One of the first breakout doucherstars here at HCwDB, Socrates -- legendary thinker/philosopher of all that is 'bag, wanted to drop by and wish you all an oil free and hottie filled New Years.

Soc doesn't look up to his usual scrotey standards anymore. Either that, or our 'bag hunting skills have gotten so much stronger since he first made an appearance on this site. To paraphrase The Dude, how can we go back to the family farm after seeing the Gator?

Then again, Soc's hair is prepped into a linear X-Y-Z graph, ready for charting economic growth and international trade patterns in 2008.

Your humble ferryman on our collective journey through societal rot, The DB1 is planning a lovely evening of Manhattan debauchery for the New Years.

I will charm Downtown Soho Hotts with tales of adventures on the far seas battling gel pirates while saving the Vivian Girls in the Realms of the Unreal.

I will dazzle them with Ricky Jay inspired card tricks that I learned from a drunken merchant during my travels on a spice ship off the Madagascar flats.

Then drool on their ample cleavage while passing out at 2am and crying out for my lost stuffed panda, "Pandy," that I left behind at a Toys R' Us back in 1983.

And by heart, I mean laugh at.

I'm not sure whether Jason Schwartzbag really annoys on any level, or is just a clown. Then again, white belt.

White belts fray my soul. Like fishermen hunting the coelacanth. It is ancient, and wrong.

But I do love Angular Cheekboned Swede with the power of a Nordic Viking funeral. Yes, her push-up halter top is ill fitting and mushy. But making saline mashed potatoes is not something to be simply dismissed as edgy fusion cuisine from the downtown New York boobie scene.

I present for dessert: The most suckable hip bone on the menu.

If, in your journeys this New Year's Eve, you come across a cat eyed minx being polluted on all sides by douche-faced chin-pubed fratknobs, do what it is that I do.

Mutter angrily, and sip your gin and tonica.

She is a pixie stick of sugary purple sugar powder that I'd wash down with a Jolt soda outside the 7-11. Because sugar is good.

I'm convinced there's an elaborate backstory behind this pic. It involves smuggling armadillo furs through the rebel territories of upper Paraguay, a small cache of microfilm, and a Russian model-turned-assassin, Natasha.

But that could be me. Projecting.

It's probably just a couple of frat puds and a sexy little Cro-Hottnon, bored, on a Thursday afternoon in the frat house.

Either way, that's a suckable inner thigh on the Hottnon.

And then there's Ted, the drunk freeloading roommate, wandering in. Close the door, Ted. Che Guevarbag thinks he's got a shot.

And while we're treading into celebutant waters, if John Mayer still isn't clear on the concept of douchebaggery, here's Exhibit A.

Chin pubes. Smirk. Yankee insignia as claim to "urban" ethos. Shocker hand gesture. And dating a celebrity former hott so polluted by exposure to douchebaggery, she now looks vaguely like Dirk Nowitzki.

Abstract ill-defined concept?

Methinks not.

It is this unholy putrid lamb turd and his former hott, personified as crystalline clear specificity.

Folk singing emo turd John Mayer has made an entry on his blog about the word "douchebag."

In this entry, dated 12/26, Mayerdouche seeks to subvert any attempts to hoist him on the petard of his own uberdouche by preempting the word using ironic meta-commentary.

This strategy is common among the rocker douches. Embrace their douche, then hope their annoying antics are innoculated from 'bag deconstruction.

Not so fast, Mayerbag. Any faux-emotional tool who sings a song called "Your Body is a Wonderland" has tread into Michael Bolton douchebaggery. And any attempts to backdate such douchal spew with retrofit irony must be met with a swift and decisive response.

I am that response.

That foot is me.

First, Mayer attempts to claim that he is only one of a large number of musicians who have been tagged with the proverbial "douchebag" term. Mayer writes:

And "douchebag" was on the vinegary tips of everyone's tongues this year. Trouble is, I'm not really clear on what it means, and I don't know that anyone does. I know that I get called one. Pete Wentz from Fallout Boy, by measure of a google search, is a douchebag 11,100 times over, or the number of results that the search engine says exist. Zach Braff, who himself wrote one of the better films I've seen in the last decade is also frequently 'bagged, as is some guy named Brody Jenner.

Poor John Mayer.

Tagged unfairly by a group smear using a trendy word. Unclear on the term, and the victim of a rash of driveby "douchebag" terms along with a number of talented individuals. Like Zach Braff and... Brody Jenner.

Nicely played, Mayerdouche. Who can argue with the Brody Jenner example?

Mayer's whine continues:

Are you as confused as I am as to what the common denominator of douchiness is? Is it someone that comes off obnoxious? Self aggrandizing? Ignorant? Or is it just someone who exists out of another person's comfort zone? And doesn't that account for almost everyone in the world, celebrity or otherwise?

The common denominator is a preening male tool who presents a false spectacle to dazzle and confuse a female into thinking he is an object of cultural desire. In other words you, guitar hero. What's so hard to get?

Mayerscrote whines on:

Ohhhhh...OR...is being a douchebag actually all about having a bigger smile than someone else deems you deserve to in life?

No. It's not that at all. It's not jealousy, and your response is the equivalent of "talk to the hand." You're getting called out for your falseness, your spectacle, Mayerdouche. It's not about a word. It's about you.

Mayer concludes his defense of douchebaggery with the following:

Maybe I should take this opportunity to define douchebag once and for all; I think if enjoying your life as you choose happens to spill over into treating others without respect, then you're a total, world-class douchebag.

"Respek" isn't what defines douchebaggery, Mayerchoad. Nor does "enjoying your life." Brad Pitt doesn't get called a douchebag, just as Pablo Picasso was never called an asshole. There is confidence, and there is douchebaggery.

There are musicians, and then there are no talent hacks running around with Jessica Simpson to Teen Choice Awards afterparties.

There are talented rock stars, and guys who sing falsetto three chord odes to running through the halls of their high schools.

You aren't a major douche, Mayer. More on the minor annoyance scale. But your clubgoing buy-in to the no talent Hollywood party scene, the TMZ spectacles, the fame-without-talent auditions, the herpfests with Jessica Simpson and the Lohan/Hilton clown-shows, render any claim you have to non-douchebaggery to be laughable at best.

You are the musical Brody Jenner, Mayer. You strum a chord and have long hair, and are in the middle of your five year run. Good on you.

But don't claim with detached irony to be so world weary as to not understand why people call you out for your Hollywood douchebaggery. You are every bit the preening tool with delusions of grandeur about whatever modicum of talent you managed to cash in on.

There is a reason people call you douche. It isn't some catch-all term that needs defining. It is the essence of the performative spectacle of preening male pseudo-celebs in the age of internet culture. It is the defining characteristic of those men clawing their way to the top within a media saturated car crash spectacle of internet fueled viral "fame."

You buy in hook line and sinker. You date Jessica Simpson, douche up the hair, hit the party scenes, and then whine when people call you out about it? Please.

It's not the word that needs further definition, Mayer. It's your personality.

Put down the gear, jump off the Lohan party circuit, and write a song that isn't about getting laid or your high school, that has poetry and art to it, and we'll talk. You produce some great art, and there's a lot of leeway granted if you want to douche it up on the side. Until then, you're a douchebag.

Holiday week slow,
Yet shirtless fools grease onward,
So I mock Vinnie.

Jesus bling sparkles
sends hott's eyes rolling backwards
douche has a chick's ring.

-- the douche is alright

Bring Malibu back
For another "excellent
Hit" on this jerkoff.

-- douche of new york

Where can a bag go
where no shirt is accepted?
No dress code, no taste.

-- d. baggins

Vinnie loves Christmas
Magical time of the year:
"Day the Bling was Born"

-- squatch

Oh sweet prince of peace.
Why have thou abandoned me,
For this greasey chest?

-Amerigo Vesdouchey

I don't know if this white trash surfer douche has a name. All I know is if you impregnate a 16 year old, you are a heaping flame pile of scrote.

And I rendered that judgment before I saw that sunglasses and puka-shell look.

Trying to Cash (Warren) in using your little spermies as your investment strategy is beyond uberdouche. Even Joey Porsche wears a jimmy hat.

So for knocking up a child, even one as cursed by bad genes and atrocious parenting as Britney Jr. is, you get an Honorary Douchebag of the Month award, toolface.

Someday, someone will kick your ass outside the back of the Hamburger Hamlet where you work. And on that day, God will chuckle.

Fetch, Old Yeller, fetch!!

Good boy.

Now papa's gonna take you out back and shoot ya while little Travis cries.

Nothing personal. It's the chin pubes.

Oh, Old Cactus Head! What wacky hijinks did you get into this time?

She is a chain link leather fence of my love. Her pouty vacant stare says, "I do not poo."

I know that, Brunette Sex Spirit of the Netherworld. You cannot poo. Poo does not exist in your perfect, clean poo-free world.

You haunt my waking hours with your otherness. Your boobies strain against leather boundaries to simply say hi.

"Hi."

Hi boobies straining against leather fishnet.

"How are you?"

I'm fine. How are you?

"Pretty good."

That's good.

"Yeah, I know."

Me, too.

Great googley moogley.

Some days I should've just stayed in bed.

It's always a little weird laughing at greasy douchefaces during the holidays and heading into the New Year.

I feel like I should be festive.

I should forgive these scrote-stooges their rank body odor and culturally offensive garb. I should indulge their kissy lips and hand gestures while they grease all over a young plaything.

But then I remember I'm doing God's work.

By working out our boobie lust and 'bag rage through the privileging of hott/scrote within the simulacra of mutual disgust, we help to affect change. In other words, by ragging on the poo, we ensure a happy New Years for all.

So when we put it that way, it's all good.

Happy New Year, Bobby McNobby. Now take your chin fungus, your 'bag hand gesture, the hovering bottle of Goose, and blow it out your A/E. 2008 just called. It says you're going down.

It's not enough to wear the skintight orange rayon sleeveless body vest.

Ya gotta zip it baby.

Zip it good.

In Pic #2 we see Zebrahawk pre-Zebrahair. Like a ripening banana, he is still green with budding douchosity.

But other than the exploding hair, forehead grease and douche everything, Zebrahawk really isn't that bad.

And by isn't that bad, I mean like shoving tiny angry pelicans with razor blades for beaks up your nostrils and sneezing.

I don't know what that last metaphor meant. I blame it on the eggnog.

Watch the toxic swirl of societal wrongness mix together as this hottie/douchey spew flushes down our collective drains.

This is all that has gone wrong within douche culture, personified in one singular action pic.

Zebrahawk.

He spreads his virus on contact.

Unredeemable Hott is lost, her kissy lips bespeak a Bleeth Virus with enough intensity to create a bad CG Zombie that Will Smith pretends to be afraid of.

The matching muscle-ts are the icing on the log.

But hey. Boobies.

Boobies never lie.

No hand gestures needed here. Just the lower facial scruff and perfect for snowboarding sloped hair to stamp 'wonderbag' in big neon letters on this putz's forehead.

Yeah, you, asschin. You are a tool.

Reese Witherspoon is giving me the eye. It says, 'I may be kissing the high cheekbones of a greased up eurobag, but I'm really into having my butt spanked with licorice and brussel sprouts.'

I knew it. I can tell just by looking at her.

Ah... so many choads to mock.

2008 is going to be a good year.

douchebags roasting... on an open fire... Jackoffs sipping a Bud Light...

Purg Hottie waits... under DB1's tree... and be tree he means heart shaped jacuzzi in the greater Niagara Falls area...

Ba hump hump hump hump...

Happy Holidays, from all of us (well, me) here at HCwDB!

I will be on reduced hottie/douchey mocking this week, but will still be getting pics up as they come in, and prepping pics for a new year of mocking, boob lusting, and orange.

Don't forget to check out The Winter Gator, courtesy of reader Happy Jihad, who says: 'Happy Freakin Holidays!'

Or The Gator and Friends, saying something involving "Yo" and "Bra." from reader, Squatch.

And if you wanna submit a pic of a hottie/douchey combo, email me at douchebag1@hotchickswithdouchebags.com.

Or you can simply stare at Stubblebag here, trying to check out Santa's Little Helpers.

It wasn't even close.

The mighty Fish Slap and the powerful Donkey Douche have fallen.

And while this award is supposed to summon the Zen totality of both the hottie and the 'bag in communion, the power of the Joey Porsche Experience was enough of a singularity to carry him all the way to Supernova.

However, J.P. does appear to have a regular hott, she is the blonde minx who makes periodic appearances with him. And so I have included her in the award winning pic.

A well deserved and final 2007 Douchie Award for HCwDB of the Year goes to... The Joey Porsche Experience.

And while there were many great hottie/douche combos this year, JPE proves himself transcendent.

And by transcendent, I mean really freakin' douchey.

To recap the entire list, your 2007 Douchie Award Winners are:

Hottest Hott of the Year: Pajama Choad's Hott

Smells Like Poo: Tatman Begins

Best Golden Globes: Boobies Spake Zarathustra

Most Annoying New Douche Move: Pointing. At. His. Abs.

Douchiest Joey Porsche Wannabe: Johnny Blaze

Most Trashcan to the Head Worthy: The Bells

Most Expensive First Date Hott: Strawberry Cheesecake

Douchiest Twins: Stereodouchetonic Twins

Douchiest Band of the Year: Buckcherry

Douchiest Group Scrote: The Douche Platoon

Spikiest Hair: Douchsplosion

Best DB1's Future Ex-Wife Hott: Purg Hottie

Douchiest Everybag: Ricky

Most Polluted HCwDB Couple: The Chestnut Trees

The Irving Thallbag Lifetime Achievement Award: The Gator

Douchiest Popped Collar: Pinky

Douchiest Celebrity Couple: Jessica Alba and Cash Warren

Greatest Crisis of Modernity: The Long Journey

Orangest Orange: The Prompas

Sexiest Librarian Glasses: Scrotey Opie's Hott

Hottest Girl-Next-Door Hott: Clay Wankin's Hott

Hottest Innocent Getting Greasetackled: Chandlerbag and the Bumper

Most Annoying 'Bagling: White By Unpopular Happenstance

Douchiest Superhero: The Batbag

In Memoriam: Pumpy

Great work to all who participated in the brilliant comments threads, votes, opinions and a special shout-out to the regulars, both commentators and 'bag hunters, who keep the site filled with hottie/douchey energy on a daily basis.

It's Friday, The Douchies are over, and your humble narrator on all things ArmaniExchange/Cleavite, The DB1 is in New York preparing to get wrecked and save a hottie or three. So I tip my cup of Night Train and congratulate all of our 2007 Douchie Winners. It's time to start drinkin'.

In one of the most closely contested votes of the 2007 Douchies, PCH barely edged out Blister's Hott and the Burrito.

Some argued her win may be tainted by the lack of clothing advantage, and by tainted I mean my drool on her outer thigh while she pepper sprays me and calls the cops.

But her perfection cannot be denied. Even the presence of a douched up Eurochoad from Dusseldorf or Luxembourg isn't enough to stop its radiant pull.

Now many of you may be thinking of a different hott from the past year that warms the cockles of your cockles. If you are a female reader, warms the cockles of your pillowcases. But fear not, fellow travelers. For although PCH gets the 2007 Douchie, we all win.

And by win I mean boobies.

A total and crushing landslide for the biggest crashup between poo smell, a hot blond, and poo smell Jr.

Here's your well deserved 2007 Douchie, Tatman.

Now lets never speak of this pic again.

It may seem unfair that an imitator is getting a 2007 Douchie Award while the person imitating may not win the HCwDB of the Year and have to go home empty handed.

Such is life.

J.B. gets an award for this pic. And he deserves one.

Man, if I'd known this pic was winning a 2007 Douchie, I would've picked a less clumsy name.

Perhaps we should just refer to her boobies as The Ubermams.

And, of course, we must extrapolate that pillow #2 is as perfect as pillow #1. Unfortunately Tonguey McFratchoad is blocking our view.

And attempting a half-hearted "shocker" behind her head. Someone needs to weed whack his head with a damp cloth and a brillo pad.

But this award is about Golden Globes.

And they are so very golden.

And globey.

Mmmm.

Boobies.

Ladies and gentlemen, cupcakes and lamb fries, here is your 2007 Douchie winner for Most Annoying New Douche Move:

The Ab Lobster

Besting the legends that are Peaches and The Trainwreck, the scrotal move of the ab point was simply too much to overcome.

A well deserved and hard fought Douchie for the Lobster and Blondie to take home and place on the mantelpiece.

And by mantelpiece I mean creepy Miami shirtless tools.

An excellent debate in the comments thread here broke out between the relative merits of originality, douchological importance, ubiquity and overall grease factor. But while the Trainwreck came in a close second, and with Peaches finding his support as well, it was the Lobster for the win.

And by win, I mean abs.

And by abs, I mean pointing. At. Them.

Even though Bells ran back in May, there's something about the pose, the shirtlessness, the caveman necklace and that sneer that deserve the 2007 Douchie Award for Most Trashcan-to-the-Head Worthy.

And that's saying a lot, as pretty much every douche to appear on the site deserves a little Sonny Corleone treatment.

So here's to you, Bells, as well as your sexy librarian Brit-hott.

You've earned this Douchie Award. Now go put on a shirt.

And while you're parsing the hott, here's the 2007 Douchie for Most Expensive First Date Hott: The Strawberry Cheesecake.

Strawberry Cheesecake appeared with her douched out smoove brothabag, Velvet Jones, back in September.

Velvet won one for the Brothabags in the Weekly, but then his Billy Dee 'stache dropped in popularity as other 'bags overtook the Velvet Smog.

But Strawberry Hott remained, burning a hole through all of our collective wallets as we contemplated the $150 dollar meal at Sushi Roku, the $200 tab at Skybar, and her drunkenly pushing you out the door as you tried to say goodnight at 4am.

Here's a well deserved 2007 Douchie, S.C.

I've been there. We've all been there.

Here's your finalists for Hottest Hott of the year:

Hottest Hott of the Year Finalist #1: 'Bag Burrito's Hott: Brunette Burrito

The Brunette Burrito ran back in May, but her sexy perfection remains like a fine after dinner mint.

She is brunette deliciousness.

Utterly perfect.

Perfect smile. Lovely skin.

And boobies.

Hottest Hott of the Year Finalist #2: The Blister

The Blister, which ran back in June, left an indelible mark for the classic 1980s retro fantasy of his Barbie.

Is she a Playmate? I have no idea, but I'd bet no, as unlike the inflated nose-jobbed mannequins that dominate today's glossy magazine sexynesss, Blisterette is pure natural spring water.

Trickling water.

Trickling water over rocks.

I would compose bad poetry to her toenail clippings.

The curves are dangerous.

The smile is delicious.

She is munchy.

She has a belt.

She is pink.

Hottest Hott of the Year Finalist #3: Pajama Choad's Hott

It's weird, as I'm not normally the fan of the blondes, but two of them made the finals.

I gotta give it up to Pajama Choad's Hott, which ran in early November.

She is perfection. But unlike Blisterette, she is the slut-hott perfection of lurid teenage fantasy.

My blood runs cold.

My memory has just been sold.

Na na ne na na na, na ne na na na, na ne na na na.

I would twease the lint from that belly button using, with apologies to Archimedes, a lever long enough to move the world.

And by world I mean boobies.

There have been so many gorgeous hotts on the site this year that this category is almost impossible to figure out. There will be complaining. So many hotts, it's impossible to choose.

I took the recommends from the regulars, weighed their boobies, drank a few PBRs, and bumped up a top three.

So yes, you're going to complain. Your favorite hott of the past year isn't on here.

But them's your choices. And choose you must.

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

Was there any doubt?

Honorable Mention: The Twin 'Bags and Twin Kravitz.

And the nominees for the 2007 Douchie for "Smells Like Poo" are:

Smells like Poo Finalist #1: The Greaseheads


Ironic or not, I smell poo.

These cesspools polluting a Nordic Hott ran on the site back in August.

Gone.

But not forgotten.

Smelly.

Greasy.

Gross.

Smells like Poo Finalist #2: The Cowlicker

All the way back in April, The Cowlicker licked his greasy eurodouche ways into our lives.

And we've been salty ever since.

Is there any more noxious odor of douche-poo than in watching this sexy Swedish Hott get Germanic Saliva all over her cheekbone?

Methinks not.

Is she too angular?

No way.

She is 45 Degree Sine Curves of Nordic Hott.

I would pretend to be neutral during the war while secretly keeping all the money deposited in my banks, just to taste her milk chocolates.

Smells like Poo Finalist #3: Tatman Begins

Not to be confused with Douche Fighting Superhero Batbag, Tatman is a whole other beast.

The Tatman first brought his smirk, stubble, tats, and pasty white doughy visage to our collective eyes back in August, and I still feel dirty.

His wafting fetid odor is unmistakable.

As is the hierarchy of tongue licks.

This one's an open vote.

Who gets the 2007 Douchie?

Vote in the comments thread.

It had to be said.

I featured these three scroteclowns on the site in September, and their power chords and ridiculous Southern Vinegar stench still reverberate.

For choading it up in the skeeziest video of the year, give it up to Buckcherry for a well deserved 2007 Douchie Award.

As if there was any doubt that these Spring Break choads would win a Douchie for categorizing the Skittles Rainbow of scrote variation. The Platoon first made their appearance back in April.

Spring Break choadology, gone but not forgotten.

And she is absolutely teeth meltingly hot.

Also, check out what happened to the Douche Platoon moments after this pic was taken. Oh well, Platoon. Maybe next time.

Give it up to the exploding cactus hair of Douchesplosion, who first crystallized on the site back in April.

The fact Douchsplosion came from nowhere to overtake both Wheatstalks and The Crystalline Scroteflake is one of the upset shockers of the 2007 Douchies.

Like Kevin Costner beating out Martin Scorsese for Best Director in 1990. Or American Beauty winning anything outside of a pie eating contest in Wil Wheaton's imagination.

Douchsplosion has that certain je ne sais quaff. Oh wait, it's pretty obvious. He's got a really big-ass cactus head. And two Frosh Sorority Cutes. That's enough to win the category.

Besides, the Stalks and the Scroteflake, honorable Mentions to: BOING! and White Buckwheat, in this hotly contested Douchie.

As if there could be any doubt.

For tiny, pixie brunette hotness. With cat eyes, sexy stare, sultry hair, and perfect tiny boobage. For maintaining preturnatural cool in the face of an avalanche of douches, Purg Hottie is my love.

Marry me.

Then divorce me six months later for your Yoga instructor.

Take half my money. I beg of you.

And while you're mulling your vote in the Yearly, lets hand out another no-brainer 2007 Douchie.

The abstract douchal spirit that inhabits the ever-dancing and ever-unperturbed Ricky deserves it.

Give it up to the Rickster. He first danced his way into our hearts back in September.

No real signs of douchebaggery to be found.

Yet all that is eternal personified in one singular dance maneuver, with a hint of insecurity over his disinterested hott.

Keep on dancin', Rocky.

You are The 'Bag Within us all, dancing, ever dancing, ever struggling to get out.

Without further ado, the finalists:

HCwDB of the Year Finalist #1: Joey Porsche


This is getting tricky, because people like Joey P. live outside any single image, and thus it becomes harder for us to determine the rules of voting.

But since most of the finalists appeared numerous times, I think it's unavoidable that we take in the totality of doucheyness in making our selection.

This may be why The 'Bag Islander made a courageous run, took Joey P. down to the wire based both on the strength of the perfect hott on the boat behind him and the "Bra!!" face, but still fell short.

Because the 'Bag Islander, while a genius Monthly winning pic, is a one-off. J.P. is legend.

The Kissy Lips. The blond cutie. The "Friends." The man tan.

The Joey Porsche Experience. From here to Acapulo, are you "adicted to wut his dic did?" Ya digggggg?

HCwDB of the Year Finalist #2: Donkey Douche


While the other picture of DD and his uberhott won the Monthly, this is probably the best pic for Donk to represent in the Yearly.

After crushing the capable Rooster and Crustacean, the first doucherstar of 2007 makes a well deserved appearance in the Finals.

Also the underrated qualities of this sexy Eastern European slavic cutie deserve credit.

She has the eyes of a Nadja from Warsaw, and as such, I'd WWII her bombers in every conceivable metaphor of metaphors.

In judging any HCwDB of the year winner, it is the noxious fumes of both hott and scrote that must be weighed on the yin/yang zen calibration tuning fork of life.

And on that factor alone, this pic of the Donkster represents.

HCwDB of the Year Finalist #3: Fish Slap

After a valiant effort by the Trainwreck (who came thisclose to the upset), Fish Slap took the prize in the semis and slapped his way to the finals.

As with Donk and J.P., I've swapped out their Monthly pic winner for what I consider to be the best selection of hottie/douchey commingling from their oeuvre.

Here we see the Slap's frequent companion of hott on the left. And an innocent Jenny who wandered by and got caught in the oceanic cross fire.

Shaved eyebrow. Jesus bling. Forehead grease. And, as one commenter observed, the Kissy Lips without effort.

The impressive pull of that hott brings balance to the Douche Force, and renders a Finals worthy HCwDB pic.

So them's your three. The choice isn't easy. But it never is.

You've heard all the arguments. You've studied the boobs and the boobies.

Now you must step up and vote. Which combination of raging douche and lucious hott sets off the fire alarms in your psyche? Which pic is deserving of taking the 2007 Douchie for HCwDB of the Year?

That's up to you.

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

This greased up couple slid into our hearts, and by hearts I mean collective contempt, back in August. And I still feel unclean.

Yeesh.

Yech.

A well deserved 2007 Douchie to you both.

Now please don't sit on my new sofa.

The Gator.

What more can be said?

The Gator is beyond the yearly Douchie Awards, and deserves nothing less than the Irving Thallbag Lifetime Achievement Douchie for outstanding contributions to the field of douchology.

And by outstanding, I mean ridiculously douche everything.

For bringing shame to England, for greasing it up with the finest hotts the world has to offer, and for proclaiming himself the heir to Eugenics and genetic superiority, The Gator gets a well deserved lifetime position as HCwDB Emeritus.

Just rank.

Congrats, Gator.

You are forever enshrined in hottie/douchey lore.

Narrowly besting both The Zebra and A Dude With A Lot of Popped Collars, Pinky first appeared on the site back in August.

In a contested and close vote, Pinky barely pops out the win and takes the Douchie for the adorably Bleethed out and pouty cute by his side.

And the pink. Anyone with the pinked popped collar is uberscrote.

Yes, the Popped Collar trend is a dying manifestation of douchebaggery, giving way to new douchal developments like shirtless and white studded belts.

But we will always honor the Pop here at HCwDB.

With a Douchie Award.

I don't know who Cash Warren is. I don't even know if he has a face.

But he's impregnated the plump lipped uberhott that is The Alba. And since he's got the hint of a tribal tatt, and his first name is Cash, that's good enough for me.

Seriously. "Cash."

That right there is enough for me to hand out the 2007 Douchie for Celebrity HCwDB Couple to Jessica Alba and Cash Warren.
Come on down, and accept your award, Jessica!

And by award I mean me, speaking in tongues while gargling windex and rubbing finger paint on my thorax, just for the chance to chew on your used kleenex.

I don't think any pic quite summed up the cultural crises of meaning in the age of spectacle quite like The Long Journey, which ran back in late May.

Within this one singular pic from the dregs of Vegas therein lies the intersect of all permutations of visual culture's recreation of meaning in the mechanical age. Spectacle plus chin pubes. Authenticity can only be found through the acquisition of the collective gaze.

It is Baudrillard by way of post-Benjamin gender dialectics within Foucauldian power relations of poo.

In other words, it's really, really douchey.

Honorable Mention: Captain Jack Spackle from October. Yarrrr!!!

A well deserved 2007 Douchie to the Prompas for redefining one of the basic colors of the rainbow.

They first ran on the site in that now legendary capture of awkward teenage angst in late May, and again in October.

Take a bow, Prompas!

And by bow, I mean orange.

First runner-up: The Orange-u-tans

Keep them votes coming, voting is now open for the 2007 Douchie for Best Golden Globes. And by open, I mean soft, succulent and soft:

Best Golden Globes Finalist #1: Boobies Spake Zarathustra


Best Side Boob ever.

She is a tall drink of Spanish Hott by way of Slavic interbreed.

Perfect.

He is average, anonymous tonguebag choad.

But she is perfect.

Did I mention Best Side Boob ever?

This ran on the site back in July.

Note to self: Cool it on the Nietzsche references in 2008.

Best Golden Globes Finalist #2: The Boobie Sun God


Megods, holy guacamole, I forgot the fantastic Sun God hedonism of worship that these two solar globes deserve. This pic ran back in October.

Megods.

Yowza.

Two cans of fun factory play-doh goodness.

Babies around the world rejoice.

Lovely.

So lovely.

So very very lovely.

Best Golden Globes Finalist #3: Pillows

The soft downey teddy bear giggling softness of Pillows ran all the way back in January, but remains a perfect melding of side-boob and perky firm hello-how-are-ya-ness.

Them's your three.

Before you vote, remember this: Boobies, Boobies, Boobies, and Kafka. It is your mantra. It is your slogan. It is your guide.

Who will win this category? We will. All of us. The future of the human race. We all win. Society wins. My pants win. Vote, as always, in the comments thread.