Ever feel like you're watching a mugging take place in slow motion but you're powerless to do anything?

It's all in the placement of his hands. Not quite a violation, but all sorts of wrong. Maybe her Wonder Woman bracelets can protect her.

It's Saturday and your humble narrator in all things boobie/tribal-tatt, The DB1, wonders if Spielberg and Lucas can come up with any other plans to retroactively rape any more of my childhood memories.

Maybe they can render some CG images of the Dallas Cowboys gang raping my childhood Teddy Bear, Winky.

That reminds me, has anyone seen my grocery bag? The one with the two perky oranges I was going to squeeze, and the forty moldy potatos I was going to throw out before they made a "Westside"?

I know left it around here somewhere.

On an unrelated note to bulgy wrongness, a major shout-out to G4's Attack of the Show, which gave the site a major plug on Thursday.

Featuring both the AB Lobster and Bra shows that G4 knows what's up. Watch the Clip Here.

Is Portia trashy in that 80s Heather Locklear bleached blond way?

Absolutely.

Does she talk in an annoying voice and whine about how her trust fund doesn't cover the Cabo expenses for Tiffany and Claire? Of course.

Do these homie whiteboy fratdouche twatnecks deserve to be doing shots with her in a basement in Trenton? Not by the hairlessness on their chinny chin chins.

And by chinny chin chins, I mean scrotundae.

No Friday Thoughts today. The DB1 is pensive and contemplative. But mostly drunk on fermented hops.

Froggy writes in with a Swedish 'bag tag:

----

hey DB1,

its froggy, your french supplier of DB. I love the site and want to contribute again.

I'm in sweden right now and i'm about to leave to go back to France, and i had trouble to find some swedish DB since they seem to have a different doucheness in this blond loving girl country. But hope you like them!

bonne continuation, salut!

-- froggy
-----

I can smell the eurodouche aftershave right through the screen. What happened to you, Sweden?

Oh, that's right. The Grieco Virus went global.

Upon a second pic review, there is now enough evidence to stamp Potbelly at least a stage 1-2 'bag. At first I was prepared to give a nottadouche pass, he really just seemed like the luckiest dishwasher ever.

But then Potbelly II revealed what many in the comments thread suspected -- the Tri-Vag Facial Landing Strip configuration.

But in spite of stage 1-2 'bagdom, he's still earned props. For she is a bottle of delight wrapped in hott bubble wrap.

She is Joy Bunny.

And Joy Bunny is my new Kylie Minogue hott obsession. That ass is a trampoline upon with Lilliputians would find hours of relaxed entertainment. I would flay piglets by firelight just for the chance to convince her dentist to give me a root canal with the unwashed scraper from her last cleaning.

And for that, Potbelly, even with the Tri-Pubes and stupid-ass 'beater, has earned my respect. Now if only he'd fall off a cliff.

I always wondered what ever happened to Carvel Ice-Cream's greatest birthday cake of all time.

Who knew three college hotts in Florida would find Cookie Puss hiding out as some dude's overdeveloped 'roid-chest?

Skinny 'bagling with
scrolling message belt buckle:
"going home alone."

four pairs chunky thighs
will crush high school stripper boy
justice will be served

-- 'bag lanta

WhiteSnake groupies hot.
"Here I go Again On My Own"
Douchebag roadies score.

-BJL

*HOOOORK!!!!* *cough cough sputter*
*pant* I'm OK, I'm OK..
I just need a...*BLEARGHHHHHHHH!!*

-- mitch meats

Tommy Gun Drive By.
Call Jimmy the Boob Lover
And go get the car.

-- Rare Black Cup

white pants at half mast.
mourning death of fashion sense.
blonde wants panties back.

-- ted theodore scrotgan

The white Tayshaun Prince
You are way out of your league
Eat some pierogies

-- bmt

I could be mistaken, but is the the first time the cheesy Inland Empire Mandana of Skeeze has crossed streams with the party-boi DJ Miami Mohawk of Grease?

And did it have to manifest on Mike Damone from Fast Times at Ridgemont High, twenty five years after he became manager at the 7-11?

I know times are tight, man. But if you've still got any Blue Oyster Cult tickets, I'll meet you outside the arcade.

But does perky Paid-to-Pose Cheerleader get a Ridgemont hall pass simply because she's hoping her four hundred bikini pics on MySpace get her noticed by 944?

Probably not.

Dammit, somebody better give me a reason to label this guy a 'bag, because other than a bit of grease and a 'beater, I'm not seeing much.

But for him to get away with snagging that prize, I need something.

Help me out, people.

Don't let me give this guy a nottadouche pass. Come up with reasons to stamp choad, as the fact he's being embraced by that bouncy, arching rump roast will haunt my subconscious for years.

Like that creepy episode where Arnold's shirtless friend Dudley got fondled by an old guy on Diff'rent Strokes.

I'm still in therapy working out ever having witnessed that as a kid.

That strange impulse you're feeling is called "sexual attraction," Melvin. Now try not to spill anything.

On an unrelated note to Melvin (whom I loved as Scooter in the late 90s straight to DVD classic The Muppets Douche Out), we now have definitive proof that fans of HCwDB are of the highest social class and refined tastes.

If you don't believe me, go right now to the HCwDB Book Pre-Order page on Amazon and scroll down to check out what "Customers Who Bought Items Like This Also Bought," and you'll see what I mean.

Remember to always use a pearl spoon, kids. And by pearl spoon, I mean boobs.

Ever wonder what would happen if you took a bunch of Nordic Swedish Aryan types and blended them up with some classic Italian guido Jersey scrote, a bottle of L.A. Looks hair gel, and a perky cheerleader named Inga?

No?

Neither have I.

In a week in which real Vegas confrontations are taking place over the scrotefame created by being a toxic phlegm on HCwDB, how can a mere HCwDB of the Week vote compete?

Well that's easy. Boobs.

ron douchegay explains:

my vote is for The Smearkat because those bOObs are fantastically and utterly hyponotizing.. and he deserves fire ants to sting 'nads mercilessly

Well said, RD. I agree with the many who argue for naturality of boobosity as worthy of extra special attention. And by attention, I mean baby oil. Also, bringing the fire-ants-to-the-nads move is a nice play. scare-a-douche agrees:

The Smearkat looks toxic. An unbottoned shirt with a half-assed tie, enough grease to lubricate the axles of an eighteen wheeler, and he seems to be making kissy faces at someone behind and to the left of the Hott. Oh my the Hott. I want to wear her crotch on my face like a feed bag.

The feedbag-crotch analogy may have lacked the romantic subtlety of, oh, say, Petrarch. But we'll go with it.

But a solid second were Kelly Hott and The Paw, who could definitely be a dark horse in the running for a year end 2008 Douchie nomination. In which category, you ask? weisenheimer brainstorm suggests a new one:

Kelly FTW. Because I want to see that stretched star shirt again in the monthly.

Best Stretched Star Shirt may indeed be a category in this year's Douchies. But I could sadly see some write-in votes for Bra in that category.

And eric reminds us of the classic Jersey toxicity of 'Bagwatch Nights:

1 vote for bagwatch nights. he's wearing socks and sneakers to the beach so you know he has no plans of getting in the water, couple that with the obtuse and angle that he chose to spread his legs.his inseam is under some intense stretching pressure and he loves it, he thrives on it. his dog-tag is of the douche-degree. the kind that is blank in the middle and lined with shiny metal on the outside, the worst kind. but don't tell him i said all this..those are his boys in the back

Very well argued, E. And let it bleeth concurs:

i cannot watch the bag, night, day or twilight. black velcro shoes, white parachute shorts, in addition to all the might in his right hand he can muster to suppress the toothless barracuda. i would play beach blanket bingo with the b boys in the backround just to snort the sand off of kari's pinky toe.

But Smearkat and his perfect hott's curves were too much. tea-baggen-douche explains:

It has to be the Smearkat. As noted above I concur with all reasons as to why corn-fed-home grown-hella-boobie-hot is positively luscious. Oh and yes he's a real twat.

And lets go to dew the douche for the final exclamation point:

smearkat, no question. He's a steaming pile of scrote. He doesn't deserve to scrub her bathroom floors. Gotta remember the hott factor here, DB1: i'm sure many like myself are enraged at the site of this pic. She and him? I guess there is no God.

And so they take the first of the four slots in the next Monthly. Give them a round of applause. And by round of applause I mean...

Oh screw the analogy. Tatas.

Jiu-Jitsu Middle Weight Champion Timothy Lopez writes in with the greatest Dog story of all time, from last weekend in Vegas:

----
Dear DB1,

Guess who I saw this weekend in Vegas??? And he was with this same girl. Anyways, let me give you a little back ground of what happened.

I look at your website daily for an inner giggle. So here is the story. I was in Vegas over the weekend for the UFC and after the fight we made it back to our hotel to hit the club. I was in the VIP line to go up to the club that is on the top of the Palms and I see none other than Dog with his girl in the other line!

He must have shaved two of the shoe string chin straps off his face because he only had one. I noticed a thick dude with a swirly tat on his arm. There is only one place that I have seen such a tat before, HCwDB. Aww YA.

I’m with my best friend who is the original person who told me of your site. I pointed the Dog out to him and he didn’t believe me. He popped out his I-Phone and we hunted him down in the archives and found this tender morsel of doucheness.

So there were five hot chicks behind us and wondered why we were giggling and laughing as we were pointing at the douche across from us. We proceeded to show the hot chicks the pictures of Dog... oh my God, one of the girls started crying because she was laughing so hard. Dog picked up on us laughing extremely loud at his expense.

That’s when it hit the fan.

Dog undid one of the ropes to the line that he was in and came over to have a ‘chat’. He asked, “What the F--- was so funny?”, and was about 3 inches from my face. At this point, things escalated quickly.

I’m 31 years old, 5’9” - 170, I’m also the last years Pan American Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Purple Belt Middle Weight Champion. I actually train fighters and spar with them. I’m not a hot head, I just a chill mellow guy and I’ve been doing Jiu-Jitsu as a hobby for the last 15 years... Dog had no idea what he was in for.

The girls behind us all got quiet, and all eyes were on this douche who is in my face. Dog is deceivingly a smaller douche in person, by the way.

I told him I recognized him from HCwDB and that if he didn’t get out of my face that he would have the option of getting choked out or having a limb being broken, it was his call. I pushed the Dog by his face and at this juncture I’m not going to say any names, but one of the fighters that I train who is a very, very recognizable face in the UFC and the MMA world... for the purpose of this story I’ll call him “Mr. Not-so-Nice”, got between us and told Dog that not to mess with me, because would turn his world up side down. Security came but no one got kicked out of line. After the shove and the talk with “Mr. Not-so-Nice”, Dog tucked tail, turned around and walked back to his girl. As he was walking back to his place in line, “Mr. Not-so-Nice” pointed and yelled out that Dog is on HCwDB.com. “Mr. Not-so-Nice" also said that anyone could go to HCwDB’s and check in the May Archive and find him and if you go to the comments you can find him doing a gay stunt double photo shoot.

People were laughing and a lot of people pulled out their phones and I-Phones to check.

Dog got out of line and walked away with his girl, the hotts behind us in line bought us drinks and Mr. Not-so-Nice couldn’t get over the fact that he we saw Dog from HCwDB.com. True story.

Keep fighting the good fight DB1. I love your site!

- Timothy Lopez
----

Speechless.

EDIT: Here's Dog's "modeling" photos in question. Warning: Not Safe for Humanity, Modernity or Flamable Liquids.

Because nothing quite says "punk" like 80s Adidas gym shorts.

Soviet Douche writes in:

----
with all this crap about nick hogan, I'm just thinking, can you please expound on the differences between the douche, and the even lesser life form, the tool who strives to be a douche?

How many ed hardy shirts/spraypaint hats must this individual acquire before he is accepted into the scrotal circle jerk?

Za Zdarovie,
Soviet Douche
----

This is a complex question, S.D., because so much of scrotological revelation comes from within. The putz who acquires the douchetributes (bling, tags, tribal tatts, hair spike, etc.) is simply manifesting what was already there to begin with.

Take the Mandankle, pictured here. Or, as some call it, the Mankledana. Innovative douchal maneuver? Absolutely. Part of a larger gesture towards scrotology? Without a doubt.

As such, the Mankledana reveals inner douchosity that was already there (along with tribal tatt, etc.)

Put simply, even the emerging 'bagling, taking his first tentative steps towards roughly grabbing and headlocking any nearby girls to prove his societal worth, is either douche or is not douche.

There is no liminality. There are only shades of scrotal decay.

But with the blast shield glasses, how am I supposed to see down the blonde's dress?

I know you're sick of this tool in action. Enough already with the Bra, you're thinking.

But was there any chance I wasn't going to run this pic?

Or the one of Bra!!, moments later, pointing to his guns?

Or the one of Bra!! graduating from Law School?

Or the one of Bra!! celebrating by macking on a hott at a club?

Of course not.

Sick of Bra!!?

Perhaps you are. And to that, I say buck up, 'bag hunter!! No one said this job would be easy. But to liberate the hotts and stop the scrotes, we must see it through.

And I see you, tiny Brunette. I would rub your kneecaps with castor oil, then read you Goodnight Moon.

EDIT: And one more piece of karmic bra, snapped by reader Scrotebob Douchepants this morning on his way to work.

I can't tell if the Fungus has really taken root on this guy or not.

He's more like Herb. The guy who works the 12am-8am shift scrolling through WNBA tapes in a small windowless closet in the basement of ESPN.

Then one day Herb tires of watching all the on-air personalities scoring that high priced Manhattan leggy stuff, get drunk on six wine coolers, hits the tanning bed, ends up lost somewhere in Stanford at 2am, and convinces a Yale pre-med to pose with him before she runs off to giggle about it with her friends.

Party it up, Herb. That's what weekends are for.

Yup, Twiggy McGee and Bouncy Pinkhott are the same couple from last Friday's Rare-Ass Yellow Cup.

They've upgraded to stylin' J.C. Penny action for a big night on the town.

And I'd almost be inclined to give Twiggy a nottadouche pass, even in spite of the frosted flake hair, but then he had to go all chest-shave.

Shaving and displaying the chest in a nightclub is like punching Buddha in the balls.

She has delightful satin curves, and I would address her parents as "Mr. and Mrs. Pinkhott" before jumping her in the car after the Bon Jovi tribute concert ended. Because I'm classy that way.

Jenna liked it when Steve shaved his chest hair into the face of a poodle.

It's a mamtastic Weekly, with firm baby feeding gazangas of pure Poland Spring sparkling skinwater, matched up with three of the greasiest choadbuckets this side of a KFC waste relay station.

This really is a tough contest. I can't figure out which'll win. And so I'll shut my yapping preamble and turn it over to our finalists:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Bagwatch Nights

Beach scenes are harder to rank on the scrotal douche factor because, unlike clubs, dorms and restaurants, beach choads have a legitimate excuse to be shirtless.

But, in this case, the grease/tan factor goes up to 11. And so we find uberdouche.

He is a Jersey toxic waste dump personified.

Smug pout. Perfectly coiffed hair. Fake tan on a real beach.

And the flipside -- boobs.

Succulent throw pillows whose gravity defying succulence provide hope for all those homeless thespians who flunked out of Juilliard.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Smearkat

What boobs this pic are the boobuousness of the dialectic between boobs, gender construction and boobs.

Cultural theorist Judith Butler often remarks on how the beboobsing of societal hiearchical boobuousness is boobsy beboobs.

It is important to boobs the larger cultural iterations, while beboobsing the boobs with a pancake and a large whisk.

Note her beboobsed boobsings, and also her boobuous boobosity.

Boobs.

Boobs.

Boobs.

Boobs.

Boobs.

And a huge douche.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Kelly Hott and The Paw

Kelly Hott is all that is All-American cheerleader Brundlefly spliced with all that is naughty stripper hott.

She is the two Marys, Virgin and Slutt. Ginger and Mary-Anne. All in one perfect, soft Downey Fresh cottony pillowy dreamscape of ginger bread cookies and velveteen fog.

He requires a massive ass kicking by a coked up Mr. T.

God damn, this is a power-packed Weekly.

All three of these pics pack that roundhouse kick to the synapses that make a great HCwDB combo.

Which combo of sexy and douchey wrong most makes you want to pour sulfuric acid into your eyes to stop the pain of cultural Fail?

That, my friends, is up to you. Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

What is with the Yankee Cap correlation to extreme scrotedouchery?

Did Reggie Jackson set off a chain reaction of events at Plato's Retreat in 1979 that took twenty years to manifest as a global cultural douchenomenon?

Or was it the residual grease left behind by a Jason Giambi / Roger Clemens 'roid pool party in the late 1990s that launched the "House of a Thousand Douchey Yankee Caps"?

It's like this mysterious puzzle that I can't unscramble. Why, the Yankees? Is it an arbitrary reappropriation of icon? Could it have been any insignia the 'bags could have chosen to announce their ballsack fungery to the world? Say, the Brewers? Or an Ankh? Or a Sumerian sun god?

And if not, then why Yankees?

So is it bad that I can't even see her face but I want to lick her cell phone like a confused marsupial?

Since it's Memorial Day, your commentator on all things spectacle/cleavite, The DB1 is taking it easy. The Weekly will be tomorrow.

In the meantime, lets revisit and weigh in on 80s action star and all around shaven chest prototype, Jean-Claude Van Damme. Check him out getting his groove on here. Okay. Pretty freaking ridiculous.

But Bloodsport kicks serious ass. So he gets at least a semi nottadouche pass.

But still, to be sporting the Don Johnson Miami Vice duds in 2008? Sorry Van Damme Judi Dench, but you're getting a scrote-stamp across the forehead like a jump-kick with badly pronounced vocal inflection.

Your wife looks pretty MILFy, though. Or GMILFy as the case may be.

I know it's Memorial Day Weekend and I should post something profound and nuanced on the tragedy so many have suffered in wars past and present, on how we must always remember those who've fallen to defend us, and those who still serve.

And all of that is true.

But this is Hot Chicks with Douchebags.

So I'll do what little I can do. Which involves posting a wholesome southern peach getting molested by a white trash uberdouche in some creepy-ass trailer park. All while Ubiquitous Red Cup watches warily.

It's not much.

But I like to think I make a difference.

I know it's Memorial Day Weekend, and I shouldn't toss some fauxhawking Fish Slap at you. Especially not when he's flexing with a lithe popsicle blond who doesn't seem to mind being fondled by a pile of, how you say, douche.

But I had to.

For Fish Slap says Bra and Tighty Armani aren't douchey enough to carry his hair gel. And when a legend steps in to reassert his scrotal dominance in the poo chain, who am I to stand in the way?

Looking at this atrocity of a disaster of a scrotacalypse, I'm inclined to agree.

Originally appearing on the site last October, our little four collar pop with Cherokee Indian Princess quickly made the viral rounds.

Who knew The QuatroPop would become legend? Unlike the Prompas, this is one I didn't target for making the leap.

But god damn, if that ain't a dude with a lot of popped collars then the rash on my sack doesn't itch like the bejeebus.

Stupid rash. That's the last time I run naked through Dallas.

It's true that your humble guide through our dark cultural nightmare, The DB1, was a little loopy yesterday.

Maybe it was my newest discovery -- Malomars and Mr. Pibb. So tasty. So sugary. So chemical.

Or maybe it was having a picture like this emailed to me that pushed me over the edge (warning, no HC in that pic).

Last night, your humble narrator wooed the hotts away from the multipiercing red cup drinking uberdouche that patrol this fetid swampland like arthritic tse-tse flies. I did my best. Because that's what I'm here to do.

And every time a boobie hott is saved, our culture shifts ever so slight back towards the sunlight of golden glow.

So it's Saturday, and it's a three day weekend.

The bluebirds are singing and the DJs deserve a kick in the nads. Because seriously, assfaces, you play records. That's all you do. You're an ambulatory iPod. You're a shuffle play that can walk. With stupid sunglasses.

So I was buying my usual lunch today in Larchmont; deer, avacado and fluff sandwich with a large tapioca boba. When suddenly I looked up at the sky and, in a moment of alcoholic clarity, it struck me.

The boobie hottie suckle thigh congregates with douche because of spectacle monkey dance.

So I turned to an old lady walking her dachshund by me on the sidewalk.

"Excuse me," I said.

She stopped and turned. "Yes?"

"The boobie hottie suckle thigh congregates with douche because of spectacle monkey dance."

A long moment passed before she spoke.

"Excuse me. I have to go now." It was all she said.

She walked away. But I knew right then that I'd saved another old lady walking her dachshund from eternal damnation.

Yes, I've said this before. And I'll say it again. Because the doucheface is poo. And the hotts need saving. Those are my words of wisdom on this Friday's eve.

Take them and bear them into the real world, my friends, fellow 'bag hunters and compatriots. And they will lead you to truth.

We have seen the Ubiquity of the Ubiquitous Red Cup (URC) make many appearances on the site.

But pictured here we have the extremely hard to find Rare-Ass Yellow Cup (RAYC).

Long thought extinct, the Rare-Ass Yellow Cup was recently snapped infiltrating a boat party in Montauk, Long Island. When asked to comment, Rare-Ass Yellow Cup had the following to say: Just giving URC a break from all this scrote.

It was then quieted when shaved head douche poured in a shot of Jager and yelled, "Woo."

There's a back-story here involving Cypress cargo transport, Slovakian thugs, digital codes and a hairdresser named Ramone.

Maybe it's the hole in the wall of their basement torture chamber. Or maybe that John Deere tractor reconfigured to inflate boobies.

But something tells me this story begins and ends with a whole lot of wrong.

I just feel unclean.

If there's one cartoon I loved as a kid, it was Banana Boobie Eater.

Banana Boobie Eater totally blew away Robotech. Especially when the anime bananas went all crazy, kicked the crap out of some douche in a pink GSus shirt, and suckled on Danish Hott's neck like a ninety year old Floridian sipping her prune juice.

Unless I'm getting my present moment and nostalgic childhood memories entangled up again.

I blame the teevee.

Three Cheers for Scroteface,
Pom Poms shake like firm grapefruits,
Buck Rogers Belt sucks.

Silver-clad pigtails
Defeating doucheosity?
Sadly, not this time

- sinfonian

Scroteface! Scroteface! He's
Our Man! If he can't do it,
Someother douchebag can!

-- ronald mcdouchenald

Think they're related
Certain they haven’t dated
Want boobs inflated.

- vacuum cleaner bagg


no alibi here
car show hotts cheer on
ford festiva fan

-- let it bleeth

I love two blond hots
But Douchbag in the middle.
I DO NOT, DO NOT.

~BJL

Fire shirt on douchebag
What could save the shiny hotts?
My hope is real flames

- frozen orange douche

At first, Zippy's deceptively undouchey. Just your average Bennington student after a long round of herb enhanced Ultimate Frisbee.

Then you notice them. The unmistakable signs of douche. Hidden star tatts that summon the ethos of Fish Slap and Bra. Goofy ass hair bandana. Stupid wristband + watch combo.

Total douche? Not at all. But definitely stage 2.

I would slay Corsicans at the Battle of Ponte Novu while beat boxing in Gaelic just for the chance to tongue scrub Princess Hott's linens after a sweaty and sleepless night. Hotts like that start wars.

Now batting for the Yankees... the scrotestop... Hugh J. Douche...

Beware ladies. Rumor has it Athlete's Foot can spread to other areas.

Celebudouche is always hard to quantify.

Does being famous inform scrotal facepuddery? Or is the need to shave patterns in the chin pubes and dress like a name brand refugee merely the mark of narcissistic ambition writ literal?

Pictured here we have noted scrotal prestidigitator, Criss Angel. We've previously seen Angel douching it up on the site here and here.

If John Mayer is conceptual douche, Criss Angel is the physical manifest. The Ghost of Douchemas future.

Mayerbag and Angelbag thus operate by what I like to term the Mangelbag Principle: the polarities at either end of the celebuscrotal spectrum that work in concert to spray putridude across our pop-culture wasteland.

Mayerbag embodies douchebag attitude as "sensitive irony" and without physical mark (until he added the sleeve tatts). Criss Angel is the inverse. Douche Manifest. Assbaggery gone supernova.

Between Mayerbag and Angelbag, we find the entire spectrum of celebutard paradigm. Scrotal performance in service of macking on Hollywood's Five Easy Pieces (Simpson, Hilton, Spears, Lohan, Kardouchian).

And within their rainbow skittles of performative designer brand fakery, lies the entire paradigm that influences the mass replication of viral rankpooery.

Which is a roundabout way of saying he sucks.

h/t Go Fug Yourself

As experienced douche-hunters know, Inverted 'Bag Sandwich formation (IBS) is one of the more painful of the hott/douche cohabitations.

IBS, when two sexy boobie hotties sandwich a douche filling, is the inverse of Standard 'Bag Sandwich formation (SBS), in which the hott is crushed between two slabs of scrote.

IBS formation has been known to cause Daoist Monks to set cute puppy wuppies on fire, and Hindi legend suggests that after viewing a particularly noxious IBS formation in Poona, India, Mahatma Gandhi forsook his vow of nonviolence, turned, and kicked a small orphan child in the nads.

No idea on if the Gandhi rumor is true or not. But would you be surprised?

Last month's HCwDB of the Month winner, Tighty Armani, sez Bra is a punk.

He even brought his sidekick, "That Guy in the Jersey," to this epic Scrote-Off.

Step aside ladies. It's going down.

The once was a douche with a plight,
He showed a girl where he'd gotten a dog bite,
She rubbed it with glee,
For very drunk was she,
And didn't know it was just a herp blight.

As if there could be any doubt.

Burnsy hits the nail on the head: Bra. Never has a 'Bag done so much with so little and said so much by saying nothing.

I think that's what captures the scrotal spirit of Bra's ridiculousness.

Bra!! is everybag, yet ubersquat. It is generic, yet highly specific. It is standard Floridian beach douche, yet it is also the end of the world as we know it, and I feel like a Pepsi.

Red Cup Diaries explains:

While the other contestants ooze scrote juice so much they want to make me punch a baby. But while they are adorned in the gross regalia of douchebaggery it's all just an accesory to emphasize their scrotieness. Bra on the other hand doesn't wear his baggery like a costume. He wears it like a skin. His baggery is a living organism that is much a part of him as a kidney.

It was an overwhelming Bramination:

boatbutter: Broheim, it's gotta be Bra, bro!
Charles Bra!!nson: If I were alive I'd vote for Bra!!
Ol' Dirty Douchebag: He. Has. No. Trousers. Bra FTW.
Lord Douchemunguous: Just when I think there's no answer, I see that damn facial expression on the High King of Broheim, and I know it has to be... Bra! FTW.

However, as much as Bra!! dominated the voting, the others found support. 92bpms makes the case for The high stenchosity of the Canker Twins:

But I can't give it to Bra, as much as everything about him is the douche, I just can't. Not when the Canker Twins walk this earth. For they are douches far beyond our comprehension. Their hotts have been seduced by the douche side and yet we would still rest our chins upon their awesome boobage much like the two hotts are doing. The Twins sandwich their hotts and cast side-eyed glances.

To the Dogon of Mali this is the representation made flesh of their sacred stars, Sirius A and Sirius B (binary stars which we know of as the dog star). In this the Dogon foresee the return of the little blue douches that once lived in the dwellings high up on the cliffs of the Bandiagara escarpment. Soon the Niger river will be booming with the sound of trance, pontoon boats will be tied together and affliction t-shirts will be worn by all men. Meanwhile the Canker Twins will return to Pro Clips for a trim of their Vanilla Ice lines.

Well said, 92. And Kyle Scrote Jr. explains the Pipster's pure-douche rage:

Pippy FTW.

He walks with a elemental, boiled-down-to-its-bare- essence douchosity that just makes me want to walk on his face for 9 innings in Douchetin Pedroia's spikes.

And lets not forget the perfection of Sexy Sky Bunny. She is glorious.

massengill explains why the rage of Turd Flush should trump Bra!!'s fratdouchey ways:

I don't really dislike Bra all that much. Yes, he looks like a tool in many of his pictures. Yes, his sense of humor probably consists of quoting "Old School." But he just doesn't seem like that bad of a guy. Plus, I love his love of soda pop.

Turd Flush FTW. He is a real douche. A douche's douche. Accessorizing with the mandana and accessorizing his mandana with sunglasses: that is compound douchedom.

But Bra!! is legend, and we must all respek. As viva la revolucion puts it:

I have seldom seen anyone embrace unbridled scrotebaggery the way Bra does. While the other three contenders make valiant efforts to mask their lack of communal worth through the facade of meaninglessness, the mocking contempt with which Bra pulls off the quintessence of the douche belies a force heretofore unseen on this site. It would be a crime to vote against such a raging maelstrom of scroticity.

And Old 'Bag Eyes Frank Scrotnatra sums it up:

The smirk, the stars, the liter of cola.

Simply Bra.

Bra FTW.

A well earned double star tatt victory, and we'll see Bra!! in the yearly, broheim.

Who will win the Monthly? We will find out tomorrow, but here's a hint.

Can you bradict the winner?

There are many reasons to kill yourself after viewing this pic.

The chin pubes of unholy ragefire. The hair that can only be described as "scrotal dye."

But before you leap off that cliff to your death, certain in the knowledge that no humane and just deity would allow such silk-tie wearing atrocity to paw Kelly Hott, know this:

You're right.

Jump.

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DB1-

Montclair State University (MSU), in Montclair new jersey is situated comfortably at an extraordinary hot spot for hot chicks with douches.

lying at the nexus of montclair, totowa, wayne, and clifton, new jersey, it sits at a geographic point where many disparate social forces interplay to create a peak in both douchebaggery and hotness-of-chicks.

a wonderful mix of southern and eastern european ancestry endows the women with unsurpassed physiques, while leaving most of the men torn between the base cultural practices of the guido, and the desire to climb the ladder and dip into the wealth of the city.

and of course, these phenomena are all accented by the age-demographic of the campus's population.

- Amateur 'Bagologist
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But do they smell like poo?

Yes. They probably do.

When I was six years old, Jeremy punctured my balloon at the kindergarten fair. It deflated into a saggy, wrinkled piece of rubber. And I cried.

Alas, all these years later, my childhood trauma at the kindergarten fair, reflected in a deflated douche nipple. Very traumatic.

Put on a shirt, Balloon Douche. You're scarring our collective psyche all over again.

After accidentally butting his head and lower left chest area into Amy Winehouse's makeup jar, Carlos consoled himself by traveling to Finland.

Mary writes in with a facebook 'bag tag:

----
DB1-

This guy hit on me over the internet. He called me "Babez"...yes, with a "z". He is scrote.

- Mary
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We've seen that shirt before on this site, and each time, worn by an ubertool. Or at least, an ubertool from early 2004. Double fisting a Bud Light and a Coke. Classy.

But there are two other reasons I ran this picture. And they are blonderifically mamtastic.

Is this authentobaggery? Or simply ironic poseur fratfakery?

Either way, I'd like to pelt his upper face area with raisins dipped in cowpie.

Then I'd whisk her away to a monestary where we'd read Gnostic texts from the 3rd Century before suckling on each others middle toes while listening to Fishbone.

While you're mulling your vote in the Monthly, enjoy this selection of MySpace Poetry brought to you by the eloquent wordsmith, He Don't Need No Bitch In His Life:

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HERES THE DEALLL I NEVER LOSE I DONT GIVE A F@#K WHAT OTHER PEOPLE WIN IM ME AND YOU ARE YOU THATS DONE!

I DONT NEED NO BITCH IN MY LIFE MOST OF THE TIME THEY COME AND GO MORE LIKE THE BIRDS IN THE WINTER IS THERE ANY GOOD ONES OUT THERE DOUBT IT SO HOW AM I LABLED A PLAYER IM A DECENT LOOKING KID THAT LOVES TO CHAT AND HOLD CONVOS HOW ARE GIRLS NOT GOING TO WRITE ME ON MYSPACE AND SAY WHATS UPPP GET OVER IT ITS A MILLION DOLLAR SITE FOR PEOPLE TO COMMUNICATE IF YOU DONT LIKE MY PAGE OR ME GET OFFF YOUR NOT GETTING PAID TO MASTURBATE TO ME.

I WAS BORN ON APRIL 4TH SO YEA IM AN ARIES COCKY STUBBORN AND VERY CARING OOPS ALSO AWESOME IN BED WHAT CAN I SAY I HONESTLY DONT NEED ANYONE IN THIS WORLD I DID EVERYTHING ON MY OWN LIVED ON MY OWN PAID FOR EVRYTHING ON MY OWN SO DONT THINK IM THIS SPOILED KID WHAT I LIKE TO DO HMMMM WATCH MOVIES...BOX...SEX...MAKE MONEY.... DRINK...HIKE... MUSIC..DID I SAY MONEY...I LOVE FOOTBALL DALLAS COWBOYS BABYYY!!!

BY THE WAY IM A ROCKSTAR WANNA SEE IF YOU CAN PARTY HARDER DOUBT IT 7 DAYS A WEEK BABY BUT IM CIVIL AND RESPONSIBLE SO DONT GET IT TWISTED ... IM A VERY RANDOM PERSON 2 I WILL MAKE PPL GO NUTS I LOVE PIZZA HAS TO BE WELLDONE I LOVE THE BEACH BUT SOMETIMES I LOVE THE SNOW!? I LOVE SHOPPING AND BUYING THE HOTTEST S@#T AROUND I DONT GIVE A F@#K WHO HAS THE BLOWOUT AND HOW MUCH ITS PLAYED OUT THEN WHY ARE YOU F@#KING ME THEN DUH WTFFF I NEVER FOLLOWED THE TREND IT WAS JUST SOMETHING THAT WENT GOOD WITH ME ANOTHER THING I LISTEN TO ALL KINDS OF MUSIC MMMM I HATE WHEN LIL FAGETS RUN THIER MOUTH WHEN YOU SEE THEM TURN THERE HEADS OR THINK ITS ALL GOOD SOON OR A LATER WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUNDDD
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It's like Pablo Neruda for the digital age.

Here it is, folks. The Monthly smackdown. The moment when the best/worst of the hott/douche square off in a winner-take-all greasefest. But while your humble narrator all things vulvic/horrific, The DB1 is recovering from his own weekend of hott saving and douche mocking, now is your chance to step in and render a verdict.

Which of these four couplings are toxic enough to be called HCwDB of the Month? Here's your finalists:

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #1: The Canker Twins

Having bested (worsted?) the surrealist dada photographic masterpiece that is Still Life with Coors Light, The Canker Twins are bringing their dual-douche power to the Monthly.

Sure the hotts are douchebaguettes.

But that tiny one still offers many qualities that I respect deeply on an intellectual and spiritual level.

You know you'd sell your second cousin to a kinky postal officer from Kentucky just for the chance to fondle her former accountant's office supplies. Even tatted up post-Rehab Amy Winehouse has a bit of boobuous talent.

But really, the Cankers are the draw. Dual shaved heads? Yeesh.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #2: Bra!!

Trivia Question: Where did Bra's great grandparents emigrate from?

Answer: Brohemia.

What's Bra's favorite song in "Rent"?

Answer: La Vie Broheme.

Now I know what you're thinking. Bra!! has become iconic in his short time on this site. Not only that, his dual star-tatts and variety of tasty cola beverages, as well as collection of spring break hotts, have already won him a spot in our hallowed Hall of Scrote.

But do not let these facts influence you.

Many in the HoS have gone on to lose a Monthly. Hall of Scroters earn entry for originality and innovation as much as for horrific greasing of the hotts. So is Bra!! a broheim enough to win the Monthly, brosky?

Broheim!! Another Pepsi!!

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #3: Turd Flush

Rarely do humanoid excrements walk among us, but when they do, they pollute the hotts as badly as Turd Flush has.

So we must mock their racoon eyes, sneery sneer and douchey everything.

The slutt hotts are all that is great about a sexually free society, and all that is wrong at the same time.

For that, I love them.

I pledge them my first born.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #4: Pippy

Who are we kidding?

Pippy has about as much chance of winning the Monthly as Blondie does of going back to school and finishing her Liberal Arts degree.

Not gunna happ'n.

I don't mean to influence the vote, because I actually think Pippy has that noxious "everybag" quality that patrols the clubs and stinks up the universe in the process.

But against Turd Flush, Bra!! and The Canker Twins, even with the uberhottness of Sultry Ski Bunny Perfection, he's got it tough.

She is delightful, though. I would most certainly snowboard over a pack of cute little kitteny kitten wittens in front of a class of horrified third graders just for the chance to get yelled at by her former teacher.

But don't let me sway the voting.

Which of these four is worthy of the Monthly? That, my friends, is up to you.

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.