I always wondered what RoboBag looked like out of his RoboDouche armor.

Far be it for me to judge what Baby Spice Hottie keeps as a personal pet/slave. But what's with Red's pained expression? You'd think having one's hair ruffled affectionately by a curvaceous and healthy wombed cutie of prime procreation age range would be a good thing.

Is Pet Scrote a 'bag? Meh, maybe not.

But I'd kill to fry pork rinds on those legs then have a Michelob Ultra, sit back and contemplate the joys of the silk bustier.

Who's that hottie in the lower left? Why none other than longtime site contributor Kelly Belly, who went out and snagged this choadbag in scrotey action:

-----------
Hey DB1,

I was busy over the weekend and found this guy with my best friend. Unfortunately this is the only douchebag I could find because I think I was too drunk the rest of the time to notice any others. Oops. He had brought the backdrop painting of an Escalade and I lovingly referred to him as "Pink Sock." What do you think?

~kellybelly
-----------

Nicely done KB! Although, while he is making 'bag hand gestures #23 and #136, and also appears to have the cock-n-balls "mark on the 'bag" on his forehead sheen, I can't stamp him as late stage 'bag. His lack of attacking KB may be part of my lowering to a stage 1/2 'bag status. Mmm... attacking KB....

Female reader CB went 'bag hunting and came up with the following pic:

--------------

One more hottie/douchey couple to cap a pretty good Monday. And by pretty good I mean repeating the affirmation of the paradox of life through HCwDB coupling wrongness/hotness.

Junk has the crazy googley eyes of a greased up twerpbag. His hottie has the bright eyed happy expression of pure ivory snow.

Together they are a mystifying blend of hott and scrote.

Oh, and the perfect, succulent, pale cleavite of a thousand swans singing harmonic melodies on a bright blue moonlit New Hampshire lake. I would dive betwixt those satin throw pillows and confirm Buddha's mantra.

(with apologies to Coldplay)

Look at the scrote,
Look how he choads for you,
And everything you do,
Yeah 'bag is all yellow,

He came along
He's very wrong for you
And all the things you do
Yeah 'bag is all yellow,

So then he macked on Bleeths,
Like that dude Ledger, Heath,
And it was all yellow

Your skin
Oh yeah your skin and tush
Turn into something so lush,
D'you know you know I want your boobs
You know I'd kick this noobs,

He shaved across,
Stubbled across for you,
This douchebag smells like poo,
Cause you were all yellow

His face is douche,
His face is douche for you
Oh what a thing to do
And it was all yellow...

I go back and forth on Jerry Seinfeld HippieBag here. There's really no reason to call him douche, other than maybe the hair. He's just some lucky kid who's found a plump little ball of cute to cuddle up with.

Then again, where are they posing? Some late 1980s airbrush painted traveling carnival booth?

I'm voting Not a 'Bag, but what say you?

Drift off to sleep, little Timmy. But before you do, let me tell you the tale of Shirtless Douche and the Blonde Hott.

Like a greek tragedy, the coupling of Shirtless Douche and his Blonde Hott personifies all of the dark fetid underbelly that is douchebaggery. The dark forces unleashed when hottie meets scrotebag.

Oh look. Little Timmy is sad. Don't be sad, Timmy. We must mourn the greasyness, but also be strong.

Don't worry, little Timmy. Tomorrow we can light incense and ring the mourner's gong in the Temple of Douche Spirits. For every time a douchebaggy wankputz pollutes a firm young thing, an angel dies.

Yes Timmy, an angel dies.

Stop crying, Timmy.

It'll be okay.

Come here, little Timmy. There, there. Stop crying. It's not your fault douchey pitbulls are mawing hotties as we speak. Nor is it your fault your mommy hates you. What's important is that, no matter how dark into the realm of the collective douche unconscious we roam, we can still take solace in glimpses of firm cleavite.

What's that, Timmy? You want to know what cleavite is? It's what mommy stopped showing daddy, which is why they got divorced, little Timmy. And yes, it is your fault.

I don't quite know what Taint did, but he's definitely up to something.

Costume Ball Cuties make succulent poses while featuring angelic side boob. Oh sure, they're bordering dangerously on douchebaguette status. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't change their tires with an inflatable life raft if I could awkwardly sniff their high heels for signs of talcum powder.

But back to Taint. 20 Degree Hat Tilt bespeaks a goofy stage-1 FratBag. And whether or not Taint is misbehavin', he's definitely up to no good.

Yes kids, it's that time of month. Since the genius of Peaches has already made the Hall of Scrote, Peaches need not lend his sloping caveman brow, his fixed stare, and his Zen Douche powers of unbroken point concentration to the Monthly's festivities.

Instead we have four worthy servings of corn meal douche and the hotties that roll them on wax paper and bake for twenty minutes at 350 degrees. Four frozen digital images of a culture gone horribly wrong, a wasteland of confusion, hair gel, and most importantly, tatas I'd motorboat like a sumabitch.

Yes, it's early on a Monday morning, and the DB1 hasn't had his coffee to kill last night's hangover. So without further ado, I give you your four Monthly finalists:

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #1: Meet Joe Douche

What more can be said about Z-list celebrities attempting to score youthful balls of cotton hott while busting gel induced side-overs with their receding hairlines? A lot, actually. I could make fun of Joe Douche until the cows actually did come home. And by cows I mean hotties.

The genius of the orangutan head, the sideways hand gesture and the douche-face all contribute to the DB1's deep depression that can only be treated with extensive doses of cheap alcohol.

The hotties have that stern taskmaster quality that always makes my toes tingle with glorious anticipation. Like they're about to slap my outer thigh with a ruler and tell me God hates me for fondling myself. What can I say? I dig on dominatrix chickas. Don't count out Joe Douche as a Monthly winner. He's got the glow, got the glow, got the glow. He's the last Douche-Dragon.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #2: King Douchuous IV

All hail the King of Scrotuousness. And by hail, I mean mock mercilessly, then drool over the pushed together Bed, Bath and Beyond skin pillows directly to Douchuous the IV's left.

I would take my time loving each and every one of these gorgeous blond party girls in deep, nihilistic and existential ways. Just like Alvy Singer, while the Ph.Ds in the other room discussed modes of alienation, I would be in here, quietly humping.

After I stripped King Douchuousness of his power and exiled him to the island of St. Helena, that is.

What a silly douched out uberscroad King Douchuous is. It's not that I'm ragingly jealous of the king. I just want to sew up the rip in his jeans with poison ivy, then honk polka-dot's bumper like a clown horn.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #3: The Trainwreck and Snuggles

The odds-on favorite in this week's contest, The Trainwreck not only introduced us to the new douche-position of The Doggie 'Bag, but offered us a surreal cacaphony of imagery that rivals and echoes Salvador Dali's famous self portrait photograph.

Toss in Snuggles, the Fabric Softened Hot Chick, and this is one hell of an overwhelming HCwDB pic. Probably borderline Hall of Scrote in its own right. And by right I mean wrong. And by wrong I mean douchey.

Which just confirms the high quality of submitted pics over the past month. Which reconfirms that I need to stop sitting around on my floor and drooling over pink perfect derrières in pixelated frozen form and at least hit the gym once in awhile. Stupid gut.

Stupid Trainwreck. Nice douche bandana. Nice douche wristdana. Nice douche-face. Nice douche everything.

You piss me off in new and profound ways, Trainwreck. And that's impressive indeed.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #4: Lei Hotties and the Puberchoad

What can be said about three sexy extremely feminine cuties in grass skirts? Not much. What can be said tossing in a younger brother dropping trou to douche up the pic with his scrotey charms? A lot more.

Add in his grinny best friend Potzie clutching his beer but still able to slip in the rare 'bag hand gesture #301 (the pinky finger drop), and all the elements come together for award winning cleavitey/doucheyness.

Also, blonde on the left wants me. I know I say that about a lot of cuties, but this time I can tell. It's not all a deluded and extensive fantasy narrative I've constructed out of one glance. A glance that wasn't even at me, but at a camera, which I've now projected my notion of the self into as a form of Lacanian mirror stage echo via the simulacrum. She still wants me.

I can tell. She knows she wants me.

Okay, lest my fantasies get any more absurd, I'm turning the floor over to you, the reader. Which one of these four Weekly winners combines the most toxic combination of innocent young boobaliscious flowers and greased up mackchoad halibuts?

Rage, rage against the douching of the blight.

Let your sloping brow lose all expression as you reach out and point at one of these pics to win the Monthly. Don't just do it for yourself. Do it for Peaches. Do it for Fish Slap. Do it for all previous winners who need a worthy winner to join them in the hallowed circle of Monthly winners.

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

The Douche is On Fire gets a closer look.

What do you see, DIOF? Does it make your pants go happy pants? Does it make your frosted hair tips vibrate with follicular excitement?

Oh sexy hottie. Push FireDouche away from the Cleavite. Please. For all of our sakes. Douse him with a fire hose.

Then cuddle up with me, my blankie and a vibrating plastic frog I named "Sally." We will read 15th century poetry and sail on until dawn.

I'm back from San Diego and before I drift off into slumber with dreams of tiny Purg Hotties jumping over stuffed Pumpys, I thought we'd play another round of Where's Waldouche.

Somewhere in this collection of juicy plantains and a Bijou Philips hottie, I've carefully hidden a sleepy eyed lurkerdouche.

Look closely.

Can you find him?

Day 2 for the DB1's trip to Comic-Con, or as I like to call it "Hot San Diego State Chicks Dressed as Wonder Woman Paid to Pose with Nerdbags." But the panels are great, "The Mist" looks fantastic, and the 5 dollar pretzel hot dogs are tasty. I even considered asking Lou Ferrigno if he considers himself the prototype for the modern day Muscle Douche, but thought better of it. He's bulgy.

Speaking of comic supervillians, I was wondering what The Choadmonster had been up to since his series on the Sci-Fi channel was canceled. Good to see him in this pic gettin' his 'bag hand gestures on. His mastery of the douche-face remains potent, even if he will end up selling his signature for 20 bucks a pop at Comic-Con 2011. Regardless, his triumvirate of lamp chop goodness definitely rivals the pieces of cheesecake handing out promo flyers down in the dealer hall. Hang in there Choadmonster. There's always The Surreal Life.

Hot, douche, hot, hot, wheatstalks.

The tight 1980s satin ballsack shorts are, how you say, douche.

Yes, the DB1 is at Comic-Con, where NerdBags abound and b-movie hotties sell their wares for 10 dollars a signature. I'm sitting on the floor posting this from the second floor convention hall. It is a freakshow.

Then again, so's this nipple protruding rugby playing vaguely AussieBag smelling room temperature lemon scented douchebag. And if that's a run-on sentence, you should hear the Warner Brothers panel talk about "The Invasion."

As to leggy gazelle hotties, I would pay 35 bucks for Stan Winston's signature just for the chance to fondle an animatronic version of their teddy bears.

Mirror creates self,
Zen reflection opens eye,
Douche lies within mind.

Ubiquitous tats,
Camo and dog tags in tact,
He makes douche not war.

-Lord Baggatron

'Bag with concave chest
Smoochy bleeth is barely dressed
Red string says, pull me

-- ed

Black "Douchestrong" bracelet.
Rosie Perez Bleeth wants him.
Where is the justice?

- boatbutter

Side boob twins kiss kiss
Siamese scrotes smirk blasé
Douchest show on earth

- little douche kook

Gunty douche looks bound.
Try a brand muffin and prunes.
Nice camo "Mom Pants".

-- doucheo bagsuo

The DB1 is driving off to attend Comic-Con in San Diego shortly, so updates will be sporadic for the next few hours. I plan to snap pics and will report on any HCwDB couplings from the convention.

What does that have to do with a skeezy aviator douche pawing an auburn corndog? Not much. Except his douchitude approaches a cartoon realism almost graphic novel in its intensity.

She has small, but deliciously perky, boobages. I would thwack! her blam!, and then consider if I was tired of getting sand kicked in my face.

While much has been written and hypothesized about regarding Douchebagus Guidosus attempting to mate in the wild, rarely has this elaborate ritual been witnessed first hand.

Now, for one of the first times in public, HCwDB presents rare authentic footage captured in the wild of this elaborate hottie/douchey mating dance.

Be warned. This is not for the faint of heart, nor the unbandanad of head. It is, however, vital that we study and parse the intricate and fascinating mating habits of the douchebag in his native habitat. In this case, The Douchebags of Cabo San Lucas.

I would set sail into the Pacific on a small Hong Kong junk-boat with only my cunning and sixteen packets of cheetos to survive just for the chance to fondle Princess Hottie's bandana with a tub of jello and a vat of bacon grease. Because I like to get freaky like that.

Sloth Jr.'s next-generation douchebaggery reaches new heights with the chin fungus outline.

Please do not go out and kick nine year old British orphan girls after viewing this pic. If there's anything I'd hate to be responsible for, it's causing a mass systemic kicking of nine year old British orphan girls. Because they just want some more porridge. It's not their fault Sloth Jr. is a raging hemorrhoidic douchebag.

Holy Great Greek Camel Spew.

It's bad enough the love child of Kiefer Sutherland and Sloth from "The Goonies" decided to grow up into a club going uber-douche. Toss in a raven silk haired Princess of Hott, presumably impressed by Sloth Jr.'s rock and roll hand gestures, and I want to subject myself to 7th Heaven repeats as a form of karmic self punishment for our collective societal decay.

Note to the ladies: The lip ring has gotta go. No need to telegraph to the world that your horrific choice in men results in you dating the biggest scroadbags this side of a suburban New Jersey Bally's Total Fitness boxing class.

As many of you know, your stubbled commentator on all things boobie/Armani is writing a book parsing the levels, permutations and affectations of the unholy wrongness of hottie/douchey coupling. I've gotten into the meat of the writing the past few weeks, and by "meat" I mean staring at enough pictures of vile douchebaggery in pre-sexual ritualized coitus dances to castrate a flock of geese.

But between keeping the site side-boobed as well as writing the book, I've been busy. Writing a book ain't like dusting crops, boy. You could wind up too close to a semicolon, or fly through a run-on sentence, and find yourself floating home.

But the book is underway. And it's going to be douchetacular.

In the next few weeks I will be putting up various poetry posts for the book. This will be your chance to exhibit as much creative energy in analyzing and mocking the hott/scrote as you've come to harness in your time here at HCwDB. Post your best poems in the three categories (limerick, haiku, epic), and the five best will be published in the book. You won't get paid, but I promise you a hearty handshake and a can of PBR. And a credit. And a signed copy of Pumpy's new autobiography, Meeeearggggghhhh.

Also, if anyone was involved in the snapping of one of the legendary pics on the site, be it in the Hall of Scrote, or just a popular pic, email my sorry ass and let me know, so I can include it. The book is going to have a balance of new and already posted pics, and I'm going to feature some of the classic HCwDBs we've grown to know and love. Or poo on, as the case may be.

Speaking of poo, I refuse to believe the goregous poo-holes pictured next to CBGBs-Bag above produce anything but strawberry ice cream.

EDIT: Pic was switched out after a request to take the CBGBs one down from one of the hotties.

Ah, the tonguebag.

The gateway drug for an aspiring scrote taking his first steps into a larger world of creepy awkwardness. When 'baglings attempt to lick the forehead of a cutie to prove their douchebaggy worth. Although from the looks of this shirtless freak, he's already achieved a solid level of douche maturation.

Hottie appears to be cuter than the awkward angle suggests. She's got a Pocahontas thing going, which I'm a big fan of.

I'm also a big fan of YooHoo. So sugary. So chocolatey. So milky. It's like fresh air in a bottle.

On an unrelated note to the Shirtless Wonder pictured here, while I was asked to pull the pics of Club Douche a few months ago, there's no rule that I can't link to his douchey ass in action on another site. Now THAT is a Club Douche in action.

People frequently ask me when exactly Douche Synergy occurs in a longtime HCwDB coupling. While there is never a scientifically quantifiable moment when Bleeth State has been achieved in a hottie exposed to too much wonky Fratchoad douchebaggery, one givaway is the dual 'bag hand gestures.

Like synchronized diving among the Hawaiian Monk Seals off the coast of Waikiki or early mimicry in the freshly born Milky Storks of Kuala Lumpur, hottie/douchey call and response in the form of 'bag hand gesture implies late stage courtship and familiarity. And thus, douchebaggery.

In other words, the state is terminal. There is no recovery. No, not even for Ted Theodore Logan here.

I love it when mid-western state school fratbags try to get funky on weekends.

Give it up, Jimmy.

Stop staring at the boobs and get back to finishing your Econ degree, you fifth year wankchoad. That job at Circuit City ain't gonna wait forever.

The douche... the douche... the douche is on fire!! The douche... the douche... the douche is on fire!!

Two blondes found a douche who was whiny,
His Michael Stipe forehead was shiny,
He went for a dunk,
His underwear shrunk,
And now the whole world sees he's tiny.

Wasn't "Lei Hotties and the Puberchoad" one of those early morning, stilted, barely animated 1980s Hanna-Barbera cartoons? If not, it should've been. I used to love those things. The 4 frames per second animation. The barely animated lip-synching involving two alternating frames. Good times.

It was a dominant victory for the Lei Hotties, taking down The Fly and the now departed Color Him 'Bagg with total destruction. But that's what happens when three of the uber-hotts pose with a dude low riding his underwear enough to reveal the biological evolutionary product designed to keep his genitals warm.

'bag-hater makes the case for Puberchoad's dominant victory:

Which leads us to our winner, "Puber-choad." You really piss me off. You've never worked out a day in your life, yet proudly display your waxed chest, "stylish" white underwear, exposed pubes, and try the tough guy look. You are as tough as a middle-aged bar-fly being hit on by an 18 year-old coed. The hottie/douche factor here is ridiculous. 1,200 virgins in a parallel universe were sacrificed to counter the atrocity done by this combo of 'bag-gesturing gooberdouches molesting my future roommates. I may have to start using a 3-t'd hottt for these vixens.

Well said B.H. Or, as Bdub puts it:

Lei Hotties

6 young succulent boobies plus 1 lazy eye divided by bag pubes = RAGE

Indeed, Mortimer. Indeed.

But the late and unlamented 'Bagg also generated passionate and voracious defenders, as with first time voter pocket douches:

But my God THAT HAT. Rhinestone-rocking, lip-pursing, bulbous-nosed, faux-distracted-look-giving choad gets my scrote. I mean, vote. The fact that such an item can be worn unironically, or even exists...sweet Jesus. THAT HAT must be acquired and thrown into the depths of Mordor. As it is written: One douche to rule them all, one choad to bind them, one scrote to bring them all and on the dancefloor grind them.

Nice verbal smackdown, P.D., and welcome to the site. The hat was pretty tremendous, and will be missed. The everpresent anonymous offers the all important female perspective while casting in for 'Bagg:

I couldn't decide between Lei Douch and Color Me Bagg. What gives the edge- the pubes, or the mandana/bedazzled hat combo? I have decided to use my point of view as a female. Which one of these guys would I run furthest from if they approached me in a bar-- its gotta be Color Me Badd. After I spit my drink out lauging at him.

But then there was The Fly. douche wellington throws down the gauntlet for The Fly's scrotey ways:

I has to be the Fly, all the way. While the Lei Hotties picture induces the most rage, The Fly stays truest (is that a word?) to the Douche modus vivendi. The bug glasses, ridiculous "I'm a Eurobag in training T-shirt", 'bag headbutt, and douche tongue, the Fly demonstrates his unflinching commitment to douchosity. You better believe that if her hand wasn't around his neck, that collar would be popped. He also gets bonus points for trying to bring back a style that Bono - even in all his self-absorbed metrocity - abandoned like what, ten years ago?

Interesting how Bono keeps cropping up as a standard bearer for metro-douche. I always liked Bono but maybe we'll need to consider his influence on modern douchebaggery as an important one.

But, in the end, three barely legals and a puberchoad were too much to overcome. peter makes the case for the triumphant and victorious Lei Hotties and the Puberchoad:

Lei Hotties. As others have said, it's the one that pisses me off the most. Between their soft-lens (airbrush?) sweetness that stirs fires in my loins, contrasted with the slackjawed yokel with his gumpy expression and the peek of pubes (why in the blue hell?!?)....I just want to reach through the photo, strangle him, and then have my way with all three Hott. And by have my way I mean sex them up.

Well said, Peter. Another brilliant comments thread parsing three worthy, and quite different, hottie/douchey combos. Although it is sad to lose 'Bagg to the ether, those are the casualties we take on the road to douche-victory.

So raise the Lei flower necklaces to the Tikki Hut and kick puberchoad in his freshly minted nether regions. They's this week's Winner. Punch them a ticket for the monthly.

Ah well, so it goes when confronting the 'baggery of Myspace:

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Someone put up my pics without my Approval. I need them taken down asap "color me bagg" & "color me bag part2"" If the pic arent down i will take Further Action Thank You.
---------

So while we lost the 'bagg, we'll always have JoeyPorsche and Acapulo.

Popped collar scroad from "The Sign" writes in:

---------
yea i'd appreciate it if u took this down asap
----------------

Of course.

Let me make it up to you. Have some Peaches.

I blame this atrocity of a pic on mens fashion magazines. Somewhere between the airbrushed pages of glossy color male model preening, and the echo effect of wannabes trying to emulate the poses, lies douche.

Yes, kids. Men are shaving their pits.

This is the world we live in.

A world of douchuous rank 'baggery on a cross country culturally shredding rampage of greased heads, frosted hair and the douche-face. A cultural blight of preening men seeking to recapture and supercede the attractiveness and normative focus that used to locate around the tropes of a pretty young female.

Caught up in this gender inversion post-feminist inverted masquerade are confused and bufuddled hotties, as seen pictured here.

For now the Hottie faces a feminized masculinity, competing with her for our societal gaze. In this way, the male masquerades under the constucts of femininity as the means to reclaim his masculinity. Which is another way of saying he's a douchebag.

Ahh.... ahhh....... CHOOOO!!!!

Oh.

Excuse me.

I just sneezed muscle douche all over my monitor.

Reader Lucian writes in:

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I have noticed somewhat of a douchbagnatic trend in some of your more recent articles, which tragically enough in my beliefs contributes to stage 1 and stage 2 bleeth hotties contracting the Douche Virus and morphing into a stage 3 or even stage 4 bleeths. I am referring to the Douchewreck position demonstrated by The Trainwreck, The Boatwreck and Wednesday Limerick. Is this some new douchebag fashion pose we've not been warned about... and more importantly why do these hotties seem to be cooperating? I was curious if you could possibly shed some light on the situation and if there is a possible way of warning these hotties of the tragic consequences of cooperation with this particular douchbag pose.

Concerned HCwDB Fan,

Lucian
--------

Excellent question, Lucian. Thanks for writing in and asking this.

I've noticed the same trend, and have even seen it manifest in 'bag/hott inversion formation (pictured here). This is a new development in the increasingly morphing and mutating 'Bag Virus, and it is important that we isolate and quantify it for further study. Or, in other words, mock the scrotey hell out of it. Therefore I am terming this new douche-move, The Doggy 'Bag.

The Doggy 'Bag is beyond mere 'bag hand gesture. It is a completely new and distinct degeneration within the 'bagg/hott permutations. It also makes my nethers itch like they've been pepper sprayed by an angry dwarf.

PIC DELETED

So does creepy purple aura signify the spirit-world acknowledgement of popped collar douchebaggery? Is it a sign, like Tree Stump Virgin Mary, or silly M. Night Shyamalan movies where aliens who are killed by water land on a planet covered by water?

Swing away, Hottie. Swing away.

I can't tell whether that hair is real or some form of crystalline moisture fractal pattern forming at high altitude. Toss in the Starskey and Hutch leather jacket, the douche-tags, and the shined up forehead, and it's a screaming flaming ball of uberdouche that causes seizures in diabetics.

The gals are no Lei Hotties, but there was no way I was gonna pass up posting Chia Pet Hair on the site.

Besides, I haven't had my coco puffs yet. And I'm cranky before I have my coco puffs.

We need to take a collective moment and appreciate the genius that is Velveeta Bag aka The Sleestak. And by appreciate, I mean melt down and grill on two slices of sourdough.

And serve with an icy Dr. Brown's Cel-Ray soda.

Mmm... Cel-Ray.

Goes great with anorexic model hotties.

EDIT: Reader Othello put on his "They Live" sunglasses and revealed what Velveeta really looks like.

For those complaining I haven't been featuring enough Asian hotties and 'bags on the site, here's a nice box lunch featuring a sexy saki rice wine commingling with Hip Hop Gangsta Kimchi.

Maybe it's the 'stache, but tell me RashomonBag doesn't look like an Asian Pedro from Napoleon Dynamite. I would retell his story from five perspectives, all of which end with me kicking him in the nads.

God damn, she's a cute ball of karaoke singing giggles and shy blushes. I would make her dress up like Go Go Yubari and fly through the air while letting off a high pitched scream, Manga style.

PIC DELETED

Wooooo, ooooeeeoooo.... he wants to douche you UP.... all niiiiiiight....

The 'Bagg wants to remind you to vote in the HCwDB contest if you haven't already.

In our recent discussions of 'bag subgenre, I'd like to return to a discussion of the Chinbag for a moment.

We've established facial 'bag classifications as diverse as the tonguebag, the facial pubes and, of course, the douche-face.

But Chinbags occupy a strange sort of nether-region of 'bag classification. Like Kevin Spacey's predilection for 19 year old French boys, it's ambiguous, confused and smells vaguely like halibut.

If we classify douchebaggery according to performativity, is it fair to lump Chinbags into their own distinct category? Unlike the douche-face, the facial fungle or the tonguebag, a chinbag cannot control the doucheyness of his jawline. It is there from birth.

So is it fair to mock the chinbag as a category of douche? Or must we factor in ancillary factors, like, in the example provided here, the dogtags, poof hairstyle and overall 'bag demeanor? Not to mention inverted 'bag sandwich formation.

So is the Chinbag an official sub-category of douchebaggery? Or does a Chinbag require other signifiers of douchebaggery to qualify as legit on the scrote scale?

Yup, these are the questions that plague me. That, and why my refrigerator smells like gouda.

Which douche-trend is more frightening? Male nip displays or the rear-end bump and grind?

And is SkywalkerBag pulling a Tyson on Hottie's ear? Or is she grabbing his Yodas?

It's a diverse sampling of the choad/hott in this week's Weekly douche-off. It was tougher than usual to cull down last week's submissions to a final three, but I think I've fixated on the right grouping. And by fixated I mean rub up against the coffee table when contemplating the hotties while decrying Godlessness when contemplating the wankdouche.

The DB1 had a lovely weekend involving sitting on my carpet, sipping Night Train from my "World's Greatest Douchebag" mug, and watching my bootleg VHS copies of "Cop Rock," the greatest show of the 1990s.

But you don't want to hear about my exciting party weekend of "Cop Rock" videos. You want the finalists. So without further adouche, here they is:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: The Fly


The Fly is a perfect sampling of next-generation douchebaggery. Note the mutating faux-hawk, the buglike sunglasses and, of course, the tonguebaguousness.

Leering Jewel has that lusty, trampy look that makes the DB1 think impure thoughts about Nuns.

Okay fine, I've admitted it.

I have a Catholic Nun fetish. I attribute it to the lack of visual stimulii. Underneath the habit? Who knows what sexiness awaits. I'm tantalized by repressed sexuality and strict formality. It's S&M by way of cloth robes and large hats. Love it.

But anyways, back to The Fly.

Rage factor? Check. Side boob? Check. Incomprehensible shirt statement? Checkmake.

Douchebaggery, thine eyes behold.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Lei Hotties

A-lo-hot, oy. A-lo-hot, oy.

Hard to argue with this intoxicating blend of three lovely perfect tequila shots and one ginormous toolbag.

These girls are in college, despite the appearance of youngness, so leering is permitted.

Choading up clouds of dust like a white Rick James is Trucker Douche. Exposed pubes? Uberdouche. It takes a lot to impress me these days, but that look definitely does. And by impress, I mean piss off.

As to the Hott, the exposed bellies are enough to set off fits of apoplexy like a flashing Pokemon cartoon.

Toned leopard on the left has he cutest tongue since Sweet Polly Purebread.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Color Him Bagg

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This is one of those pics that grew on me like an alien fungus grew on Steven King in Creepshow.

At first I wasn't sure the hottie was hot enough. But although the angle isn't fair, I think she's cute enough to qualify.

And he is beyond annoying. Douche-face + cap/mandana is a dangerous combo.

The brick background evokes basement coffee shop poetry readings in the mid 1950s. But instead of Ginsberg, Kerouac and Corso we get Humpty Douchey and his blond sidekick with the munchable arms.

Definite contender for the Weekly on the rage factor alone. And the hand with the purse adds a nice narrative to the picture. Who is the purse holder? Why is he/she there?

Only the Shadow knows.

So them's your finalists. Bagg, The Lei Hotties with Puberchoad, and The Fly. Special shout-out to the genius self-submission from Douche Royale. I couldn't bring myself to give him a nom for a Weekly since he did self submit, and that kind of kills the fun of true 'bag hunting.

What say you? Pick a winner and vote in the comments thread.

Somebody needed to call out this Nordic Aryan Dolph Lundgren in drag uber-douche as the scrotey wank he is. So it might as well be me.

Here's to you, pretty boy occasional soccer playing greased up metro-douche. I've seen less oil in the United Arab Emirates. I've seen less carefully chiseled attention to detail in Rodin's "The Thinker."

You are the empty vessel of shiny pretty douchebaggery. The physical specimen with nothing to say and nothing to offer except name-brand designer douche, excessive hair-gel and annoying tats that'll be out of style by March of 2008.

Your once cute girlfriend has become so distorted by extended exposure to your Brit-douche colonial invasion that she's mutating into a smurf. You denegrate the country of Shakespeare by virtue of your vacuousness. Your opinion-free corporate hegemony would inspire Guy Fawkes to blow up a soccer ball. Your only contribution to society is having your last name in a movie that brought us Keira Knightley.

For getting off a plane last week and polluting my already shallow city with corporate sponsored pseudo-hype and brand-name manufactured media created "spontaneous enthusiasm," heres to you, Soccer Scrote. You are a douche.

Now take your soccer ball and go home.

We're gonna need a bigger 'bag.

Okay, enough with my Bollywood fetish, lets get back to the good stuff.

Here's your classic stage-4 all-American douchebag. Apple Pie is to America what Douchechoad here is to Douchebaggery.

You get all the markers of classic 'bag/hott wrongness. Creepy tats. Simultaneous 'bag hand gesture and beer hold. The smug douche-face of ownership. And, of course, the 'bag headbutt into Creamed Corn Hottie.

She is shiny cheeked perfection. That dark sultry ambiguously Spanish hot tamale hott. Healthy bosoms that promise to feed and nourish all of humanity. Large swells that whisper poems of water trickling over rocks, metaphors of hope, peace and a better tomorrow. I would bury myself betwixt their health and dream of flowerpots and sugarplum pancakes.

She is sexpot. He is choad.

It is the perfect HCwDB weekend pic to fire all of us up and keep us going. It's like a shot of spiritual Red Bull. You rage. You desire. You rage some more.

The paradox is life itself. I don't know what that means, but it sounds good. And the DB1 is hungover.

Proving once again that douchebaggery cuts across not only racial and ethnic lines, but regional and national ones, behold creepy Indian Dirk Diggler showing off his large banana.

I'd line dance to falsetto melodies with ten thousand extras being paid in grape-leaves and orange juice, just for the chance to co-star in her sixteenth movie shot over four months. Then I would sword fight while overacting for the long shots until the love triangle emerged in Act 2. There would be only one way to solve the love triangle while charming her father, and that would be with more song and dance numbers.

My masterly skill would involve numerous chase scenes and one evil Pakistani, whom I'd pay off with tobacco barrels and Chinese rice wines. After saving the princess, stopping only for one more extended song and dance number, I'd lean in for the kiss as the screen faded out.

Mmm... then back in our trailers I would curry her vindaloo and ask Vishnu for forgiveness.

Where's Captain Stubing to punch this douchescrote in the nads?

Uhm yes, waiter, I'll have a side order of pale, muscleless rocker scroad showing his underwear and, uhm, for my main course I'll have Duff Hottie Abs. With wasabe and ginger.

On second thought, burn the rocker scroad, then toss it out back in the trash. I'll just have the Duff Hottie Abs.

Oh, and bring me the head of Alfredo Garcia, and put it on the Underhills. Mucho gracias.

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I think it's kind of cool that when the lost member of Color Me Badd goes out partying, he remembers to bring both mandana and 10 degree cap tilt. The color coordination with his shirt is impeccable. And by impeccable, I mean douche.

Hard to tell how hot blondie is from the angle, she's either Long Island Annoying Hott or Nicole Ritchie meh. But it's Friday. And we need something to come down off those Hawaiian Coconuts.

Somewhere in this pic of three greasy choadbags and four Woo Hotties, I've carefully hidden a Lei Hott.

Can you find her?

She's no Purg Hottie, but is raidly gaining on the "girls DB1 would like to read Heidegger to while foldling her lower boobage with a horsefeather" scale.

As per the comments thread... Neckglasses Choad and Buddy Hackett?

EDIT: Reader Darksock finds the connection:

"Hackett starred in the 1980 film Hey Babe! with a twelve year old Yasmine Bleeth in her first screen appearance."

Now it all makes sense...

Here's Lei Hottie, the middle hott from the Haiku pic, getting scroted on by a Anne Heche in drag. Or maybe he's Ellen?

Also, note the dude with the T-Rex vestigal arms in the back. It's gotta be chaos theory. That's the only explanation.

She's got meat on her bones in all the right places. I'd take her to Sizzler but only let her order the shrimp, before taking her home and making her put me in diapers and spank me with a ping-pong paddle, Vitter style.