----
Dear DB1,

I had some questions regarding the "Southern California Blazer".

By "Southern California Blazer", I mean a classy business blazer, paired with a gaudy, gold speckled Ed Hardy shirt or no shirt at all. I have been trying wrap my head around this, because they look so professional in the office but are so uncomfortable.

So my theory is that if you are wearing a blazer in southern-California or as these chodewanks might say "So-Cal" and are not comfortable and probably work a cell phone kiosk which requires no blazer, are you automatically a douche? I would say yes, but do not want to jump to conclusions without the rule being made official by you, Mr. DB1.

Sincerely,
Alpha Chode
----

Yes, Alpha Chode, and good call. Auto stage-2 'bag violation.

And, on an unrelated note, pink satin boobies make babies do the happy dance.

Toronto Poo Jay knows that nothin' says "bad-ass" while posing in front of the Space Needle quite like arm-hooking your lady with a stoagie in one hand and a "Shocker" in the other.

Except, of course, the chin strap + faux.

Which means you're not just cool. You're ubercool.

Here's your Friday links as Hall of Scrote legend Xenu poses with a Blonde in a shower stall:

In case you had any doubt left about the faux-humble poseur doucheface John Meyer, let there be no more.

The Brit-Chick who dumped Prince Harry is orange

Reader The Douchefather notes that HCwDB can be seen in the work of British pre-Raphaelite painter John Everett Millais (1829-1896)

Richard Grieco, Typhoid Mary of the Grieco Virus, has "Gone Country." (and lets just pretend George Clinton was not in that clip)

2008 Douchie Winner The Blowfish is now immortalized as Pop Art.

When you're as iconic as Kettlehead, you don't need a Halloween costume.

Even the squirrels are turning themselves orange.

And finally, props to the team at Robot Chicken for the absolutely genius, Le Wrath di Khan. Well played, animation guys.

Go forth and drink, fellow 'bag Hunters and Huntresses. And may all your wine be fortified.

What glute through yonder window breaks?

It's the Far East, and Juliet has a great ass.

You go with your Ed Hardy gang-sign flashin' self, Gramps.

Because there ain't no ring on your finger.

At least not since Grandma Bertha passed back in '02.

Is this 2008 Douchie Award Winning Everybag, Pippy along with Sultry Ski Bunny Perfection (SSBP)?

Same d-neck outpatient clinic t-shirt. Same smug douche-face and shaved head. And Sultry Ski Bunny still wants me with the same bedroom eyes.

Here's another pic to compare.

She has maintained her perfect Oslo shoulder-suckle hottness for a New Year.

He is exactly the same One Flew Over the Poobag's Nest poo.

Awwww, isn't that sweet.
His and Hers Dog-Tags, in case
Night ends in death.

Not so big secret.
We all know you are balding.
Mandana no help.

-- The Donger

With a shelf like that,
Deep-sea divers fall off and
Clutch for dogtag.

-- Holbrooks Douchestershire Sauce

Bonerific hott
Tainted by Rodrigo's lips
Dang! Look at those boobs

-- Vin Douchal

Oh the irony -
He's lactose intolerant;
What a way to die.

-- DarkSock

Breasts boobs tits
Cans mamms melons juggs pillows
Sweater cows lunch trays

-- massengill

Bridget Fonda looks
Rough now she's Mrs. Elfman.
Oingo Boingo Bonk.

-- Chupacabra

This is the fourth pic we've run of polished chest-shave displaying, tighty t-shirt wearing, chin pubes flaunting, eyebrow arching, sunglasses at night uberdouche, Kettlehead.

In each of his pics, quality hotts rotate in and out, but Kettlehead's scrotewankery never changes.

Next week is the Monthly, but you gotta figure this choad's got a solid lead in the Vegas betting line for the next Weekly.

And Tight Peach Brunette, you make my toes curdle like sour milk during monsoon season. I would pay you in trade to stomp on my back in stilettos, then tell me to leave.

---
DB numero uno.

I was in Miami for five days just last week to run the ING Miami Half Marathon with a couple friends. We got in on Thursday and the run wasn't until Sunday morning, so we decided to take in the sights. Besides spending time in the sand, we made the trip down to South Beach one night to, as one might put it, Get Our Drink On.

As we drove down the streets looking for parking, we settled on a parking deck just around the corner from a strip of bars. The guy driving pulled into the deck, then, ignoring the overhang sign prohibiting driving through further, did just that. People started getting uppity and honking, but lo and behold there was a primo parking spot. So we're waiting for the line of cars to move so we can pull in, and the last vehicle is a white Porsche 911 with matching rims, a spoiler kit and tints. The driver side window is down, and as it pulls around I see the driver.

It was Joey Porsche.

I kid you not I f@#king froze. Couldn't move, couldn't speak. It was like studying Hinduism and then seeing Gandhi in the flesh, except replace Hinduism with the Douchal Arts and Gandhi with Grieco Virus source.

The other people in the car said things like, "Oh nice car." One girl said he was hot, and when the guy driving told JP, he smirked and sped away.

We took the parking spot and as the driver pulled the key out of the ignition, I came back into consciousness. I pulled out my phone, opened the site and scrambled for the HoS to show them who they had just witnessed in person.

They got a good laugh and I think I've turned them into followers. The rest of the trip really couldn't compare to the delight of seeing Joey P in person, and aside from running a personal best 1:31 in the half marathon, it was easily the highlight of Miami.

-- Brad
----

Only the chosen few are (dis)graced by witnessing one of the Hallowed Hall of Scrote in person, Brad. Heed your karmic lesson well. For you have witnessed Porschenheit 9/11 in person. And G-d has rewarded you with a successful marathon run.

May you never come close to such source-Grieco again.

Oh Douche with the douche-face,
Your sneer I'd like to mace,
Hip Hop shirts don't change your race,
And that earring belongs to Grace.

Oh Holy Cleavite on the right,
on Perky Kim you are a delight,
You're pale and tasty in the moonlight,
And I'd lick your shoulder for a fortnight.

Many Fratbags have a dream.

But only Joe lives that dream.

The brief but on-point Meghan writes in with a takedown request of her earlier submission:

---
Hi,

Ok well thank you for posting the picture, however my friend in the picture with me is flipping out because i didnt ask her first if I could send it to you, and she wants it taken off. Sorry shes being such a baby about it, but im sure she will write you an email as well, just to let you know!
---

And then, moments later:

----

Fair enough, so instead, he's a douche scrum with Double Ubiquitous Red Cup, gang tackling a Polka Dot Bikini Hott.

Laugh it up, Rico. The Hott Cousins still aren't going home with you.

Crazy Eyes Killah mugs Jennifer sweetly,
While society's thumb says, "Whatta douche!" so discreetly,
For Jennifer thinks,
"Five more minutes = free drink!"
But will she make it? Killah's shirt smells like Tyrone Wheatley.

It's long past due that we honor one of the legendary douchebags of the world wide interwebs, the one and only creative vacuum of suckage that is "Nik Ritchie," creator of something called "The Dirty."

A hollow vessel of intellectual vacuity and incurious ass-suckage, "Nik" spews his brief sentences of unfunny on pics like a regurgitating rhesus monkey, without rhyme, reason, point, perspective or humor. He is the anti-funny.

He sucks comedy out of the cosmos and redistributes it as the white noise of poo.

This fraudulent clown actually claims the following as his "mission statement":

"The premise of the web site is for people to be held accountable for their actions," Karamian stated. "Obviously I poke fun at it, and throw it in somewhat of a funny light. But at the end of the day people don’t want to be exposed as something that they kind of shun...If The Dirty wasn’t around, people would be just going on like nothing ever happened."

Yes, thanks to Nik Ritchie's "The Dirty," people will never not go around like nothing ever happened again. Nice to seek a justification, Ritchie, without the words, concept, or consciousness to do so. Just admit you like "teh funny picturz" and end it there.

For the first six months of existence, The Dirty pulled pics from HCwDB's Hall of Scrote, branded them with a "Dirty" logo, and then smeared the unfunny all over them with Ritchie's typical steaming pile of suckage. The Gator, The Prompas, each made their way into The Dirty's endless production of image in search of point. Commentary desperately seeking comedy, and finding only the monosyllabic douchebonics of Nik Ritchie.

An example of Nik Ritchie's incisive deconstruction of pop-culture terminology: He calls Affliction shirts, "Assliction." Get it? Because Affliction sounds like "Assliction" but then it's ass, which means it's bad, which is funny.

This clown even tried to "out" me on his site with some ridiculous pic of a John Denver dude, without bothering to realize my photo is in my book and I've meet with numerous people at book signings.

But that's not what makes The Dirty a vortex of anal suckage. HCwDB is fair game for criticism from all who'd like to voice it. Just be funny about it.

The Dirty licks Tijuana hooker taint because of the complete lack of voice. Lack of commentary. Lack of thought. And, most crucially, lack of funny.

The Dirty is empty mass culture regurgitation without any notion of satire or cultural critique. There is no concept or comprehension of what it is he wants to say, and even worse, no interest in even wondering if that's a problem. Nik Ritchie wants people to read his site without ever once stopping to wonder as to the why. Funny pics? Maybe. Clever writing? I like turtles.

Ritchie has the cleverness of a lobotimized yak headbutting a lamppost. The literary aesthetic of involuntary muscle spasm by way of fetal alchohol syndrome.

I'm all for sites using images of our media age to critique the nonsensicality of the simulacrum in the age of spectacle. But The Dirty is the worst of all worlds. It fails to be "dirty." It fails to be "the." It fails to even be Fail Blog.

So for the lameness, the boorishness, the pointlessness and the unfunny, for looking like a rejected Sasha Baron Cohen character, and for being a D.U.I. away from another jail sentence, the worthless parasite Nik Ritchie gets a well deserved Douchebag of the Month.

----
Dear DB1,

Kettlehead is celebrating the HCwDB of the Week going to Ringworm Sharpie by corralling two brunette hotts and making sure the sheen on his forehead resembles a cock-n-balls.

A tight, even voting this week, with all three nearly splitting the vote. And by tight I mean bustier. And by splitting, I mean tree rings on the face. Lets turn it over to the voters:

Captain Bringdown: the vote goes to Ringworm, because if the shaven chest, open shirt collar outside the jacket wasn't bad enough, he committed those sins while looking like a feeding turkey vulture, and STILL pulled a Hott.

Vincent: Sharpie looks a tad more douchier than Tad...and although the ass pears in the butthead photo are nice, I'm going w/ Sharpie dude.

Adolf Skroatler von Baggenstein: Hey Sharpie Ringworm, Target is hiring.

Champagne Douchernova: Or perhaps if you stare at the Ringworm long enough, then look at a blank wall, you see the hidden location of the new Ed Hardy/ArmaniExchange Outlet store.

Cool Hand Douche: sharpie ftw. its not just the face, its the open jacket/no shirt ensemble combined with sultry minxness of tera patrick-like hott, with smaller cans. i love her, and i think he should kill himself.

Winnie the Poon: Sharpie Ringworm FTW. I mean, c'mon. What kind of cockholster does that to his own face or even let's his friends do it to him?

Douchkovsky: Weather Channel called. They want their isobars back. Sharpie Ringworm makes me want to rub my ass on the carpet. He also reminds me of those illusions that you stare at for a minute and then look away. Sharpie FTW

the motley douche: So that just leaves Ringie and that bull's eye on his face. It's like skeeball for fists. And that mandatory follow-up question...how many tickets do for breaking his nose?

Anonymous: Sharpie Ringworm. I feel hypnotized while looking at his face...so it is in a dreamlike-state of zen that I do throw a fist into his face. Plus, you can't ignore the collar-pop. Or the open shirt. 100% Grade-D Douche material. And Turban Hott trumps Trina or the Butt twins, for sure.

greekbag: The douchetard was clearly born with a target on his face. He was born to get ridiculed because of his suit-jacket-wearing-while-shirtless ways. Ringworm all the way.

Anonymous: Sharpie FTW. Even if he's at a Halloween party that requires drawing on your face with a Sharpie in order to gain entrance he's a super douche.

Well said, panel. Even the Halloween nature can't deny that this combo of hott and dress-up scroad is chest-shaving draculean wrongness. Coming in a solid second, the Douche-Prom coupling of Tad and Trina:

Mr. Belvadouche: Tad's face clearly states that he truly believes that he is "the man". For that I sweep kick him and give Trina the ace of spades across her forehead

Doctor Douchenvanjensen: I'd have to go with Tad and Trina. Trina is "one fine piece of ace" and Tad looks like that kid who could turn his eyelids inside out in grade school and thought he was extremely cool because of it.

Amy.mangos: Tad and Trina FTW! She's clearly the hottest hott, and even if pink satin pimp'bags are a dime a dozen, the spider leg head shave and "I'm totally pimpin'" eyes under "I'm SO the man" brows makes me want to toss him in the dumpster with the rest of the club's trash. And I'm pretty sure I could take him.

And Butthead also found some buttlove, and I'm sure we'll be seeing a 2009 Douchie Nominee in the "Ass Pear" category:

Anonymous: I vote for butthead. I just can't look at that picture without wanting to punch that man in the brain for somehow coaxing two such nicely shaped young women into taking that photo with him.

But the ever present anonymous explains why Sharpie and Middle Eastern Hott take the prize:

Sharpie wins even without the Sharpie.

I like that. It reads like an existential meditation puzzle. Book Sharpie and Turban Hott a ticket to the Monthly. For he is rings of poo, and she is bustier.

He's a little bit Popped Collar, and he's a little bit tight t-shirt.

But he's all 'bag.

I would circle the Cliffs of Mordor in a two seater twin-engine plane with one engine out and the other one with a post-Shatner gremlin on the wing just for the chance to swan dive into a puddle of water left behind by her pet cat, Smookums.

PIC DELETED

Meghan writes in:

---
these guys thought they were the sh@t... then one almost dropped me putting me down! my head came about 2 inches from smacking the ground! then he proceeded to text me all night long
----

Although this email is brief, has no introduction nor context, and seems to just stop randomly in mid-sentence, the point Meghan is making is important.

The classic "drop on ground then text all night long" strategy is frequently seen in the stage-1 Fratbag.

You did well to escape from Lurch and The Boobie Pawer, Meghan. Now stop hanging out with your BFF by the power lines.

Text DOUCHEBAG to 867-5309.

----
Greetings, oh-wise DB1

Ah shit, i don't have 1/10 the poetic prowess of yourself to help me write this suggestion but that's better so as not to waste your time...if you're not wasting it for a change lol

Anyway, it appeared to me as i'm skimming through the previous posts and laughing my ass off that some of the chicks actually look more douchier than the douche in-question himself!

Therefore it is my humble suggestion to your greatness, as a student of economics, to expand our potential douche-put to include female douchebags!

Yours truly;
Egyptian Alter-douche xD
----

Many emails ask about the 'Baguette, aka "The Bleeth," and because I tend not to focus my pics on them, there is often curiosity if this category has been covered on the site and in the book.

It has.

The Douchebaguette is indeed the great scrotal reaction of our time. Too much exposure to clownish showboating performative douchewanks, and the 'baguette becomes what she beholds.

But stage 1 and stage 2 Bleeths can still be saved. By which I mean awkwardly humping their pillow while they're on the phone with their BFF in the other room, then leaving to go get more beer and finding out she won't buzz you back up so you just standing there on the sidewalk watching her neighbor walk his Rottweiler.

Nothing shows the tough badassedness of a t-shirt slogan quite like missing letters and apostrophe slang.

You bad, Young Wayne Newton.

Now scurry back to the bar while I take Sandra, Clementine and Regina to the far couch to awkardly fondle their upper arm areas. Yes, even pregnant Regina can come. Because I'm generous like that.

Beach bling is to Bikini Boobies as:

a) Rock salt is to snow
b) Ed Hardy is to Western Civilization
c) VH1 is to television
d) Ryan Seacrest is to original thought and philosophic undertaking
e) Baby Momma Tatts are to upper chest areas

Answer now.

Tony knew that when macking on an Italian Hott (while deftly ignoring her less attractive best friend), nothing slayed quite like his patented Kettlehead look.

Female reader A writes in:

----
Dear DB1,

PIC DELETED

Do not mess with a member of the Scissors Mafia. For in a recent rumble, they handily defeated the Paper Mafia.

However, they have yet to handily defeat the Rock Mafia.

Future events will determine the true winner, after a count of "one, two, three, shoot."

Yo.

Knawheesayin, yo?

It's like, yo. Thass what he talkin' about, yo.

Khawwheemean?

Boobies.

It's Bizarro week in the Weekly, as we have three distinct and strange hottie/douchey couplings to choose from. Your humble narrator, The DB1, is properly hydrated, relatively recently showered, and with a full cupboard of tasty Hostess products ready for the week.

Except my feet still smell like Gouda. I blame my socks.

Here's your finalists:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Tad and Trina

A run-of-the-mill, average pimp-douche but with some innovative hair. The stupid-hair is what elevates, as pink satin pimpedness isn't usually enough to qualify for Weekly Douche.

But the fact Tad's mixing with a sexy minx of erotic delights, and you have proper hottie/douchey dialectics.

She has the pimp of pokey boob.

The hair of flaxen flaxeness.

The smile of Southern hospitality.

And while the boobs are small, the shoulder is suckle worthy.

Together, they make poo.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Sharpie Ringworm

All credit to Count Douchekevitch, who bestowed the moniker "Sharpie Ringworm," on this entry from the Friday Haiku.

Yes there is potential Halloweenery at work here, and usually that's a disqualification.

But if you study the background, it's hard to place this at a Halloween party, making me think this turd is actually doing some form of Vegas DJ dress-up. Therefore, he's scrote.

Sharpie's Turban Hott is all sorts of middle eastern bustier delight. Toned, and sweet, and I'll overlook the cloth headwound if she'll show me her belly button.

But the "dressup" factor may detract from this pic. Is it real enough to warrant the genuine emotion of wrong that a hott/scrote pic summons?

It very well might, so I had to include it in the Finals. And seriously, that chest shave isn't for Halloween. Topbagrophy Face is all sorts of punchworthy mock.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Butthead

At first I was a little hesitant to run this pic, only because I'd hate for those who check HCwDB from work to run the risk of an offending office-mate.

But then I said to myself, "Self, those are three of the best examples of butts you've ever seen. Run it."

So run it I did.

Butthead is douche on a number of levels, from tonguebaggery to Bizarro Mandana.

And the butts are fleshy hills of New Zealand shrubbery shorn clean and pink and bouncy and juicy and bouncy.

The girls are hott, the douche is rank, and the commingling is nauseating.

Thus, a prime candidate for HCwDB of the Week.

Honorable mention to The Turnips, who just missed the cut.

This is the final Weekly before Monday's Monthly, so make it good, fellow hunters and huntresses. Lets amp up the competition for a royal hottie/douchey smackdown next week.

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

The Flowbee for a New Generation.

Time to play another round of the craze that's sweeping the nation, Brain Surgery Victim or Douchebag?

Guess in the comments thread.

In an iconic protest moment on behalf of the rights of Fake Tanned Orangebags the world over, Kevin raised his Fist of Power at the 2009 Pick up Artist Games.

----
DB1,

Long time reader and fan. Was wondering if you could answer a deep question that has been bothering me for quite some time. What is the meaning behind the Ubiquitous Red Cup (URC)? I mean, yes, it is everywhere, but what is its purpose?

There must be some philosophical meaning to its presence, especially since we see it around douches of all colors, more so than the civilized public. Thank you for your time, and stay frosty. We can't afford to let any of these douche bastards in here.

Matt in RVA
----

Ubiquitous Red Cup has become the centralized iconic signifier in structuring our understanding of universal douche/hott.

It is a talisman signifying ideal within the abstract. Perhaps it is a bit like what Hitchcock called the "MacGuffin". A structuring icon that helps us to bridge the specific differences and advance our larger treatise.

It's also the sign of a slammin' off-the-hook pool party at Kal's while his parents are, like, out of town yo.

I have but one deep thought upon this Friday:

Rose Schlossberg's mom may not be New York's next senator, but someday the DB1 will charm Little Rose Hott herself into becoming my next little Boobie Hottie Suckle Thigh. By seductively wooing her with takeout Chinese food and a bottle of Ernest and Julio Gallo's finest under-$20 fortified wine.

Here's your Friday links:

Uberdouchey corrupt former governor of Chicago, Rod Blagojevich signs a boobie. Stay classy, Rod, you douchepimple.

Douchebag Seeks Hot Chick on Dating Site

Fung We Can. Fung We Did.

Hot Chicks with Scooby Doo

Paul Janka is concentrated, bottled uberdouche. I would pay a small Malaysian orphan boy 20 Yuan and a digital watch to kick him in the nads and then run off quickly.

Go forth, friends. Go forth and celebrate the Boobie Suckle Thigh and the forces of non-douche that fight the good fight. For it is Friday.

(Oompa Prompa trading card designed by HCwDB's own Jean Claude Van Douche)

Sometimes Oldbags can achieve a state of pure zen-douche simply through whether or not they decide to rip off their sleeves to show off the guns.

And yes, Milfy Sharon. You may be a bank manager by day. But by night, you are naughty.

EDIT: A few minutes later, out came the flex poses. And a new girl in a red dress??

It had to be said.

EDIT: And to respond to repeated emails asking me if I had anything to do with last night's episode of Supernatural, called "Criss Angel is a Douchebag," the answer is no. Hollywood now seems to feel directly stealing ideas and written content is fine, so long as it's on a website, apparently.

Ryan writes in with a 'bag tag from Waterbury, CT:

----
DB1-

The best part about this photo is they are at a bar called "Sin City" (which is better known as "suck city") which is actually located in Waterbury CT, a sh@thole of a city with the dirtiest people in the country.

Why does this bar suck? because the people who go there suck and stand infront of a banner as if they mattered to promote the mutual suck of themselves and the bar.

- Ryan
----

Well argued, almost tautological logic there, Ryan. But how much could the city suck if those two Brunette drinks of water are willing to live there? Looking sweet-hott and all sorts of corruptable? And, uh, cohabiting with the Ed Hardy Boys...

Hmm. I see your point.

I blame his mom, yet
We are all complicit, no?
Web face indicts all.

Weather man in France
takes his job a little far
Forecast is douchebag

-- plinky

The Doppler radar shows
a low-pressure zone where his
dignity should be.

-- Mr. White

stare into my eyes
sleepy hypnosis takes you
to douche you succumb.

-- Bleeth McGhee

Douche learned the hard way
huffing markers to get high
will make your head spin.

-- Douche Unto Others

Tad knew that the only thing to complete his pink satin pimp wardrobe was his patented Spider Leg Hair Shaves.

For the forty-seventh time that night, Trina regretted her decision to take a semester off from Arizona State.

Tuesday's Ed Hardy post drew this email from Cologne, Germany:

----
Dear DB1,

Not only does Ed Hardy suck royally from the nutsac of grazing Alpacas, its global expansion is eroding the highly prized and valued precision of excellence here in Cologne, Germany.

In fact, Mr. Hardy has decided to make Cologne ground zero for his first every 'par-tay' in the fatherland of blonde-haired blue-eyed boobie hottie suckle thigh where some ancestors have gone so far as to rage wars in their defense. I stood jaw agape in utter shock as I snapped this picture. I recognize it has no douchebag, no hot chick. But I find its dispension of information horrifying. Does he really need to Brand Clubs? Should we notify PETA? Doesn't that violate ethics on multiple levels of Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus and Species? Does there really need to be live sax AND percussions? Does a dance-fashion-show demonstrate a new world order of decay? Why need this club be named 'Diamonds'? The pounding questions perplex the strongest of wills.

Ironic?

Hardly, Mr. Hardy. We're wise to your Machiavellian scheming.

Nero was famous for playing the fiddle as he watched Rome burn. Nero was the son of Claudia Agrippina a local area noble woman with ambition and a fecund propensity for all things blingy, whose marriage established Cologne as a Roman colony (Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium) - hence where the current namesake derives. Nero was remorseful for killing his mother, probably because he determined she had gone Bleethius Maximus Extremus and was beyond cleansing. So sadly we have a history, but I had held out hope.

Now, I just see fires on the horizon.

Burn, Cologne. Burn.

I'll get my fiddle.

Respectfully,
Herr Professor Douchemann
----

Ed Hardy is the latest battlefront in the War on Douche. Fight the good fight, Herr Professor. Like Thomas Mann and Marlene Dietrich before you, you must speak out and save the Boobie Suckle Thigh. From really stupid skull cartoons.

Remember that nerd-sexy girl from Senior Year who always seemed to be slightly "above" the wanks who hovered awkwardly arounds her at lunch? Slightly removed. Detached from the white-noise of college sexual tension.

The girl who should've been wearing librarian glasses to fire up your fantasies, but never did. The one who when you walked by her, studying in the quad, she'd give you a smile that could melt Eskimo scrotum after seal hunt?

That's Brianna.

She knows what's up.

And what's up is Pietro, the Italian exchange student from Florence, is paying.

One of the first legendary doucherstars of HCwDB, Hall of Scrote member Peaches is still going strong in 2009.

With sloping, unibrow-esque forehead, and ubiquitous douche-point in presence of multiple chickas, Peaches, like the Gator before him, has the superstar consistency of a Tiger Woods or Lance Armstrong.

A pooey Lance Armstrong.

For Peaches will point-on forever.

Do not try to stop him.

Or you will get roughly poked.

It's one thing to doggie 'bag your local hoochie hott during happy hour. I get that. I get the stars t-shirt and the faux hawk and the douche face. And by get, I mean mock.

But what's with the ants forming the number "7" on the chin?

I haven't seen insects this synchronized since the periodical cicada swarms of 2007.

Curly could only chuckle to himself as Samantha got crushed between Z-Love and H-Bomb, the most happenin' DJs on the Alberta wedding circuit.

Or, as Z-Love likes to put it, Lets get this party started, people! Come on out on the dance floor! Even you, Grandma Norma! Here's "I Will Survive," by Gloria Gaynor!

Z-Love is also available for Bar Mitzvahs, Anniversary Parties, Bachelor Parties, and, of course, the midnight to 8am shift at Denny's.

PIC DELETED

With no hand gestures, no cheesy tatts, no annoying bling, and no douche-face, I'm inclined to give Overdeveloped Gentleman Who Could Snap My Spine Like a Pencil, a nottadouche pass and quickly move on.

Paola with the tiny boobs and archy back is all sorts of wrong-for-you Hott. You know she's polluted by 'bag virus, yet you'd still listen to her complain about how she needs a "sugar daddy" until her hair salon project gets funded, just for the chance she'll make out with you for thirty seconds in one of the Cabanas.

But she won't. Because her BFF just texted.

Yup, I missed it.

Your humble narrator, distracted by boobies and hat tilt, didn't even make the connection that Studs Urkel was the one and the same as Sir Sucks-a-Lot, even as a number of readers tried to alert my hungover ass.

I did a cursory glance last week and I could've sworn they looked like distinctly different brands of douchebag. Then I matched up the Douche-Chin, and baby Jesus wept.

Two wins with two different hotts in two different douchological disguises is unprecedented here at HCwDB. Sir Sucks-a-Lot is making a strong case for HCwDB of the Month.

But for now, congrats to 'Bag Bats Maru aka The Saturday "WTF?" You may be a famous designer, but this pic is too mockworthy to be denied. See you in the Monthly.

When even the hair is Jiffy Pop it might be time for Confused Cathy to reexamine her life choices.

EDIT: Reader KP just emailed to alert me that Orange Redenbacher may, in fact, be the notorious Pieface.

All three pics had supporters. All three pics almost won.

But the creepy tri-vag facial pubes, 20 degree Jesus Bling Hat Tilt, and the sexy, curvy Cleopatra took the most votes:

dbBen: Studs Urkel. Only Ming the Merciless should have a beard that pointy.

Anonymous: i gotta go with Studs, easily the hottest hott, and the most punchable face of the bunch

The Donger: Studs Urkel FTW, but I nominate WTF for a 2009 Douchie in the category of Douchiest Bling.

People for the Ethical Treatment of Vaginas: studs urkel for the win. having cornrows on your face is a poorly thought out idea.

Anonymous: Studs Urkel, The unbelievable hotness to douche nozzle ratio is just too unbalanced not to give recognition.

Excellent and concise evisceration on the part of all 'bag hunters and huntresses, good work people. But The Oily Bohunk also had support:

Frederic Choadpin: The simplicity of Bohunk may hurt him in the end, but he is all douche. His simple genius is reminiscent of the subtle and introspective genius of a Miles Davis solo, with the fecal stench of Kenny G's soprano. Bohunk FTW.

stitchgroover: Gotta vote for Oily Bohunk. This guy is pure douche - no hats, no belts, no tatts... just essence of douche.

The Bohunk had classic 'bag essence, and a tasty girl-next-door, and was a worthy candidate. Meanwhile, the freakish Sunday WTF aka 'Bag Bats Maru also found support:

pineconeboy: The Sunday WTF is just too hilariously surreal to pass up. Another vote for Bag Bats Maru.

Anonymous: 'Bag Bats Maru FTW. What more can I say other than grill + boobies = winner.

But the everpresent Anonymous explains why S.U. and Cleo are too strong a hottie/douchey coupling to ignore:

I would have to give Studs the win here as well. This douche-waffle shows an extra level of skeezerness by carrying around an SLR camera to make hotties think that their picture may wind up someplace other than this wank's flat screen monitor in a darkened room (ok, that's an image I will have a hard time dismissing) or MySpace. Besides, how can you take a picture with your hat pulled over your face and the lens cap probably still on the lens??

The camera was the key uber-douche givaway that many 'bag hunters missed in this pic. It is technology as a douchrement. As such, it should be mocked.

Great work to all who voted, and we'll see Urkel and Cleo in the Monthly.

Rare is the tool that can lift up an armful of Daisy Duke Hott and still be able to make a 'bag hand gesture.

I dub thee Tacklebag.

In honor of the great Tackleberry from the Police Academy movies. Who went on to a fantastic career in dinner theaters throughout the greater Florida area.

Since the light isn't reflecting that annoying bling, I'm going to pretend it's actually an image of Calvin and Hobbes sledding.

Anything to take my mind off the fact that Bling is rubbing up against Ski Bunny Satine, yet is focusing on daintily holding up his ginormous "medallion" to prove his manhood.

Sorry, Bling. Any claim to powerful hetero masculinity is lost when you hold your necklace up like Richard Simmons selecting a cream puff off the snack platter at his cousin Shelly's wedding shower.

Rebellious clocks.

Clocks that stick it to "The Man."

Clocks that scream "Rocker tatts and Harleys!!" from the wall of your den or in the garage near your minivan.

Clocks that express the rugged anti-social individuality that you can buy 25% off at Macy's if you use your Macy's card. But only through Sunday.

And now, Ed Hardy for Women.

It's official. Ed Hardy has replaced A/X as the mass-marketed poseur "individuality" branding product of 2009.

When Suzanne told Vera she had to come out to the club and check out The Turnips, Suzanne thought she was speaking about a new indie band.