muster a smile, instead he busts douchebag face gesture #2. And wrist-bling, which is uber-douche level annoyance. What a tool.

Hottie appears to be paid to pretend she wants to touch porcelain statues and smile for the camera. But her abs are Sunday Best. And I'm a huge fan of choke collars. So this pic gets an honorary "hello there hottie and douchebag" greeting from DB1's bag of greetings.

And a toast of the Irish Rose.

Jason Priestly's really let himself go. I mean, stick-on eyebrows? Come on Jason. It can't be that bad on the unemployment line.

I've never been a huge surfboarder but some of these 'bag jawlines make me want to shrink myself to microscopic size and start doing half turns over their chins. I'm convinced there's a market for douche-jaw inspired slopes out there. I gotta call the x-games and pitch that one.

Sultry ambiguously South American hottie has lips to die for, even as she exhibits late stage Bleeth infection. Perhaps irreversable douchebaggery has taken hold. Given she's got Plastic Priestly next to her, I can see why. Good luck Bleethed out hottie. Maybe someday you'll return from your journey into the land of chinny douchebaggery.

Look at this group of scrote/hotness, It's like a douchebag version of "Scooby Doo."

Wonder when they'll pile into the Mystery Van and drive off to solve haunted houses through creative use of hand gestures and hair gel.

Either that or they're some early 80s techno tribute band like "The Styx Experience." Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with douche...

Mmm... I need some cereal...

Vis a vis all the JeterBags, looks like I've been posting repeat douchebags without even knowing it in the past few days. That's what I get for having a brain addled by too much 'Train and that soft, chocolately goodness of the Hostess HoHos. They melt in your mouth, 600 calories of pure sugary goodness.

Unlike Frogger here. Who deserves a nice stingray barb to the heart, Erwin style. I don't know what safari he thinks he's going on, but those sunglasses deserve to be inserted rectally on this pube covered monstrosity.

Chicka ain't the hottest crayon in the ocean, but it's Friday, I'm already half drunk, and she beats sitting on my rug picking crumbs out of the sofa.

I know. I shouldn't keep doing this to you. But how could I resist one more of everyone's favorite androgyne?

Besides, it takes serious work to get a face that shiny. Observe its shinyness as opposed to the less shiny face of the women who actually ARE wearing makeup. That's gotta be some sort of record.

I'm also a huge fan of whomever framed up this photo. I'm moved by the use of negative purple space. As if to say, "Behold! Douche does not float."

Speaking of 'bags who look like Derek Jeter, this pinch hitter's coral douchitude matches only the greasy chest for rank nastiness. Shine on, you crazy douchebag.

I have to say, whoever invented the strapless/backless dress is right up there with the dudes who invented the polio cure, color television and HoHos. Man alive, thems award winning shoulder blades.

I'm sure I've used the Bilbo 'Baggins line before somewhere on this site but what the hell, it's Friday.

Nice pube lip, Bilbo.

No seriously, nice lip.

If I pull on that patch will a pack of cigarettes come out of your mouth?

Zombie Hottie is slightly scary, but hey, if she attacks me and eats my brain, at least I'll get to cuddle with those fantastic baby back ribs.

You. Mustache Scrote. White Guy with the African wristband. You deserve a very special douchebag nickname.

I've gone through the list. I've pondered the ramifications of various monikers. And I've concluded there is only one for your shiny forehead douchiness.

Claude.

I've knighed you "Claude" because you don't even deserve a funny nickname. You don't get a nickname that plays off the word "douche" even. You just get "Claude." And that's what you get for holding up a fruity drink with the douchiest hand gesture this side of the double-sideways V.

And I haven't forgotten about you on the right there. You're the fourth douchebag this week to look like Derek Jeter. In fact you may be one of the other JeterBags on here. So for that, you get "Bat Boy."

Hottie in the middle, you're aging well, but I still advise you to run like the wind before Claude and Bat Boy get any friendlier.

Holy crap, this swirling mixture of Grieco virus, hair gel, Bleethed out hotties, and uberdouchitude is too much for one man to endure.

It's like douche soup.

I want to serve it in a bowl with a side order of fries and saltines.

And an egg creme.

Mmm... egg cremes.

Yup, it's the Bill Murray character from Caddyshack, all grown up, douched up, and on the prowl. I always knew Carl Spackler could slap on some old spice and a half-buttoned white shirt, and charm the ladies.

Blondie's got that pre-baby Britney Spears thickness but I'd still become a Jesuit Priest and flaggelate myself with barbed wire just to polish the rhinestones on her belt.

But what's up with Carl Spackler's bottom buttons being undone? Is the new douchebag shirt look to undo both top AND bottom, allowing only a mid-level of covering? Or is he simply trying to show off some belly like his hottie's doing, and is this a new douchebag trend -- showing cleavage and bellies to match their chickas? Are the douchebag and hottie merging into one singularity of human consciousness?

Nothing like five gorgeous balls of shiny wax to wake you up on a Thursday all circling a douche vortex. 170 Degree Hat Tilt here knows exactly what the ladies love -- a little hot coral action.

I'm not exactly sure what ginormous piece of jewelry is trailing off the vaguely chipmonk looking hottie in the middle, but one thing I do know. It's not coral.

And coral is where it's at.

A coral choke collar. It's like Jet-Li's "Unleashed." Snap on the coral necklace and he's your douche slave. Should we call it "UnDouched"? Too obvious?

You didn't think I was going to let a genius discovery like Pat only get one pic here at HCwD, did you?

Of course not.

I care too much our endless pursuit of douche and the hotties who love them to let Pat pass without a second look.

Dig Disco Pat's pinkness and bling. The gel face and mysterious rips/stains on the jeans. Looking slightly less androgynous than previously, Pat still confuses and astounds the mind with his confusing wrongness and sexually mixed up wretchitude.

But not enough to bother this perky swan, apparently.

Ah, the double sideways V sign. Douchebag Hand Gesture #58. We haven't seen one of these on the site in awhile. Nor have we seen elephant pants. Shiny McCheeks here doesn't deserve two angels curling up in his lap. He deserves a straw full of termites shoved up his nose. Where they'll hopefully burrow into his brain. Resulting in a new mutant hybrid, the Termite 'Bag.

Not that termites are particularly dangerous. They're simply small and annoying insects. Like parachute pants boy here. I want to hang him by his feet off a cliff like Ahnuld in "Commando," then come up with some witticism before dropping him. Something like, "Your cheeks are shiny." Granted it's not the best one-liner, but it would still result in dropping him off a cliff. So in that sense, it's Shakespeare.

Normally costume party 'bags don't fully capture the essence du douche, but in SwimBag's case, douche face trumps all. Giant plastic stick-on eyebrows, facial pubes circa early Ron Jeremy, and douche nipple ring cement 'bag status.

CaveHottie is all sorts of good. I'd invent fire with two pieces of flint just to cook her some Mastadon.

On a side rant, I've never gotten the whole concept of an "Asian Fetish" thing among some guys. I'm as lustful for the Asian hottie as I am for all other hotties, but since when did an ethnicity equal a fetish? Porn shops always list it like it's some sick perversion. "Lesbian. Bondage. Orgy. Asian." What's that about? Where's the "Lesbian. Bondage. Orgy. Australian." signs?

It was a tough vote this week, almost too tough, as all four candidates were douchey/hottie exemplars. But thanks to a late surge, Spanky, or Arther Ashe Douche, managed to take the crown, thanks largely to the power of his hottie's hotness and his own "costume party" going on at a non-costume party.

And those boobages. Mui buono.

As the prolific and omnipresent anonymous put it:

Any douche that shaves - then oils down - his legs leaves no room for douche competition. I don’t care if it is a costume party. Not to mention tasty Scandinavian sweet tart w/milky way cleavite showing…I’d like to lead a Major Tom to that galaxy of goodness.

Nicely put, Anon. count douchula explains the dilemma:

This was a VERY tough contest this week. #3 and #4 are really close. Both are so douchey that it makes my head want to explode Scanner style, but in the end I'm gonna have to go with #4 Arthur Ash Douche. Here is my analysis: First, hottie in the picture is DAMN FINE. I would swim through shark infested waters with a chum bucket tied around my waste just to get to eat her nail clippings. Second, it has been mentioned that this is a costume party, which I can understand because this douche appears to be in costume. Thing is nobody else is wearing a costume. This leads me to one of two conclusions: Either this guy actually dresses like this or he decided to wear a costume to a non-costume party. Either way this makes him a major douchebag. Plus I'm jealous that he's getting to spank that hottie with a tennis racket.

#3, "Classic Poo," came in a close second. We may need to raise his jersey in the Hall of Scrote at some point simply on his own merits. Or as Douchestar Runner puts it:

Now--Classic Poo. A photo I wish I could say I found myself. This dude is like a douche archetype, a character you think only exists in literature or the movies or perhaps a Bon Jovi video circa 1988 . And here he is in the flesh, on some perfect picturesque California beach. I have a hard time comprehending that this is a real person and not a dude paid to dress up in a theme park or something, or some supreme douche-being that mistakenly got zapped over to our world on his motorcycle from an alternate douchiverse. Because dudes like this don't really exist, do they?? I guess that's what it looks like here, though. The chicks are not the greatest, not as hot as Spanky's girl (oh I wish that I had Spanky's girl!) but just fine and wearing some classy dresses as well as smiles that let you know they're thinking "holy crap, is this guy for real?"


Well said, D.R. It may be time for a doucho-a-doucho showdown next week. Yup, a "HCwD of the Month" face off. That's gonna be a smackdown of epic proportions. In the meantime, I smell like sewage so am off to take a shower.

Ya know, some days I think I should've just stayed in bed.

While we're getting in the last votes for the HCwD of the Week contest and mourning the loss of P. Douchey, here's another game of "Where's Waldouche."

Somewhere, hidden deep in this photo, is a greasy, beer swilling scrote.

Can you find him?

Look carefully.

P. Douchey wrote in with this polite request:

Take down motor scrote and P. Douche please.

I always appreciate "please."

Here's another view on ChinPube's gothic bling. If anyone ever doubts the unholy force of douche-face, one need only observe its scrotey powers here.

Seriously, gaze into those eyes. You're being hypnotized by douche. Soon you too will wear giant gothic spikes around your neck while gelling up your shaved chest.

Lohan Hottie's a bit awkward in her pose, it kinda looks like her head's too small for her body, but I'd still love her in many romantic and karmic permutations.

Voting's still open for the HCwDotW contest, so get them votes in below if you haven't voted already. I'm way too hung over to add up the votes today. Damn Thunderbird. At first it says, "Drink me! I'm only $1.99 a bottle!" Then it says, "Sucka! You feel like crap!" Stupid talking wine. Stop talking to me, talking wine.

I would wade through a sea of pirhannas in the deep forrests of Africa while carrying a stack of iron maidens, juggling ostrich eggs, gargling a double shot of MacCallan 18 year, and humming the theme to "Rawhide" merely for the pleasure of lighting off organic cucumber fireworks at the base of a forty foot shrine made of bamboo shoots and plantains simply to pay tribute to this hottie's uber-hotness.

She's so fantastic my fillings ache.

She's what I like to call antibihotics. Antibihotics are hotties who can cure anything simply by being. Not by doing. By existing. Through zen hottitude. Through om-presence perfection.

I would read Longfellow then nibble on her shoulderblades.

Oh, yeah, and the dude with pink upturned collar and hat? Uhm. What's the word I'm searching for. I just had it.

Oh yeah.

Douchebag.

No chin should be shaped like this. It's unnatural. It defies the laws of non-douchiness, which is another way of saying it's poo. The pube fungle on it doesn't help matters neither.

Grown up Lindsey Lohan hottie is literally being cruel with that dress. An unfair level of meanness that hurts on that deep, gut-check level. Check out the dorky middle aged pud in the back staring at the goods. He's in as much pain as I am.

I've had a thing for pink lipstick ever since the Russian exchange student who wore it in my Freshman year "Intro to American History" class in highschool. Ah, Natasha. How I still long for that vodka flavored goodness.

The rouge red color on skinny chainboy, however, is a shade of lipstick I'm less familiar with. Unless L'Oreal is running a new "Douche For Men" product line.

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It's all about the hand gesture, baby.

And the sunglasses.

And fantastic cleavite.

And the fact I just had a package of HoHos and they were two chocolate logs of cream filled heaven. Sure that last sentence has uncomfortable homosexual overtones, but HoHos are that good. They overcome even uncomfortable homosexual overtones.

This scrote, however, does not.

The submitter of this pic claims these two are in college, and I hope so. If this girl's underage, I'm going to hell for thought-crime.

Keep voting in the HCwDotW contest, this week's a tough one.

Back to basics this week in our HCwD contest. Four classic levis jeans type of douchebags polluting hotties with their wrongness for your consideration. Each feature the telltale signs, the overconfident douchey facial expressions. The bling, the grease and the scruff. Wait, wasn't that a late 1970s Fleetwood Mac album, "The Bling, the Grease and the Scruff"? I loved that album.

HCwD of the Week #1: Gassy McBling


A true classic douchebag with two fantastic balls of cuddle. The greasy head alone sends this pic into Hall of Scrote consideration.












HCwD of the Week #2: Wrong
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Any pink Izod with popped collar is a friend of mine. And by "friend" I mean spew. Drunky Pinkbag defines wrongness and so he received a rare dictionary definition with his original posting. As with Gassy, it's a HCHCD threesome, ramping up the head banging factor with a double set of hot.

And that hottie in the middle is one healthy womb. I would make many, many babies with her, then read from the book of Ezekiel by candle light.


HCwD of the week #3: Classic Poo


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Yup.

Really doesn't need much more said about it other than if this pick doesn't send a man to drink, I don't know what will.








HCwD of the Week #4: Spanky

I hate to add a fourth to the voting but there were so many candidates last week it's hard to narrow this one down. Spanky makes it on the strength of the uber-hotness of his hottie, not to mention perhaps the douchiest bandana / sunglasses combo this side of Grieco himself.



Honorable mention to 28 Douchebags Later, Gummi Lips and Pacified, all three of whom just missed the cut. If either of those strike your douchebaggy/hottie fancy, feel free to add a write-in vote.

So what say you, 'bags and hotties? Cast your vote in the comments thread and remember to factor in not only the angryness of the douchebaggery, but the hotness of the hottie.

A great HCwD pic is a balancing act. A Yin and Yang of scrote and hot. A... you get the picture. Vote or die.

Q: Knock Knock.

A: Who's there?

Q: Two douchebags polluting hotties in a wood paneled basement.

A: Two douchebags polluting hotties in a wood paneled basement, who?

Q: That's it. Just two douchebags polluting hotties in a wood paneled basement.

A: But that's not a joke.

Q: I agree.

A: Then what are you doing here?

Q: Just looking for a package of HoHos.

A: Oh, then you're in the wrong place. Go down to the end of the block, take a left, and walk two blocks up. You'll see a deli on the corner of the next intersection.

Q: Great, thanks!

A: No problem.

Last night I ended up drunk at some bar near UCLA absolutely filled to the brim with HCwD combos. And of course, being a 'bag, I forgot my camera.

So to punish myself I'm forcing myself to stare at this scrote's mug for a solid thirty seconds straight. Yech.

You wanted a classic inverted douche sandwich to go with your Friday nite?

You got it.

Not only that, but I'll toss in the most fantastic cheeks since Mo played in the backcourt for Philly in the 80s, an uber-scrote of mythic proportions, and enough red cups to send the whole kit and caboodle into a state of douche Nirvana overload.

Speaking of, who exactly were Kit and Caboodle? And more importantly why are those two luscious cupcakes embracing a giant oily douchebag while I sit here on my floor scratching my rash and downing PBRs?

Why ask why?

It's Friday night. Open a bottle of the 'Train and toast your red cup to the unholy douchebaggery of this pic. It was a good week for pics. Next week's HCwDotW contest is gonna be a doozy. I don't even know how we'll get down to just three of this week's monstrosity/hottie combos.

But there's one thing I do know.

Velvet underwear. The world needs more velvet underwear.

This hairy Sasquatch better have six gold records to get away with that level of fur. I can't tell if he's a county singer, a sushi chef or the lost member of ZZ Top. I don't know that's he particularly douchey, but man alive, anyone with that dense a thicket of facial hair deserves some form of props. It's like that isn't even hair. It's some form of fast drying acrylic. A plastic polymer chemical substance they use to glue tiles on the space shuttle.

The chickas are Milf-y cute in that "best friend in high school's mom" sort of way. And they seem to love their lifesize plastic Kenny Rogers doll. So who am I to criticize their love of Fur Man? Oh yeah. I'm the douchebag who hasn't shaved in three days and just ate sixteen mallomars in a row. So take that, Fuzzy.

The 'Bag Headbutt is too strong. The red cups are too overwhelming. The cheekbone grease is skeezy. The bandana whispers, "I am... douche..."

It is too late for this chicka. She is too far gone, lost in the deep recesses of the Grieco Virus.

Pity her.

Then again, at least Bandana Boy's Lion Shirt's color didn't pop. Maybe there's a glimmer of hope she can escape in time.

Then again, maybe not.

New Jersey, hair gel,
Gold chained greasy Old Spice, hark!
Let go of her, scrote.

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The power of scrote contained in this one supernova douche is beyond comprehension. In one single instant, his clothes, hat, expression, douche aura and 'Bag Hand Gesture #07 combine to literally melt my eyeballs from the inside.

This is X-Men level Douchitude. Mutant douche DNA. I'm so rattled looking at this scrub I think I need to start drinking, and it's not even 9 A.M.

The genius is how oblivious this young little chica is to what's exploding next to her. She's in the presence of a rare occurrance, like the douchebag equivalent of seeing a meteor fall and land in your back yard, and yet she ignores the meltdown going on and simply smiles. She's got Michael Jordan powers of concentration. If this guy can't distract, nothing can. She's like a laser, able to block out even a douche as humongously wrong, as hideously skeezy as this rank ball of human waste. And she's got a bit of a Gloria Estafan thing going. Which doesn't hurt.

(featured in the movie "Hustle & Poo")

You know it's hard out here for a chimp (you ain't knowin)
When he tryin to get his facial pubes to crimp(you ain't knowin)
For the tilted hat and bling money spent (you ain't knowin)
Because he's giving up douchebaggery for Lent (you ain't knowin)
Yes he's giving up douchebaggery for Lent (you ain't knowin)

This creepy ass EuroBag kind of scares me. He's like douche mutant or something. Normally I wouldn't subject my readers to a weird-ass Scandadouchian like this turd if it weren't for the absolutely fantastic raven he's posing with.

She makes me want to move to Prague and sell newspapers for coin while feasting on bread and cheese and living in that one room studio above the butcher just so I can follow her home from Mass on Sundays.

Yup. I just stepped into a Kundera novel.

European novelist allusions aside, I'd like to pepper-spray Gunter until he begs me in a combination of broken German and English to spare his Abba loving ass. I would then curl up in Raven's dark hair and dream of the Old World while eating a bar of toblerone.

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Like a fine vintage wine, occasionally a HCwD pic comes along that reminds us what it's all about. The skeezy facial hair, the doughy chest, the bling and giant sunglasses. The douchey hair hilights.

And of course, a hottie or two in the grip of grease.

Give it up to Harley 'Bag, he sure has good taste in arm candy. And he gets minimal props for not performing the classic 'Bag Headbutt. But otherwise I'd like to dump his Soul-Glo in the pacific ocean.

I had a hard time coming up with a name for this pic, so props go to i bling for coming up with the name "Disco Pilgrim" in the comments section. We'll rechristen this poobag by that name for our subsequent HCwD of the Month contest in a few weeks.

It was a solid win for D.P. here (ahem...), who's attempts at showing Male Cleavite swung a lot of votes his way, even as many felt that T-Rex and Bubble Couch Boy had hotter hotties on the HC side of the equation (although you can't argue with those legs).

Or as Scrote M. Walsh puts it:

Part of being a douche is having a contrived image. Generally it's over-compensation for a lack of personality, advancing age, low IQ or sub-4" penis. Whatever #2's reasoning (surely all 4) he is just trying too hard, with the man-cleaving shirt, hideous white collar and spooge-stained jeans. It helps his chicka (sans man chin) has a killer body.

Hard to argue with that astute analysis. Pinkus also breaks it down:

#2. because i choked on my vomit and i gotta get something out of it.

Well put, Pinkus. Well put.

jem offers a female point of view, and casts her vote for the T-Rex:

#1 - he scares the @#$@ out of me

Iowa Douche Cannon throw's some "love" (and by "love" I mean spew) Bubble Couch's way:

Had to think about this one for a while. At 1st I was going to go with #2 as his douche credentials are obvious and appauling.

But the more I looked at #3, it came to me how subtley and truely evil he was. He is "under the radar douche" appearing just cool enough to seduce a fine stripperesque hottie back to the bubble couch. Where, once its to late, she might notice the smirk, the greased hair, the lazy eye, the....oh god, oh jesus h tapdancing CHRIST! What is that? What is that bulge in his jeans? By her hands!

HE STUFFS HIS POCKETS!
HA AH HA AH HAH AH AH HA HA!!!!!

Solid round everyone. Next week is going to be a doozy, as we've had some fantastic pics this week. Props to all the 'bag hunters out there sending me pics, apologies if I don't always write back. Being broke, unemployed, and hooked on the Night Train and Kelloggs Frosted Mini-Wheats takes it's toll on a douchebag.

Spanky's grease actually extends to the leg area, a new first here at HCwD. Note to self: If I ever find myself dressed like this, drink a gallon of strychnine, stat.

As far as blond Nordic perfection goes, I'm ready to sing the Swedish National Anthem while gargling windex if it means I can get a bette glimpse of that fantastic, supernatural cleavite. She is just plain luxurious. Why she's serving up that delightfully creampuff derriere for racket practice with this utter douchalicious douche is beyond my comprehension. Then again that could also be due to too many bowls of Kellogg's Frosted Mini-Wheats.

Mmm... mini-wheats.

PIC DELETED

wrong

–adjective

1. not in accordance with what is morally right or good: a wrong deed.
2. deviating from truth or fact; erroneous: a wrong answer.
3. not correct in action, judgment, opinion, method, etc., as a
person; in error: You are wrong to blame him.
4. not proper or usual; not in accordance with requirements or recommended practice: the wrong way to hold a golf club.
5. out of order; awry; amiss: Something is wrong with the machine.
6. not suitable or appropriate: He always says the wrong thing.
7. (of clothing) that should be worn or kept inward or under: You're wearing the sweater wrong side out.

–noun

8. that which is wrong, or not in accordance with morality, goodness, or truth; evil: I committed many wrongs.
9. an injustice: The wrongs they suffered aged them.
10. Law.
a. an invasion of another's right, to his damage.
b. a tort.

–adverb

11. in a wrong manner; not rightly; awry; amiss: You did it wrong again.
–verb (used with object)
12. to do wrong to; treat unfairly or unjustly; harm.
13. to impute evil to (someone) unjustly; malign.

—Idioms

14. get in wrong, Slang. to cause to come into disfavor: We are forever getting in wrong with the people next door.
15. in the wrong, to blame; in error: He knew he was in the wrong but refused to concede the point.
16. go wrong,
a. to go amiss; fail: Everything is going wrong today.
b. to pursue an immoral course; become depraved: Bad friends caused him to go wrong.

Gummi Lips likes you.

He just wants to kiss you.

Is that so wrong?

I'm keeping the PooBag voting open a bit longer, so get any last votes in. Remember the hottie is also part of the equation, which is why I included T-Rex.

Now I'm off to have like my fifth bowl of Kelloggs Frosted Mini-Wheats in like two days. That can't be good.

There comes a point in every man's life when he finds himself being embraced by a cutie while sucking on a pacifier. With greased hair rounding out the scrotiness, those moments, when captured on camera, are moments to be savored.

Pacifier boy enjoys his time with his paid compatriot. And we enjoy his douchiness.

Faster than a speeding bodyshot... Able to leap
tall guidos in a single bound... it's SuperBag!!

Fighting for sleaze, hair gel and the Jersey way, SuperBag is there!!

But what would Freud say about the hostility to his ambiguously Asian cutie?

Then again, cutie is performing Inverted 'Bag Boobie Grab #03, so perhaps the Bleeth-4 stage Grieco virus is too strong for any redemption.

PIC DELETED
I try to stay away from tooling on the youthbags too harshly because they're still ripening into mature douche form and it's not fair to pick on a douche-bud as it grows. But I'll make an exception for this two-layered wank. The guido jersey plus pimp-ass coat combo has to explode the Wigga scale. Toss in the hand gesture and sunglasses and you have supernova scrote. And I'm not talking the band with Tommy Lee.

This young chicklets don't know what they have in store if they keep hanging around Youth 'Bags like P. Douchey here. But I can warn 'em now. Girls, it ain't gonna turn out good.

I'm not sure what exactly PooBag means but it's my new favorite word. It just summoms up the douche essence of poo that so many of these 'bags feature, while at the same time sounding like a cuddly character from a children's novel. That being said, lets get to the scrote:


HCwD #1: Greased Lightning


Whoever made the comment about the spindley T-Rex arms, I can't get that out of my mind. Maybe this douche'll dive in and save his hottie if she gets attacked by velociraptors. Generally he doesn't look like that much of a 'bag, but then there's the frosted hair. Which equates to at least a level one douche-alert.

And of course, the fact he's cuttling an extremely sexy hottie and I'm sitting here watching my fruit of the looms lose elasticity by the day.



HCwD #2: Low Collars and Dirt


When you're attemping to show the same amount of cleavite as your date, you are officially a giant poo'bag.

Those collars alone merit inclusion in the HCwDotW contest for this ball o' scrote. His hottie does have a bit too much chin, but with legs that award winning I'm willing to bow down to the hotness and beg to lick her third toe.






HCwD #3: Bubble Couch 'Bag


I'm not sure why this smug little jelly stain is still bothering me. Maybe it's how bright eyed happy his sweet cucumber seems to be in his presence. The way she perches on his leg. Eagerly. Excited. Maybe it's how fantastically cute she is. This is a great example where the HC side of the equation outweighs the DB side, although this putz definitely qualifies as scrote.

Or maybe it's just that douchey bubble couch.

Have at it folks. Vote by entering your winning selection in the comments section of this post. You can vote anonymously if you haven't created a profile. And if you're wondering about Rack of Lamb and Gassy McBling (a definite finalist), they'll be in next week's contest.

What say you?

And as if the last few pics weren't enough to wake the dead with their powers of unholy hotness and douchebaggery, we have another fantastic pic of HCwD balls electrocuting torture. This Harley dog-tagged great dane summons all that is wrong with greasebaggery in this cruel world. Just look at that forehead oozing oil. Nice job tucking in your shirt, Paul Walker Fast and Furious wannabe douche boy.

And on the flip we have the best rack of lambchops I've seen since, well, dinner. But the question does remain, who wears that kind of bikini in a club? Or maybe a modern art showing judging by the painting in the back. Or maybe a kennel, judging by the simian douche she's embracing.

I weep a thousand tears that I'm not in the presense of those abalicious abs. And I send Paul Walker scrote off with the harshest condemnation I can muster: You're a... big.... uhm... douchebag!

Man, I need a shot of the 'Train.