I ran this when it first debuted on YouTube, but then it got pulled. And now it's back. So why not run it again? The last minute is sheer genius.

Settle in and enjoy a classic from the heart of the Jerz Guid, that, like Beetlejuice says about The Exorcist, gets funnier each time I watch it.

This is a rather buttiforous pic for a Saturday.

But if you stare at it long enough, the composition begins to argue for an aesthetic artistic grace that is both profound and critically complex.

Ass Pear in Chains is both a celebration of the universalized tropes of abstract sexuality at the same moment it functions as a piercing critique of the enforced limitations of contemporary cultural habit. The framing formalizes the female body through intense gender stylization while critiquing the masculine gaze enforced and ruptured through the display of the female ass in the foreground. By hiding the female's face while emphasizing the chain across her butt cheeks, Ass Pear in Chains operates as a critical social deconstruction of the limitations imposed by culturally dictated mores of sexual freedom.

The negative space on the left forces us to reconsider the female torso as alienized and abstract, a critique of gender and body. The background display of water and densely packed bodies function as pastiche of celebratory echo. The anonymous faces of our primary couple, shielded by douche-cap, suggest innocent, idealized youthful abstract amidst the forced objects of sexualized display.

Perhaps we should consider including "Ass Pear in Chains" as part of the HCwDB multimedia installation exhibit at the Guggenheim Museum in 2023, when my genius for reconfiguring image, gender and sexuality via simulacra in the age of spectacle is finally recognized by the academy.

"We are strange beings, we seem to go free, but we go in chains. Chains of training, custom, convention, association, environment - in a word, Circumstance - and against these bonds the strongest of us struggle in vain."

-- Mark Twain

After a heavy night of drinking, Luigi's scrunchy face feels like your humble narrator's head.

Oh Jerz Hott on the right. You resemble the bitchy girl in Teen Wolf, and so for that, I would perform a cameo in the high school production of Gone With the Wind.

But only as myself. Not as The Wolf.

Because if the 1980s taught us anything, it's that we have to be ourselves. After we pretend to be someone else, drive expensive cars, wear nice clothes, and bang the hot bitchy chicks. Then, we can be ourselves.

While the spectacle of the uberscrote will always deserve mock, let us not forget the passive "everybag" taint as we meditate and ruminate on this Friday afternoon.

These are the real Grieco Virus carriers of our time. Not just the mohawked DJ entertainers who get paid by the pud. The everyday wankstars. The average scroads who grab hott and sneer. For it is they who smell like monkey feces.

Here are your Friday links:

Congrats to Hall of Scrote legend Velveeta 'Bag for breaking into the big time with his upcoming role in the remake of Land of the Lost.

If fairytales featured douchebags, the results may have been different.

Watch the boobies bounce. Choose your cup size and you're off to the races.

Noted football uberscrote Jeremy Shockey visits Douche Mecca, passes out.

In basketball, the greasy "Birdman" in Denver infects his fans with the scrote virus. And speaking of the Denver Nuggets, why does their logo resemble the fascist symbol in Pink Floyd's "The Wall"?

And moving over to baseball, George Brett is a Wonderful Storyteller. Who's the pitchers in this game?

Hot Chicks with Stormtroopers.

Rural trashbag robs local Wal-Mart for twelve dollars worth of Axe Bodyspray. Busted for drugs, carrying a hand gun and "a 12-ounce bottle of Axe shower gel, according to police." Of course.

Speaking of Axe, Southhampton Gets the Axe. It's stories like that that make me feel like we're losing the war.

And, for all of your waiting, here's your Friday Ass Pear. It's like a warm, glazed, Thanksgiving ham.

Go forth and celebrate, 'bag hunters, huntresses and assorted boobie hotties. Your week was productive. And alcohol awaits.

----
DB1,

I have a son who's beginning Kindergarten later this year, and I don't know whether to include HCwDB in his curriculum.

Mind you, I'm not concerned with how developmentally appropriate your site is for a child his age. Rather, I have my doubts as to whether or not his brain can truly grasp the matter at hand.

Can a five-year-old navigate this sea of scrotal antimony?

Yours,
Marc du Choad
----

No age is too young to begin training the art of douchal purge in the young male, and the art of douche mocking in the young female.

Ours is a generational battle. A call to arms. As the great German philosopher Jurgen Habermas once wrote: "The negotiation of power relations between dominant and subordinate in the public sphere require douche mocking and boobie lusting for true ideological revolution."

Don't mess with Jurgen. He knew what was up.

As Plato once asked his disciples to consider, so must we:

Which came first? The boat? Or the 'bag?

Grey Goose and Red Bull,
Fuels tiny Chiquita hott,
And Teddy the 'Tard.

If she drinks all that
Her blood alc. will be point-eight.
Kill the pain, wee Bleeth.

-- Mr. White

Red Bull gives you wings
Grey Goose gives you douchitude
Bleeth gives you the clap

-- Father Guido Sardouchey

Please, Jules Winnfield, quote
Ezekiel twenty-five:
seventeen; shoot douche

-- Anonymous

Tiny latin lass
Please beat Matthew Lillard's ass
Bell rings- back to class

-- J-Pompous

I want little Hott
Greg Brady's Tiki Idol
Surfer Douche must find

-- Anonymous

Ezekial 25:
17 Lay down vengeance to
this Douchebag and Bleeth

-- JoMama

PIC DELETED

Reader Jess writes in with a rant about her douchey ex-boyfriend. I've rearranged the email structurally (but left it unedited) to create a form of outsider art poetry:

--------------
"His Sister Shaves It"
by Jess

I think these photos speak for themselves.
This guy is a complete douche.
Wouldnt even have sex.
Shaved his back constantly, and slept with neosporin on his face everynight.
Farted when he DID have sex.
Farted when he ate.
Farted when he slept.
farted.
Drove like an asshole.
Punched his sister in the ass.
Makes NO money at age 27 and lives at home complaining about the generic brand of toilet paper his father buys.
Goes to the gym everyday but somehow gets fatter!!!!
his mother still wipes his ass.
His sister shaves it.
Please, I beg of you, put this up. I have been a fan of your site for a while and think youre a genious!

Yours truly,
Jess
----

Cool, daddio. I'm hep to that.

PIC DELETED

I know Mattel's trying to stay in the game, what with the Bratz dolls and all, but I still don't see this update catching on.

Kevin the Party Pud is pretty low down on the douchal scale.

Sure he's jumped into a gaggle of Woo Hotties who are doing their best to ignore him. But seriously. Does Kevin really rankle?

Sure he's got a silly camo hat. And a hang gesture. And he drinks Keystone when PBR is just as cheap and plentiful.

But wait... is that "chin strap"?

I'm going stage-2.

And I see each of you, Polkadot Bikini Baby Hotties. I will playfully tweak your ear, then run and hide. But you won't come looking for me. So I'll go home and watch TiVo'd Breaking Bad. And eat Malomars. And tell my roommate you weren't that hot anyway, and I don't care.

It's like Philip told his "Bro Posse" in the background. When you got the mad game, you just can't help being the "gangsta" at the State Fair Picnic in upstate New York, near Ossining.

Sure, the ladies may be classic "Paid to Pose" promo girls, getting 10 bucks an hour to wander around in short-shorts.

But when you gots the mad game, they'd be posin' even if they weren't gettin' paid, yo.

After an early surge by the Swiffer, the slow-and-steady Krackenbag pulled it out. A solid win for the deep-sea creature of Greek douche-legend. The voters speak:

The Douche of Earl: The Krackenbag. Simple as that. His orange ora and the vibe of I am better then you because I wear my silk shirt half way on. But more importantly his gaze into the cosmos; Flashbacks to earlier in the year when a man named Crimson Ted forever ruined life as I knew it. Even without "the point" he has CT's gaze into space. Krackenbag.

Anonymous: Krackenbag. Classic self-important douche expression, and his hott is the hottest, IMO.

Douchetros Douchetros Ghali: Krackenbag FTW. Because he looks like the "Douchebag" exhibit at Madame Tussaud's. And because he makes me want to read Russian lit in a dark, dank basement with a bare lightbulb swinging over my head.

Anonymous: Krackenbag. His aura of douche is so powerful that you almost don't even notice poor Candice. That kind of power can't be denied. Plus, he's spawn of Porsche. A metastasized nugget of rectal cancer that has migrated deep into our collective consciousness.

Bob Vila: Krackenbag FTW. I know HCwDB recognizes choad-slinging in all its vile forms, but I'm a sucker for a traditional, Grieco-ed out douchescrote. And with the chinstrap, blowout, tweezed brows and muscle-pose, Krackenbag is that.

Anonymous: im voting Krackenbag. his use of the rare "too distracted by something else going on in the distance to even realize im being photographed" pose suggests a true mastery of the douchal arts

Medusa Oblongata: The thousand-yard, pretty-boy "deep" stare. The shirt thrown open in carefully orchestrated "careless" abandon. The chin strip. Anime villain spikey blowout. I'll blame the orange hue on the shitty phone cam pic, but I'm sure he's an unnatural orange hue anyway. Delicate tweezed eyebrows. And the worst part of all...his mediocre abs are being caressed by a sultry brunette whose huge doe eyes remind me of my beloved Anne Hathaway. For that, the Kraken must pay

Well said panel, some righteous smackdowns for the Flabio of Wankscrotery and his sneaky-sexy Long Island Iced Tea Hott. But coming in a solid second was the hawkbaggery of The Swiffer:

Dr. Bunsen Honeydouche: Swiffer FTW! Krackenbag + 1 mild hott does not equal Swiffer + 2 much hotter hotts and 1 horse-mouth hott. Kracken isn't good for anything. At least with Swiffer, he can sweep away his own poo as he walks and can scrape the ice off my car in winter too.

Anonymous: Gotta go Swiffer, that's a lot of hotts, and a lot of not.

Margaret Gweed: I'm gonna go with the Swiff. He has a bit of a gaybag vibe, but even if he was, he's so much of a tool he can out-douche the others in a hot second. He reminds me of American Apparel ads. He's like a walking advertisment of "youth culture," which makes you realize how vacuous and dead the scene really is. Swiffer Head is the logical end of counter-culture.

doucheifex Maximus: I vote Swiffer, for one simple reason: When he went to the barbershop/salon/bathroom, he told the person cutting his hair, "I want you to shave off 2 inches above the ear, except shave a wicked sweet star outline in it. Then, I want you to put the rest in a fauxhawk so big it can be seen from the space station." Oh, and attractive females. OK, two reasons.

Solid arguments for the Swifster, but even three girl-next-door hotts and a late second pic couldn't pull out the victory for Starhead. Coming in a sad and distant third was Melvin and Laura Mars Zebra Hott:

Count Douchekevitch: Melvin the Zebra and Laura Mars Hott. Because there are way too many hip bones showing (someone feed them both a whole NY cheesecake) and Melvin looks like he smells like ganja and fritos, while sipping bongwater through a straw.

It seems the sad white-boy status of Zebra didn't bother the voters as much as it did me. And Laura Mars Crazy Eyes is delightful. But not enough to win, alas. The Bag Queen takes it home:

I vote Krakenbag. His vacant stare will haunt my dreams forever. He's posing for the camera either pretending the camera isn't there in an attempt to capture a look of "naturalness" or he's staring at his reflection off in the distance. Either way, DOUCHEBAG.

Indeed, Bag Queen. Indeed. Excellent work all around to the voters, and lets chalk up this Douchemance Novel cover photo for the Monthly. His shaved chest and vacant stare will haunt our nightmares and curse our hopes for a better tomorrow. And Candice's boobs remain underappreciated. C'mon people. Those are some quality boobies.

----
Dear DB1,

I discovered your website a couple days ago and I can't figure out how I managed to survive for over 30 years without it. I was just checking a photo album from a party a "friend" of mine (she's actually a douche-lover and coincidentally provides me with a whole bunch of quality douchepics) poste on Facebook this morning. I couldn't help it, I had to do my first contribution do HCwDB.

The party took place in my city, Paris, the European capital of douchebags. Hope you'll enjoy this cheese-smelling douche.

Enjoy!
Monsieur LaDouche
----

I've always had deep respect for French academia. From Foucault to Baudrillard, French intelligentsia has reconfigured 20th and 21st century philosophy, culture, art and politics. Which are all, of course, intertwined in neo-modern critical discourse.

And by discourse, I mean glorious French ass pear. Brigitte Bardot. Catherine Deneuve. Sophie Marceau. Emmanuelle Beart. Mmmm. They are curvy, squishy, soft critical discourses of linguistic deconstruction.

And by critically deconstructed, I mean by me. At length. With cocoa oils and a large, vibrating egg.

There's no shortage of mockable pattern-clashing loudness on Sleeve as he macks on Kimmy.

But it's the Sleeve Tatt that is particularly noteworthy. And by noteworthy I mean poo. The only thing worse than garish tatts are fake garish tatts. Whomever invented the sleeve tatt needs a leeching of the scrotum, Spanish Inquisition style.

Kimmy needs a soft butt paddling. I would oblige using a ping-pong paddle, a small bramble, and a cotton swab.

Looks like Milky's hott from yesterday's Milky McMuscles pic has found another bro to party with. And yet more trouble here.

This serious downgrade in human merit warrants a deep thought from your humble narrator. And that thought is this:

When the blue tailed robin chirps upon a tree branch at the first rays of the dawning sun in earliest morn, it is for Squishy Boobie in Black Bustier that the robin sings.

Is this Stu?

Is Stu macking on the Miami Latina Hotts?

Are Stu's pecs stuffed with a mixture of polycarbonate and foam?

Bobby's life-long dream to snag a Vegas Show Girl was nearly complete. And he owed it all to the power of green bottled cough syrup.

Swiffer Head and his milfy hotts badly want to win the HCwDB of the Week.

So much so that he's busting the "Blue Steel."

You are hypnotized by his perfectly spiked hairage, his waxed brows and his star-temple.

So much so, that you don't even notice Blonde #2's Kissy Lips, a sad sign of her descent into douchebaguette.

But such is the power of Swiffer Head.

Here's the pic takedown request from Saturday's "Your Saturday Hoffspring" post:

----
douchebag1,

Andy LaPlegua is out of country now on tour, and has asked me to request on his behalf that you take down the pic of him and his fan in the Saturday May 23rd Update. I believe the rockstar leniency rule would apply here anyway. If you do need further input from him, I can put you into contact. thanks and love the site.

your avid reader and second time omgiknowthatguyheposted,
Caleb
----

The pleasure I get in having a pic takedown request using the parlance of the website (Rockstar Leniency Rule) is tempered only by the fact that Hoffspring needed a proxy to do his takedowning for him. Wuss. Therefore, no R.S.L. granted. Hoffspring is a douche.

But the takedown request I will abide. Because it's by a reader familiar with the site. And because I'm nice like that.

So instead, here's a meatwad, a creepy dude who isn't quite a douche, and a tasty Raven Hott.

There's so much wrong with this pic that I just built a time machine, went back in time to 1932, and bitch slapped the Lindbergh Baby.

Yeah, I made a Lindbergh Baby joke.

What? Too soon?

Let me guess, Teddy.

The Eighth Deadly Sin... Shiney Head?

Mmm... matching PTP Bunnies tug with wild primal abandon and make the Tuesday go fuzzier.

Fingerpud is bringing the 'bagling scrotudinous on a Ginger/Mary-Ann combo as he votes in the HCwDB of the Week.

Mary-Ann hates her dad.

Bring it On. Step It Up. Another three word expression that will end up being the title of a teen dance movie.

With two weeks of pics to cull through, this is a juicy weekly. And by juicy, I mean fecal. And by Rosencrantz, I mean Guildenstern. And by Rosenberg, I mean Goldstein.

Here's your picks:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: The Krackenbag

What can be said when one of the Joey Porsche crew sets off on his own to douche it up, O.G.D.B. style? Not much, other than "ballsack."

With shirtless Fabio pose, chin strap and one of the greasiest spikey blowouts we've seen in months, we have Released the Krackenbag in all the wrong ways.

But what of Candice?

She's quirky hott. Not traditionally cute, but with large sexy eyes and pouty lips that suggest she may be hotter than her photos suggest.

And what of the bra/boob poke? This strange configuration suggests the blouse/shirt was designed to allow pokey boobie.

And pokie boobie makes the DB1 happy. Even after a three day weekend.

But is this combo hottie/douchey enough to win the Weekly? That has yet to be determined. On to #2...

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Melvin the Zebra and Laura Mars Hott

I wasn't sure if Melvin really rose to the status of HCwDB of the Week Finalist, but the truth is that Laura Mars Hott is so creepy sexy lithe hotness, I had to go with it.

She's another unconventional beauty who is far more than the sum of her parts. And I'm not just saying that due to the smallish boobosity.

She has the strongest hip bones I've seen since biology class. I would sack race a tribe of northern Egyptian Zoroastrian pygmies just for the chance to rub her discarded mascara on my lower stomach while crying "Maaaaamaaa" in Gaelic.

He is wearing strange zebra-esque pants just baggy/tight enough to show off his peen.

Toss in the bling, the Ark of the Covenant tattoo, and the Raiders Cap (auto +1 douche saving throw), and this coupling brought the wrong enough to make the Weekly.

But Paid to Pose? Could that be Melvin and Laura's achilles heel?

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Swiffer Head

Swiffer Head is classic party poo. 'Tude and hair gel in a pouty, ass grabbing toxic mix of cultural rot.

The triumverate of hotts did not get the love they deserved the first time around.

They are three distinct "getable" levels of hott, the real girls at the office party who actually do make out with you in the supply closet.

And for that, they are to be celebrated as much as Swiffer Head's star hair thing and chinstrap should be mocked.

(Dis)honorable mention to The Party Pud, Smelvis in the Friday Haiku, Propellerhead, Tudo and Kegger Dogs, all of whom were worthy contenders and just barely missed the cut.

Which of these three has enough hotness and enough poobaggery to call itself the Weekly Winner?

That, fellow 'bag hunters and huntresses, is your power to control. Vote, as ever, in the comments thread.

HCwDB legend Chandlerbag, honors Memorial Day by studying the impact of chest bombs.

Yes, that joke was too easy.

Yes, your humble narrator, the DB1 is in New York and yes, he's already drunk. And yes, he's talking in the third person.

May your BBQs be both celebratory and solemnly reflective. HCwDB will return full force, with the HCwDB of the Week tomorrow morning.

In the interim, toast a Red Cup of 'Train to the troops. And to boobs. Because you can multitask.

Or, if you're bored with today's lack of posts, enjoy what is inarguably the greatest two minute sequence in cinematic history.

Seriously, WTF, Philadelphia?

First the scrotal infection that is Arthur Kade. Now this?

Because nothing says "Straight Outta Greenwich" quite like bow tying the pants with the scary tiger on them.

I would, however, gnaw on Kimberly's exposed belly area like a grazing African Norwegian emu searching for mealworms.

Not because I want to. But because it's my civic duty.

And I take civic duties seriously.

EDIT: A few readers have noted that emus are actually from Australia, so I fixed the post appropriately.

PIC DELETED

Nothing quite says "punk-rock killa" like the form fitting muscle tee, guitarist for Hoffspring.

Oh Angela. The only thing that compliments your lacey arm things is the low self esteem dancing behind your eyes.

Hoffspring does not have the answer, Angela.

The only thing Hoffspring has is credit card debt, a 1992 Range Rover, and a sick collection of Desert Storm Trading Cards. Which'll be worth money some day.

Random thoughts as I wrap up a Friday and wonder if Tatt Vortex is actually one of the villains from The Mummy 5: Brendan Frasier Mails It In.

The greatness of Bubble Yum has not diminished as I get older. But Bazooka will always rule the roost of the over-sugared gum kingdom.

All plants should be cactii. Then I wouldn't have to remember to water them.

The video game that changed it all but never gets its due? Zaxxon.

Here's your Friday links:

Italian Energy Drink ditches subtext.

From Australia comes crime scene hottie Clare, who proudly proclaims to the camera, "The fatter wog said to the skinnier wog, 'Oi bro, you slept with my cousin'." I don't know what this means. I think it's racist. But she's hot. So I'll call it "eccentric."

The Onion brings the funny with their Newscast on an NYU dorm fire. They must've hired new writers.

The Orange Grooves. Halloween pic or not, it scars me.

Et tu, Jonah Hill?

The 'John Meyer is a Douchebag' Wall Clock. Makes a great gift for weddings and Bar Mitzvahs. Or for the kids, don't forget the 'John Mayer is a Douchebag' teddybear.

And yet more proof of Meyerbag's douchosity. And yet more. It was nearly a year and a half ago that I first proclaimed the Meyerbag to be a douchebag, a scrotal herp sore of taint, and history has proven me correct in that assessment. He is stinky ass finger.

She wasn't really cute enough for me to run this on the mainpage, but The Douchelick is rank. I'm talking Arthur Kade rank.

But enough on all that is poo in this world.

You've worked hard. It's Friday. Here's your Tropical Ass Pear. It's like two cantaloupes fighting over the check.

That couch has more microscopic bugs crawling on it than a Blink 182 after-party.

I don't know what that means. I just like typing "Blink 182."

But as much as he hearts puka-shell necklaces and thin, pencily 'staches?

Collar Pops.

Still out there.

Still douchey.

Hmm... Iron Man II,
Not the direction I'd guessed.
Dane Cook as Robin?

Day job at WalMart
Stocking the shelves in housewares
Shoplifted an iron

- Vin Douchal

Waxing on and off
Did not mean your chest, Scrote Bag
Miyagi has failed

-- Anon - Bender Douche

Iron Man Kravitz
steams Gyllenhaal wannabe
Now where's the short bus?

- Anonymous

Yo babes, check me out!
I ironed these pants myself
Where'd these holes come from?

-- Anonymous

Hirohito douche
Imitates Stevie Wonder
Deserves Seppuku

-- Anonymous

----

Okay kids, time to play another round of the Hottie/Douchey game that's sweeping the nation:

Halloween or Europe?

Which is it?

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

Jimmy so badly wants to be douchey. He's got the hat tilt. The overpriced shirt from Nordstroms. The "rocker" hand gesture. Jimmy's even recently finished a tasty cherry Lifesaver.

But all sexy sweet take-home-to-mom Kara can do is give him a pity hug.

For Jimmy is douche-wannabe.

As such, he is nonthreatening. Clownish. A douchal echo.

But that is not an excuse for that getup. He is still to be mocked.

Somewhere in this lineup of snowflakey pure underwear sporting freshhotts at the Kegger, I've carefully hidden a Fratty Waldouche.

Look closely.

Can you find him?

There once was a Fratclown named Ron,
Who macked on the Kappas in the john,
He showed off his bling,
And screamed out "cha-ching!"
As Kelly screamed "My favorite 80s movie is Tron!"

Because, lets face it, Tron rules.

It's a quiet Wednesday afternoon in smoggy, hazy, car fumes smelly Los Angeles.

Your humble narrator reclines in his chair and contemplates the logic that leads one to wear a six inch faux to a frat party.

Your humble narrator also contemplates the firm, child bearing and land tilling hips of the Miami Hott in the center. How I wouldst forty acres those mules.

Brothabag Perry on the right gets a nottadouche, even with the hint of kissy lips.

But Gerry, on the left, gets a smack for the shirt and horns.

Where are we hurtling towards on this planet of global douchal plague? And how wouldst I nestle in Floral Brunette's upper boob area crying out with guttural whimpers until she told me to leave then texted six friends about it?

These questions task me.

So I munch a Hoho.

And the sugar rush tells me all will be well in the witching hour as the sun sets over Coffee Beans and actresses.

As the breeze blows over the troubles of a disaffected yet hyper-connected populace.

As the twitters and twatters drink flavored americanos and the sands blow by counting the moments towards eventual disembodied sigh. As we prep to do it all again tomorrow in our eternal hope to break free and find truth.

I will have another Hoho now.

Yeeeahhhhh!!!!

There I was, settling in for a nice lunch of deviled eggs, powdered do-nettes and a tasty Dr. Brown's Black Cherry soda, when I stumbled into this pic.

Now how am I supposed to motivate enough to find my socks and venture out to Trader Joes to restock the cookie and blood orange soda supply?

I must heed the warning: When stage-4 Bleethed out Douchebaguette and stage-4 Tatt Douche come together, Gozer will awaken.

Krakenbags are a lesser known form of aqua douchewankery.

First spotted emerging from the primordial ooze of lower Staten Island, Krakenbags are a recent addition to the Greasus Scroterus species.

Noted for their incredibly thin facial pubes, large poisonous blowout hairstyles, and propensity to disrobe at the mere sight of a camera, Krakenbags are often found swimming in small groups and preying on disaffected NYU sophomores.

Like poor Karen, pictured here.

This'll teach her dad to pay more attention to her.

Finger Boy is pissed.

Finger Boy was in the process of Bleething poor Finnish exchange student Svenga (note the collar pop), when he found out Anchor Chin won the monthly.

Finger Boy voted for The Crimson Goose.

It was a boobie/douchey smackdown drag out fight for HCwDB supremacy.

But after spirited debate, and spirited spirits, the winner was clear, the winner was unambiguous, and the winner was boobies and douche-chin in cohabitating toxic wrongness.

The voters speak:

Mr. White: Anchor Chin has an anchor sculpted onto this face and the salty douche scowl of a Captain Abag (no relation to the regular of the same name) who's failed to catch the Great White Whale. Racquel has flawless skin and batshit crazy eyes that say, "You may get to touch my magnificent musk melons, but only if you're in four-point restraints on the cold, stainless steel butcher's table in my basement." And I'm O.K. with that.

Skyler: Anchor Chin and Raquel. One word: Boobies!

Anonymous: Anchor Chin & Raquel, easy. The shaved/waxed chest...the bling...the manicured chin pubes...and the pout, my God the pout. He is absolutely nauseating. I don't think much needs to be said about Racquel that hasn't already been said...twice.

Poohsticks: Anchor Chin and Raquel - because the poo is pooey and the boobies are boobie.

Keia: Anchor chin and Raquel win this battle of the D-bags. That pout. Those breasts. It's the perfect combination of wrongness in V-neck formation.

siDOUCHous: Anchor Chin and Raquel represent everything that HCwDB is about. Raquel is perfect in every which way. The smile warms your heart and your pants, and you'd propose to her on the spot if they didn't have the restraining order on you already. Anchor Chin represents the juxtaposition: too much flab chest exposed, unnecessary bling, pouty face, douche facial hair, and hair gelled to douche-fection. He is what makes you angry in life. He is why you hate your job, because he delivers your mail in the office, replenishes the water cooler, or pulls your pizza out of the oven and doesn't give you the discount since you didn't bring the f*cking coupon.

Gigadouche: Anchor Chin and Raquel FTW. Anchor Chin reminds me of Xenu for some reason. Raquel is one of the most lickable hotts ever seen on this site. Easy choice.

massengill: Chin for the win. No, he's not wearing a sweater vest, but he's got a V-neck that plunges down below his sternum. No, he's not wearing a rosary, but he's got some kind of f&cked-up Celtic bottle opener or some shit hanging from a shiny chain. He's got a tough guy stare, carved facial hair and kissy lips. Raquel has melons. And melons. And melons.

baleen: Anchor Chin FTW for a couple of reasons. She's smiling. He's not. She has the rack of the century and he has pubic hair on his chin.

Jurassic Douche: Anchor Chin and Raquel. Raquel's boobs have that "lay your head on my cleavage" look that Rachelle lacks.

Excellent deconstructions, panel. Gold stars all around. Coming in a solid but clear second, The Jerz Orange texting of The Crimson Goose and the ignored hottitude of Holy White Triange:

Aaron A: Crimson Goose FTM. Grey Goose+ Grip of Said Grey Goose x Orange (distributed to the Gel Hair + the unbuttoned)x the multiplicative inverse of texting next to hott + eyes and boobie of hott= Hot Chick With Douchebag of the Month.

Discrete Harm of the Doucheoise: Crimson Goose FTW. He's a burnt umber cro-magnon whose infatuation with status-symbol firewater and shiny electronic objects blinds him to this sexy future-nurse practitioner displaying unmistakable signs of being in heat. This is like a picture of matter meeting anti-matter at a Long Island nightclub; it should have caused a black hole by now.

euripidouche: crimson goose. this is epic wrongness texting and hugging the almost empty bottle of goose, the wallpaper, the couch that came from a howard johnson's ultralounge, if such thing existed. the doucheorange,and how do you ignore the dominique swain hott? pleading with the camera for attention, if i stare any longer i am gonna owe child support.

Captain Bringdown: My vote goes to the Crimson Goose, whose dedication to narcissism can permit him to let a spanking hott slinky coed cool her heels while he cradles a needlessly expensive bottle of market-hyped mouthwash and electronically masturbates with his "posse". The stench of his inflated self-image lingers like the miasma in a Louisiana highway rest stop public toilet.

Anonymous: All of these are--as the name suggests--hot chicks with douchebags. Indeed, some are very hot, and all are very douchey. But only the Crimson Goose provokes an existential crisis. The chick is slutty/innocent-hot; the goose is over-priced; the phone is inexplicable; the wallpaper is, well, it is, er, it is destroying my brain. Attention must be paid.

Anonymous: As much as I love Raquel's Sweater Meat...and God only knows I do; I have to vote for The Crimson Goose. The glare coming off of his greasy orange forehead is nearly blinding. This in turn makes it difficult to look at the Hott's Holy White Triangle. Which curiously makes me want to punch a 3 year-old Sudanese war orphan in his yam bag. SEE WHAT YOU MADE ME DO CRIMSON GOOSE!

I have to say, even though Crimson Goose got less votes, the C.G. voters brought the funny in a serious way. This proves what a tough Monthly it was. So tough, that Waxy McBrow and the Eastern European confusion of Rachelle came in third:

Yahoo Scrotius: Waxy & Rachelle FTW, because that turd seems to think he belongs with her. And what's even more mystifying, she seems to think she belongs with him. That makes me cry tears of boobie.

BackDoorNoBaby: Waxy McBrow and Rachelle without a doubt. It's sad that deep pocketed family money has gravitated those perfect fun bags o'plenty. What kind of douche must a man be to not crack a giddy smile around such a cornucopia. No one buys your pseudo deserving heir doucher. Just pay the bills and let me clean your pool while your away.

Douche Mengia: Where Anchor Chin reeks of and tries to be poo, Waxy has already been poo for 4 years. Where it looks like a toss-up between Waxy and Anchor chin, one needs only to review the further evidence (links) to see the edge. We can restart the debate when further evidence of Anchor Chin's baggery is revealed. Until then, it is Waxy that wins. And by win, I mean deserves to be buried alive somewhere in the Meadowlands.

And in a distant but sad fourth place finish, Popeye the Scroter Man. That's what you get for covering up the hotts with your flex, Popeye. So lets let the everpresent Anonymous take us home:

I have to go with Anchor Chin for his presence anywhere near hottie Raquel is just not right. Everything about this picture is what makes me question the existence of a higher power. WHY DO YOU LET THIS ANGEL NEAR THIS DOUCHEBAG? WHY!

Why indeed, anonymous voter person. Book Anchor Chin and Raquel their well earned spot in the HCwDB of the Year in December. They've earned it.

And by earned it, I mean a sweet hott cohabitating with a turd that floats in the ocean.

Oh Dirty Jerz, is there anything you can't do?

Even without tatts, bling, hat tilt, hand gestures, nor facial pubes, I can still smell that toxic taint as Vinny harasses Ilene on the dance floor.

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DB1:

I shared the brilliance that is HCwDB at a Joomla Day (software conference/party) last year, while a few of the speakers and myself were killing some time before a flight.

We sat on three different laptops, all looking at the same HoS member and laughing hysterically, then switching to another until 4 hours had passed and it was time to jet.

Fast forward a year, the next conference I attend is in Las Vegas, basically my home turf. At the conference's after party, we hung at a private cabana and all of a sudden a total douche walks up to the steps and starts to dance like an organ grinder's monkey, presumably to impress our women and get us to invite him up. We gave each other a look and encouraged one of the crew to pull out a camera to document his douchery.

Dancing next to him was a lovely Asian woman in a red dress, pictured here. We encouraged our ass clown to get the girl to pose with him in the picture so we could make it to the site. To our surprise, she totally did it. We laughed our asses off for 10 seconds after the photo was taken, then immediately offered the lady a drink for her trouble.

Thank you for giving us HCwDB to enjoy on the lonely nights spent programming.

Nerd Huntress
-----

Mmm... Asian Nerd Hotts 'tagging Anthony Keidis. Can't say that this dude looks overly douchey here, but I liked the email so much I'm going with it.

PIC DELETED
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Dear Douchebag1,

All of my girlfriends agree that our friend's boyfriend is a major douchebag, and it would be wonderful to have outside confirmation.

We've been trying to get her to realize the extent of his douchebagginess for quite some time, my only hope is that she'll clue in before they move in together or worse, she gets pregnant and married.

- The Hott Saver
----

There's not much I can add to that warning, except that looking at the second pic(edit: pick deleted), I wouldn't climb into that hot tub even if I was wearing a hazmat suit covered in gauze, surrounded by a Bubble Boy bubble, and was already dead so it didn't even matter.

EDIT: I took out the reference in the letter to the critter/crawler infectious stuff. That's probably too much to leave up.

Using my Scrote-to-English dictionary, I'm still struggling to decipher the coded meaning being imparted by Lorenzo in the back.

I've come up with the following possibilities:

A. Help, I'm being held captive by the Janice Sisters, and they chew gum quite loudly.

B. Grrranimals. Two times.

C. Penelope on the left puts out.

D. Can we find meaning in an existential universe?

D. My job prospects are limited by my life choices.

Help me out in the comments thread.

What's Lorenzo saying?

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DB1-

Here in Cleveland, we really don't have anything other than the rock and roll hall of fame.

Unfortunately this has gone to the heads of many o' douchebags. They believe that since they play the local bar that they can actually make it in the music world, mostly because there is nothing else happening in Cleveland.

This type of douchebag refers to the Cleveland area as "The North Coast" as if Cleveland actually has some coast line that isn't a complete eye sore. They throw up the "w" with their fingers in order to proclaim that they are from the West Side of Cleveland.

- B.A.
----

Yo yo yo, North Side. Or, in the case of the 'bag here, the hand sign for "Snuffleupagus."

Yeah, I made a Sesame Street reference. Because that's how I roll.

Because the truly macho hold their energy drinks "pinky up."

Oh, Meatwadian Bartender.

Your simian hulking ways make you king of your workplace from 6pm until close.

Sure, Jenny's forearm is the size of one of your meaty fingers. And your Armani Exchange douche-cloth is bursting at the seams. And your requisite tribal tatt flexes with pride, as you tilt your body with sloping gait.

For you are the alpha male.

And by alpha, I mean douchey. And by male, I mean get me another Rolling Rock.

----
DB1-

Did you see the new Dane Cook that was out on Comedy Central today? He has an entire section on "haters".

Why is it that every time I hear the word "haters" come out of anyone's mouth, I can't help but want to just give them a cock punch? Is there any way to say haters without sounding like a tool?

- Shamespear the Magnificent
----

With apologies to the Dane Cookesque Jeff Foxworthy, if you use the word "hater," you might be a douchebag.

And yes I know it's passe to hate Dane Cook at this point. But I just can't help myself. If douchebaggery is defined as the phoniness of the constructed performative spectacle to acquire the suckle thigh, than who if not Dane Cook? The man could make ordering fries at a Wendys sound like a well rehearsed, focus group tested career move.

It's like that ancient Chinese philosopher, or maybe Jesus, once said:

Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day.

Teach a man to listen to Phish, and he will smell like poo for a lifetime.

HCwDB scrote legend and all around chinstrappy party boy, Tighty Armani, sez: Yo! Don't forget to vote in the Monthly!

T.A.'s still bringing the 'tude to the sorority pout hotts, I see.

That reminds me, this pud had quite a run with the ladies last year.

Methinks a vote for the Hall of Scrote is in order?

Boo. And ya. It is here.

Four couples of hott and choad. Four couples enter. Only one may call itself HCwDB of the Month. Only one may earn a slot at the 2009 Douchies in the coveted category of HCwDB of the Year.

Which will it be? Here are your finalists:

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #1: Anchor Chin and Raquel

There is little missing from this cohabitation of stench and sexy.

In fact, it is nearly a perfect storm of hott and douche.

Of sexy pale cleavite that is begging for the DB1 to grease his head up and do a triple lindig betwixt those soft flesh pillows.

Of punchable Anchor Chin that is all chest shaved chin pubed spikey hair 'tude.

I mean, just look at his smug douche-pout. Don't you want to cauterize a kitten's ears? Yes. Yes you do.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #2: The Crimson Goose

Bringing Orange to a whole new level of orangitude, this orangutan introduces a new douchal innovation:

The Goose Fondle + Text.

Factor in his complete ignoring of a self fondling Long Island Hott in slippy red dress, and the pic rises to a strong contender in the Monthly.

Then add in wallpaper books, and you have a visual commentary on how simulation has replaced the authentic in the age of mechanical reproduction.

Every great HCwDB pic needs that extra bonus that renders the whole scene into postmodern art, and wallpaper books does the trick. As do white, cotton undies, which I would awkwardly touch like a confused ape regarding a monolith.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #3: Popeye The Scroter Man

Just try to imagine how the hell Popeye got into that Ed Hardy shirt.

Grease?

Pliers?

Is it actually not a shirt but a spray-on decal?

The hotts are hard to read for quality, but maybe that's the point.

The Scroter Man has determined that his cig and pecs are more important than a gaggle of woo-hotties.

Which is quite the annoyance.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #4: Waxy McBrow and Rachelle

The only Monthly to feature a series of pics, Waxy and Goose and Waxy and Co., McBrow and Rachelle's European Countries are tough finalists indeed.

Waxy bothered some voters because, other than the Rosary bling, he doesn't bring a lot of visceral douchitude to the table.

Aha! But note the very subtle boob point.

And pants stain.

And punchable smug expression, all in presence of a sweet, innocent smiling Eurohott.

Okay, maybe not that innocent. But this couple is real, not just a PTP. And as such, it strikes terror in the hearts of millions of Europeans who fear that National Scrotecialism will lead to a dictator who will drive the country to douchal war as part of the infamous "Axe Powers."

I have no idea what that meant.

So them's your Final Four.

Think. Meditate on the hott. Ruminate on the choad. Which coupling most rises in foul toxicity to call itself HCwDB of the Month?

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.