In a world of turmoil and change, of environmental chaos and an economy in crisis, it's good to know that some things will always be there.

Grandma, sitting on the porch with a glass of lemonade.

Your dog, Rusty, wagging his tail, when you come home from a hard day of work.

And Criss Angel, leaving a trail of fungal doucheslime on all those within a three foot radius of his scrotal nest.

Since we're going with a bit of a pitstain theme today, and we haven't had a porcelain doll of springy spongecake frosting on a plate at a birthday party hott, I thought Fariq and Caroline would make a nice pairing.

And by nice, I mean douche-face nastiness contrasting with soft, lower back embraceable cuddle joy.

She is pie. He is poo.

Just Wantin' to Know writes in:

----
DB1,

there are so many different-scented versions of AXE spray on the market, which is the one worn by douchebags everywhere?

-Just Wantin' to Know
----

While there can and will be a larger discussion of ranking the different Axe Bodyspray products along the douchological spectrum, here's a pic snapped by reader Coco after she inadvertently discovered she was dating a douche by opening his bathroom cabinet.

Yes, Bod Man is the name of the product. And the scent is called "Really Ripped Abs."

I wish I was making this up.

After a lazy day spent wandering shirtless through Mexican bodegas, Aisle Five gets his stylin' nightclub groovin' on with Marion's amulet from Raiders.

Little did Cheri know that while Anton loved him, himself and him, his sweat stain loved ice-cream.

Detlef writes in from Belgium:

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Hail douchebag 1,

me and a couple of my friends admire your site greatly, it has helped us a lot in spotting douchebags in our own country.

This is a perfect example of a Belgian douchebag, 10 years ago he scored a couple of hits and now he is trying to get back on top of things after, and I quote "years of sex, drugs and alcohol in affluence in Ibiza".

If this quote alone does not convince you of his douchebaggery, just check out the pics.

Greetings!
- Detlef
----

Ah yes, the classic Eurodouche. The Nordic Scrote. The Aryanbag.

I haven't seen a chin that square since Udo Kier in Andy Warhol's Blood for Dracula.

Once is an event. Twice could be a coincedence. But this many times?

We're in full blown trend.

I speak not of the dumbass douche-friend encroaching on the pic whilea scrote is in mid pose, but of the Middle Finger 'Bag Hand Gesture.

For Teddy Troll Doll, the Ed Hardy Double Shirt, the bling and the spikey blowout only compliment his rosy red cherubic cheeks that have the scrotey glow of the lightly slapped.

But it is Teddy's ability to mug Michelle without even a glance down at the Holy Cleavite that takes him to the next level of douche-pose.

Michelle's complimentary 'Baguette Hand Gesture is tragic, but understandable. That much exposure to stage-4 Toxicity, and even the strongest hott will succumb to douchescrotery.

Someone spilled some Bodyspray.

It was a moderate week for hottie/douchey toxicity last week. Between the Fung Debates and Fish Slap's Nipple showing up to haunt our collective zeitgeist, our selection of new pics was lessened. But three solid hottie/douchey finalists have emerged, and here they is:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Douche Zak

There's a sneaky fungal quality to Zak's scrotewankery. His disarming smile and wee man status may throw you off at first.

But note the blingin' earring and necklace. The sideburn giving way to a second, chinstrap facial hair configuration drawn thinner than a storyline in an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical.

And let us not forget Dutch Windmill's Klogs of Copenehagen perfection.

I would discuss the Uncertainty Principle with Heisenberg and Bohr while we watched the canal boats drift languidly by the Scheepswerf Bierenbroodspot.

And then I would hump Camilla's kneecaps like a cracked up anteater after rainy season.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: He Rides the Short Boat

The Short Boat may be your standard issue G.R.E test taking DeVry class of 2011 engineering major.

But to pull four uberhotts while making standard Boatbag Tongue Gesture #12 deserve finalist status.

True, Short Bus doesn't inspire rage the way many other douchewanks do.

But there's enough to annoy. At least mildly.

Still, the hotts may have to carry Short Bus to victory, as the vague "I'd like to push him overboard" urge is only moderate. Stage 2.

Maybe, stage 3 now that I look at it a bit longer.

Because those Bramble Tatts are douchetatt wrong like a smack to the butt of a Nun named Catherine.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: The Sad Clown

There's a certain genius toxicity to this hottie/douchey combination that defies explanation.

What forces brought an eyeliner wearing member of Ringling Bros. Barnum and Douchey Circus into the willing embrace of a pearly white Southern Peach of Banana Milkshake Ice Cream Holy Boobie Pie Daughter of a Southern Pentacostal and Hates Her Father Hottie?

I do not know. But the Sad Clown knows.

And wonders if his starring performance in Jerry Lewis's The Day The Clown Cried will ever get released on DVD.

Probably not, Sad Clown. I hear it was pretty offensive.

(Dis)honorable mention to Pooper McGee,Don, and Carlos Finds Love, all of whom just missed the Finals.

But them's your three. Three enter, but only one may crown itself "HCwDB of the Week" and earn the final slot in next week's Monthly.

Which'll it be? That's up to you.

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

On this lazy Sunday, let us pay testament to one of the abstract categories we find on the douchological spectrum.

I speak, of course, of the Hoverbag.

As detailed in my book, The Hoverbag is an otherwise innocent shmoe who achieves douche status simply for ruining the frame.

Unlike most categories of hottie/douchey commingling, Hoverbags often would achieve a nottadouche pass if they were simply on their own.

Hoverbags are frequently met with off-screen cries of "Get out of the frame, douche!" and "Move, dumbass!"

I dub this Hoverbag, Sam.

It is a sad, sad moment for those who claim cultural progression when we collectively realize that a barely literate boatdouche with bramble tatts is sitting on a boat with four of the most sparkling examples of crystalline femininity this side of a naughty librarian convention.

These four bouncing beauties of boobie hottie suckle thigh are so hot, they reject death as a trope. They inspire angels to rend fabric and cry out in tongues. Their butts do not poo, they produce buttery cocoa cremes gift-wrapped in glittery sparkle paper.

Hail, hail East Germany / Land of fruit and grape / Land where you'll regret / If you try to escape / No matter if you tunnel under or take a running jump at the wall / Forget it, the guards will kill you, if the electrified fence doesn't first.

BREAKING: Natalie Portman no longer Dating a Yeti.

Ah, Natalie. My tiny bottled brand name water of hott. My little jello shot of perfectly formed Librarian Glasses Wearing Brunette. I would put thee over my knee and softly paddle thy upper thigh area with my collection of vintage Hot Wheels cars until you asked me why I was using words like "thee" and "thy."

And I'd stop, and apologize, and get you a Mr. Pibb from the kitchen.

Come to me, Natalie. I will regale you with made-up stories about my adventures on the high seas battling pirates and whales, and then we'd make out while watching Mad Men.

Speaking of Semitic Hotts, Sarah Silverman may be quirky and odd, but she still Gefiltes My Fish. Now that she's dumped Jimmy Kimmel's ginormous melonhead, I'll add her to the list of those who will find their inner thighs softly paddled by vintage Hot Wheels cars.

Congrats to our newest enshrinement in the hallowed Hall of Scrote Fung, listed below his earlier formulation as a Prompa. And congrats to HCwDB of the Week winner, I Say, Old Chap, who will fill in admirably in the Monthly.

As of this morning, the Hot Chicks with Douchebags book was #10 on Amazon's "Literary Theory" bestseller list, directly between Walter Benjamin's "Reflections" and a book on philosopher Giordano Bruno. My life is complete.

And lets not forget The Slim Trim Razor, for that perfectly coiffed douche-face.

Los Angeles smells like burnt umber. But it's sunny. And everyone's happy. So who am I to complain.

When last we studied The Ass and I, we considered Feynman's theory that all of matter consists of a single electron, traveling backwards and forwards through time to form everything. Which would mean therefore that we are not simply staring at an ass. That ass is us.

For this pic, let us turn to Guy Debord and his discussion of the spectacle in the age of post-modernity:

In societies where modern conditions of production prevail, all of life presents itself as an immense accumulation of spectacles. Everything that was directly lived has moved away into a representation.

From Debord's perspective, that ass is both ass and representation of ass. It is ass as spectacle and ass as signification of previous ass spectacle, ass infinitum.

Richie's going for the exotic/classy thing, taking Kimmy and Kelly to the new Indian restaurant that opened downtown. I get that.

But chest shave + talisman necklace + six opened buttons? And a crescendo hair fauxhawk?

Sorry Rich, we have to tag you 'bag. Stage-2 Suburbanbag.

I would bribe a small Bedouin boy with rice and mead to steal Susan's cocktail glass while she's in the bathroom just so I could rush home and awkwardly fondle it while listening to old Fats Waller records.

Rubber raft floats... floats...
On reservoir. Kimmy tans.
Herp sore in shadow.

must be a theme park.
AVAST! retarded pirates
make off with your girl.

-- pfah

washed up beach-bag
rafts in city sewage stream
hottie walks the plank

-- canadouche

avast fine beauty!
why dost thou ride with a douche?
arr! it reeks of poo

-- bcs

"Ahoy, Me hearties"!
"I be the douche Cap'n Bob"
I pray for Kraken.

-- doucheous scrotimus

He sure looks the tough.
But pink (re-read PINK) striped shorts!
View is bad from here.

-- Holbrooks Douchestershire Sauce

One of last year's HCwDB Wonder Twin Duo, The Greaseheads, likes to get his shirtless Hebraic Douchin' on, Doggie Style.

The Hebrew Tatt translates roughly:

And Adonai said, Lo! / The Greasehead is a douche! / And I am the Lord your G-D, and you shall mock him in pixelated form. / Especially for his douchey white belt.

I haven't seen a beard that thick since the Cruise-Holmes wedding. It's like 400 caterpillers got trapped inside the Large Hadron Collider. It's like the residue left in the sink after Robin Williams fell into a vat of Nair. It's like a Merkin left over from 1892 after Hurricane Ike tossed it through a bramble.

Oh lovely Amanda. I would compose sonnets entirely in Pig Latin them sing them to you with only a lute and mouth harp to accompany me during the twelve-tone bridge section. I would hire the Kronos Quartet to finish the Trio in B Minor, and then we would repose to the boudoir, where we'd sip Champale out of plastic cups, with only the light of a flickering Bugs Bunny Nightlight to keep us illuminated. I would then awkwardly fondle your knee while you sighed and checked your watch.

Numerous readers have written in claiming that last week's HCwDB of the Week winner, Fung, appears to be one of the infamous High School Oompa Prompas, all grown up, sporting facial fung, and having ripened from orange to purple.

First, let us relive the offensive orange-face High School travesty of the Prompas, as they wait for Prom, Pose at the Prom, and ditch their dates to party at the After-Prom Party.

The Prompas echo the offensive minstrel shows of Vaudeville filtered through the lens of Jersey-Douche manscaping.

But is Fung one and the same as Prompa #1?

Even more convincing is this later Prompa shot.

This would make sense, as only the Orange Face clownishness of a Prompa could make such an impact on the HCwDB community without the requisite Hottie to balance the HCwDB equation and force us to contemplate dialectic.

But if Fung is a Prompa, this would also impact both the Monthly and the 2008 Douchies.

Can a Prompa, already enshrined in our hallowed Hall of Scrote be allowed to compete again in the Monthly, and the 2008 Douchies? Or should we hand the Weekly to the runner-up, I Say, Old Chap?

What say you?

newbie asks:

---
someone sent me a link to your site and i'm reading through and i get the general concept. But when it comes to your name tags, like Fish Slap, Gauntlet, etc. i'm not sure if i should understand what goes on or if i need to read through your entire years worth of archives.

i guess i'm saying is this, is it like femullet or something of that nature where you can understand what the name tag means? or would a glossary be a good idea to new people?
----

While most names should be somewhat self-evident (Fish Slap because he needs to be slapped by a giant dead fish, etc.), there is indeed a glossary of terms you can find at the back of my book, on sale at Amazon.

Don't think of it as spending $12.21, needing only an additional $12.79 for your order to qualify for FREE Super Saver Shipping.

Think of it as gaining the wisdom of a lifetime of douchological mock and hottie lust within a larger philosophical dialectic.

Or you can just read along for a few days and pick up the terms as you go. So long as you understand that douches are to be mocked and hotts lusted after, the rest falls into place fairly quickly.

I do not judge Don for the ginormous mellon head, nor the silk yellow boxers, nor even the mugging of two delightfully curvy nutrasweet pixie sticks of melted twizzler sunshine enchantment.

I judge Don for the four scrotey-ass necklaces.

I can accept one necklace. I can accept two. I can even accept the reprocessing of ordinary objects as jewelry, as with the Sid Vicious lock.

But four? Is, how you say, douchey.

And that little patch of chin fur needs to be shaved with a dull pottery fragment recovered from the Albila of the Decapolus archeological dig of 1983.

Because the Byzentine Empire made some rad pottery.

Life's been rough since losing the belt in the Light Doucherweight division, eh, Vitaly?

Blondie is a little too Dress-Up/Alien for my tastes, but underneath all that swag, there's a sweet innocent coed that just wants me to lightly spank her toesie wowsies with a Hawaiian Mai-Tai umbrella after dusting them with confectioner's sugar.

Somewhere in this lineup of thirteen tasty California fountain-drink hotts, I've carefully hidden a Waldouche or two.

Extra degree of difficulty: In tribute to John Lennon's I am the Waldouche, this pic presents troubling notions of subjectivity and spectatorship in the digital simulacrum.

Who is the Waldouche? Is it I? Is it he? Is it we? Have we indicted ourselves? Or ourselves as "Other"?

Look closely.

Can you find him/us/them/we?

I think it's sweet of these two girls to attempt to remove Albert's swollen appendix with their tongues.

And by sweet, I mean douchey.

The Slap laughs at the newbie attempts of Fung to take his crown.

The Slap muscles up. And shaves a streak in his hair. And mugs three Milfs at a party.

Better keep on your toes, Slap. There's new competition in town.

In spite of a healthy debate over proximity of hott within the hottie/douchey dialectic, it was an utter landslide.

The sheer overpowering stench of Fung carried a distant and ambiguous hott side to a slam dunk win and an early favorite for the next Monthly vote.

HRH King Friday XIII: FUNG. How can you not? He's approaching the theoretical limits of douchebaggery.

Anonymous: Neither of the two can even touch Fung, he is the true T-1000 of douchebags. If anyone uses Fungs name in vain they will spontaneously combust.

Baby got 'Bag: This isn't even a contest. Fung wins hands down. That blonde in the background is just trying to even up the competition by looking normal and not particularly sexy, but she's a healthy girl next-door type with a nice...well, I can't really see much, but you get my point.

Willy: I vote F.U.N.G. F@#king Ugly Newjersey Guido. If a picture says a thousand words, the first 999 words for Fung are pejorative adjectives and the last word is douchebag.

Fish Slap: I looked at satan and I looked at Fung. They are one in the same. His eyes have burned my retinas. His fungi has made my skin melt. His orange glow has made me write bad checks. It is because of Fung that my credit is bad. God, please kill this man now. He is what is wrong with our country.

Desertdouche: Oy vey! This was a tough one. Even though Fung doesn't have a hott in the foreground, I am giving him the win. Mencken and Old Chap I just want to laugh at. But Fung I want to inflict serious pain upon.

anonydouche: fung - so douchey he won't even allow himself to be pictured with someone else

KierNotKier: I must vote for Fung. For Fung is all that is douchebag. If one was to lookup Douchebag on Google, Wikipedia or an old fashioned Encyclopedia Britannica you would discover two photos. One of an actual Masengill container and one of Fung. He is Dante's 9th Circle of Doucheitude. He evokes douche in all the standard ways: Gotti Hair, trimmed eyebrows, tight Armani Exchange style shirt, bling, chinstrap beard, huge diamond earrings, posturing for the camera and last but not least a shade of orange that the people at Crayola have now upgraded their 64 crayon set to 65 by adding their latest color - Fung. .

Syradouche Orangeman: No question this week. Fung FTW! He fills me with rage, but it is a rage I have to hide as I believe him to actually be an android douche from a future that we will fail to prevent, despite the holy work of this website. Perhaps he has come back to our time to make sure the evil plan of the Master Douche goes through.

Well argued, people. But a significant and vocal minority voted for the balanced Hottie/Douchey toxicity of I Say, Old Chap. Billy Pilgrim makes the case:

Old Chap. I dock points from Fung because the hott is hidden behind him (is she really hott?), and is in fact so far from him that you could reasonably argue that they're not together. And if the hot chick is not with the douchebag, the pic doesn't cry out for Justice.

Old Chap, on the other hand, isn't worthy to feel the breeze of librarian hott as she drives past in her sensible four-door.

I agree, B.P. That librarian hott was delectable and those sideburns were rot. Anonymous agrees, citing the mission statement of the site for avoiding Fung:

old chap...this is 'hot chicks with douchebags'. if it was just 'douchebags', there would be an army of fungs in the weekly every single time.

Well, there are bends for certain uberdouche (like the Prompas and DJ Bello). So while points should be deducted for not invoking rage through hott mugging, Fung was still able to create douchitude by himself, while maintaining just enough cute young female to qualify. It's like 16 pieces of flair. It's the bare minimum. But it qualifies.

And Cameron notes the sadly neglected uberdouche move of Mencken:

Mencken for the win. Mainly because I'm impressed. Did he pick up the bottom of his shirt with his mouth? Did one of his 'bagettes hand it to him to put in his mouth? Quite the quandry.

In a normal week, Mencken would dominate. But this is a Fungal landslide. The Everpresent Anonymous sums it up:

FUNG. He looks like how my mouth feels when I forget to brush my teeth in the morning.

Indeed he does.

Book Fung and his backseat ambiguous cutie a ticket in the Monthly.

You almost earned a nottadouche wee man, but then you had to go and get all giant Jesus Bling with Earring Combo on me.

Blonde is statuesque Dutch Windmill perfection. She makes butter while raising nine children and dancing in klogs around a Maypole. I would Rotter her dams, and then Amster her Fluffenwagen, while Van Gogh and Rembrandt kicked back with a Heineken.

Who weeps for the sad clown?

After the cotton candy is spun. After the Big Top has been packed up and sent off to the next location.

Who weeps for the sad clown?

Who mugs a Blonde Bottleneck Hott with soft, fluffy Cleavite and Listerine Whitened teeth.

Who weeps for the sad clown?

Not I, said the cat. Not I.

But I would kick him in the nads.

I need an expert on urban gang signs to translate this for me.

Judging by the hand gestures, is this aspiring gang member in the presence of a lovely and extremely healthy hott:

A) A Crip
B) A Blood
C) A Latin King
D) A Future Sizzler's Washroom Attendant

----
DB1, I have a serious problem.

I work at the airport as one of those shmucks that load luggage onto the planes. Yesterday while loading a plane (bound for Newark, no less) as I was stacking one of the bags, there was a faint pop and then the distinct scent of some sort of Axe-type body spray or deodorant. I don't know if you've ever had the pleasure of being in the cargo bin of a DC-9, but there's not a whole lot of space. I was essentially trapped in this douche fog for a good 20 minutes.

Now here is the problem. When I got out of the bin, I noticed my hat was tilted a bit sideways.

No big deal, I thought, it just got pushed around while I was stacking that luggage. But to make matters worse, somehow the top 2 buttons of uniform shirt came undone as well. Then on the drive home, I noticed there was a Kid Rock song on the radio and I didn't automatically change it like I normally do. I'm freaking out a bit.

I mean what's next, do I wake up with my hair inexplicably gelled and my skin orange? Or do you think this will clear up on its own as long as I don't expose myself to anymore masculine deodorant spray?

Help me DB1, you're my only hope.
- Douche Springsteen
----

Yikes, a Stage-2 Grieco Virus Infection, clearly contacted by close proximity to Vinny's luggage.

Shower at once, D.S. Then put on some classical music and relax. Then get me a set of thirty weight ball bearings, some three-in-one oil and some gauze pads. And I'm gonna need ten quarts of anti-freeze, preferably, Prestone. No, make that Quaker State.

There may not be much to do in rural Nevada, off the interstate and six miles up from the I-Hop on the outskirts of Reno, but that didn't stop Tony, Carol and Mike from meddling in an old Indian burial ground.

Nobody is more popular with people at a party than Pooper. Pooper's people love to pop poppers while playing with palindromes. Like Pippip. And Poopoop.

Yup, I'm jittery and not making sense again.

I blame the Trader Joes Blood Orange Soda. It's just so sweet and tangy.

Like Patsy Kensit Hott's large, yet succulent, racks of lamb leg.

When not partying up in his Logan's Run Ice Palace, Denny takes time out to read philosophy and contemplate the mysteries of the human existence within a Hegelian framework.

After Sublime broke up in 1996, Carlos found love, in his own unique way. So who are you to judge his shiny belt and matching thigh tatts?

Maria Conchita Aboobso on the right causes small marsupials to collapse into paralytic shock and then tremble weakly crying for the marsupial mother they never had.

Stupid small marsupials. That's what you get for being so small and furry.

You ever play butt bongos with a rusty Pringles can and a spork? Yeah. Me neither. Here's your finalists:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: I Say, Old Chap

Oi there, guvnah! Yer yarbles got their own bloody coat of arms on 'em, eh?

Okay, I can't talk in Cockney Britspeak anymore.

She is delightful librarian smiles, albeit with inexplicable tweety bird matching hip tatts. I would trek across the Adirondaks wearing only a sheepskin legwarmer just for the chance to mulch the birch bark off the tree that once provided shade to her great aunt, Bertha.

He has Wolverine Douchitude in spades.

Although no tatts. I guess 1890s Britain wasn't into the tatt thing.

But for Wellsian time traveling creepiness and douchey Vegas hair, Old Chap had to get a shot in the Finals.

And by shot, I mean look kids! Big Ben! The Parliament!

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Mencken

At first, you're probably stunned into submission by the high Bleeth factor on both girls. You think, "This pic is all douche."

True.

While the hotts are both so 'baguetted out as to be unredeemable, their inner hott does remain.

Like a footprint.

Or an acoustic echo.

So while they still render the pic the toxicity of true hottie/douchey wrongness, there is the glimmer of a better world lost to the dark plague of dark douchebaggery.

Plus, the lifting of shirt with mouth to reveal ab may be one of the most innovative douche maneuvers since The Peach Point.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Fung

What more can be said about this strange, eerie, almost otherworldly pic of all that is wrong and greasy in our culture?

The uberdouche is overwhelming. This pic will be used someday to teach 3rd graders in a "Scared Straight" anti-douche seminar.

And all the while, that little Anna Pacquin Rogue Cutie sitting nonchalantly in the background.

It's sort of like smoking a cig and checking your cell phone while standing next to Chernobyl.

This pic has to be the favorite, but does it have enough to pull off the victory?

And by pull off, I mean chin fung.

(Dis)honorable mention to the uberdouche lineup in A.S.O.W., who simply lacked the hott to make finalist status, the perfection and poo of The Ass and I, The Brothabags and OC Hotts of Summoning Cthuthlu and the perfect boobies of The Four Horsemen of the Douchepocalypse.

Damn fine week of submissions, props again to all 'bag hunters who sent in pics. But three may enter, and only one may win. Which one? That's up to you.

Cast your vote, as ever, in the comments thread.

Your humble narrator, The DB1 is suffering what the townies in Boston call a "Wicked hangovah." Stupid PBRs. Stupid half-drunk actress type working the bar, pretending she likes the patrons for tips. But she was so blonde and boobilicious. I went over 20%.

Wait, what's that? Lil' Head wants to say something:

Lil' Head: Hey Big Head! Remember that joke you used to tell about me doing pushups in a cave until I threw up?

Big Head: Yes Lil' Head, we used to tell that joke in 3rd grade. Why?

Lil' Head: That was funny.

How's your weekend going?

You gotta be a serious Lord of the Rings fan to tattoo middle earth on your chest.

The following spam email came in this morning:

----
Do you wholesale your bags? The stores we work with are aggressively looking for bags to sell in their stores this holiday season. If you want to make a push, now's the time.

We work with buyers from thousands of department stores, specialty shops, large retailers, mail-order catalog companies and Internet shopping sites. We need a larger variety of products they can choose from, hence my email to you.

If you want to sell your bags, visit us at http://www.WiseRep.com. We guarantee sales.

Sincerely,
David Thibos
Director of Merchandising
WiseRep.com
----

I love spam that uses the word "hence."

Another Friday in Los Angeles.

The fog lifts over the mid afternoon traffic like a Peking opera revealing a dancing Chou. The city sweats like a schizophrenic ferret trapped in a dryer. Set on high.

The people, trapped in their cars on the 405, ranting and raving because traffic sucks. I gaze at the smog. And I chuckle.

I sip some semi-flat Mr. Pibb out of a Big Gulp and contemplate the rare Wendys Hold + 'Bag Hand Gesture that Flippy here is demonstrating for us.

Whither Flippy's trip to Wendys?, I ask myself.

As he pollutes a sweet, soft ball of soft brown hair and large smile that looks cuddly and playful and a bit scratchy, I can't help but wonder.

Was the Wendy's run the pinnacle of the evening? Or an impromptu stop after winning the fuzzy dice at the local fair playing The Whack-a-Mole?

I know not how these formations occur in a society confused by fragment and disjoint. A culture overwashed by odors for sale on every street corner to embody the eros magnified by television and magazine.

But even flat, my Mr. Pibb consoles me.

For it is like Dr. Pepper. Only different.

From Doucheteronomy 13:25:

Lo! And the Lord commanded it, saying "I am the Lord, your G-D. And I shall give you a sign, that yea, in the day of the wonderfully innocent boobie rise, there shall gather the Four Horsemen of the Douchepocalpyse."

And, hark! The people listened.

And the Lord spoketh his warning. "They shall ride with stupid faces and loud shirts, towards thy Holy Boobie Hottie. And you shall mock them. For it is My Will, and I command it! As I am thine G-D. And they are very pooey."

If Richard Feynman's theory is correct, that all of matter is created by one electron traveling backwards and forwards through time, then it would stand to follow that I am that ass.

However, the anitmatter on the left is so rank, it couldn't break down even if it oscillated for a barium half life.

Yup. Incomprehensible physics comments.

It's all I can make in the presence of a butt moon that sings poetic songs of heroic inspiration.

What to post, post "Fung?"
MTV Real World Hottness,
And big hair old choad.

guns and roses choad
appetite for douchestruction
gropes sweet child o bleeth

- bcs

Dude, just give it up
"Chinese Democracy" disc
Is never coming.

-- mr. white

Lazy-eye douchepimple
Hand way to close to boobies.
Slash would not approve.

- spaz

Buy Hot Topic shirt
Cut holes in shoulder - comb 'hawk
But he loves Emo.

- crucial head

Rare clear cup appears!
Designer punk hurts my heart.
Faux hawk claim Bewbeez

-- holbrooks douchestershire sauce

Too much megadouche overload and not enough clearly visible hott give us a highly unbalanced HCwDB pic.

And by unbalanced, I mean AIYYYEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

Fish Slap's Anal Beads writes in:

----
Dear DB1,

I’m in a great relationship, my woman is perfect, the farthest thing from a baggette you could imagine. She’s kind, creative and holds a top tier job in a male dominated profession. Not only that, but one of my favorite aspects of my relationship is that we both hate the same things. Call it odd, but I love that my woman loathes ‘mandals!’ And naturally she’s revolted by douche bags, of course she works with more than a few.

With that said she is aware of your site and enjoys it. But I have a quandary…should I come out as a ‘Bag Hunter?’ I’m freaked out at what she’ll think when she realizes that I frequent the myspace pages of these tacky hotts. It’s not like I’m always doing it, but being on myspace makes it sort of hard to avoid. And yes it’s fun in twisted way.

Enough, should I come out to my girlfriend? Should I share the pride I feel when you publish one of my submissions?

-Fish Slap’s Anal Beads
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A true 'bag hunter admits with pride that he hunts 'bags for a living, F.S.A.B.

Until you embrace your mission quest, Grasshopper, you have not conquered The 'Bag Within. Tell her. If she laughs, she is worth keeping. If she complains, she is Bleeth.

Is this... could it be?!

Hall of Scrote legend, The Crustacean?

Still as douchey as ever?

I think you get one of these free at the bottom of each box of Doucheios.

But Melissa on the left is on the Volleyball team. And so I would crawl through six inches of Madacascar leech refuse just for the chance to fondle her bobby socks.

On an unrelated note, a Baltimore Weekly jumps on the Douchebag Mocking, with some rather "uncanny" homages to the site.