Get your Morris action figure!!

Now with Kung Douche Grip!!

(Woo Girls sold seperately)

Some star nips cannot be unseen.

With clockwork certainty, the Tiki Douche can be summoned when the following factors are present:

1. A "Bud Light" Totem Pole, mocking all that was once authentically indigenous to Native American culture.

2. A Brunette Boobie Hottie with winsome face and softy soft boobie boob.

3. Layoffs at the local Jiffy-Lube

----
Bienvenue DB1,

Just have a question regarding men who do not display physical characteristics of douchebaggery (barbed wire tats, mandannas, kissylips, etc.), but in similar fashion feel the need to put on a peacock-display through imaginary verbal acumen.

For example, say an individual at some sort of social function feels the needs to drop "post-modern zeitgeist" or other bullsh*t verbose words in order to insinuate intellectual superiority in their attempts to impress the hot.

Do these people file under the douchebag category or are the relegated to less harmful categories like pompous, asinine, and ass-clown?

Sincerely,
J
----

All those names apply. Or you can just call me DB1.

It's not the bling or hat tilt or Affliction shirt.

It's that douche-face. That's what won him the belt and made Ted the Champion.

The Champion of kitchen poo.

Looks like Saturday's Splosionhead brought in a whole posse of douchebags to mack on Kimmy and Kelly over summer vaca.

There's enough gel in this group of clowns to freeze a hippo in agar.

As to the hotts, Kimmy's body is glorious.

Feminine, yet strong enough to till the soil during harvest season. I would lick her hoop earrings with the angry butter churning motion of a young Amish goatherder who can't find wife.

It's hard out here for a pimp.

And by out here, I mean suburbia.

And by pimp, I mean Timmy the Clown.

Oh Morris.

Your face is like a three day old loaf of pumpernickle rye after being urinated on by feral wolves and then masticated by a toothless billy goat.

Your limp, half-hearted sideways gang sign hand gesture just made a member of the Crips in Compton cry for the father he never knew.

Your kissy lips are a spectral guppy fish sucking the air of future progress out of the ether and converting it to carbon douchoxide.

Poor Caroline.

She just wanted a free drink.

What's more fun than macking on a Brunette while sitting on a couch painted by Joan Miró?

Flipping off that bitch who prefers Modigliani.

Yup. Art jokes. On a Monday no less.

I blame too much dextrose.

All three of the people in this pic voted for #2, as you can tell.

Have you voted in the Weekly yet?

Ali bomaye!! Ali bomaye!! It's on.

Here's your finalists:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Bucky Got Mad Game (and Crazy Skillz)

What always adds a second layer of crapwaddery to an HCwDB pic is confirmation that the coupling is, indeed, real.

Later that week we learned that not only did Bucky have mad game, but he has crazy skillz.

And the painful pic #3 confirmed this taintball of poseur lick was actually with tanned Kathy Hott.

Kathy Hott has a smile that makes avacados shimmy and grapefruits burst forth with citrus seed.

Bucky needs to be run over by a steam train and then peed on by a titmouse.

Also note the giant welder's gloves as Bucky "Runs with the Goose." A new douche look for 2009? Perhaps.

And the pants? Hammertime.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Shmeg Warrior

This pic has grown on me like a fetid fungus for a number of reasons.

At first, Shmeg felt like your standard Party Choad. Then I looked closer.

The smug pout.

The dipshit hair with frosted tip bonus.

The hint of Vote for Pedro mustache.

The prominent neck bling.

And curling up with him is our Drunk Sorority Hottness, Amanda, with sexy shoulder suckle and dazed "do me" resignation.

She reminds me that we must also pay tribute to Farrah Fawcett, the originary H.C. of the 1970s. A bit before my time, but I hear that poster brought about many to want to Lee her Majors.

And if she is Farrah echo, he's Michael's chimp, Nubbles.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: The Scrotasaurus

This pic did not get the HCwDB props it deserved when it first appeared last week.

Note two of the hottest, purest, ivory snow ladies that I would salivate on like a drooling brain-addled oxy contin addicted lobotomy patient enraged after watching six straight hours of Mind of Mencia while strapped to a Clockwork Orange torture chair.

And do not let the grin forgive the Scrotasaurus his douchitude. For he is the worst of Vegas pustule.

Clearly this is HCwDB Weekly material. But is this coupling (tripoling?) rank enough to win?

(Dis)honorable mention to Steven King's The Tongue and The Tongue Part 2, Luke Wilson's Tumor, Follywood Squares and Suspenders of Disbelief, each of whom just missed the cut, for varying degress of hottness and douchitude.

So them's your three.

Which rises to the top (bottom) of the scale? That's up to you.

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

The leader in Vinegar and Water solutions for 73 years!!

Or at least until this guy came along.

If it gels, we can mock it.

Does this alien hunter of douche-prey ever wear a shirt?

There's gel.

There's lots of gel.

And there's 'Splosionhead.

Random thoughts on this rainy/sunny New York Friday as yesterday's Shmeg Warrior also finds he needs his gallstone removed:

The Michael Jackson tributes continue, and all I can think about is Rockwell.

Poor Rockwell. Who will sing his chorus now. Won't somebody think of Rockwell?

What's with celebrity 1980s muscle-guys doing cameos in comedies where they beat up one of the lead characters? First it was Lou Ferrigno in I Love You, Man putting the sleeper hold on Jason Segel. Then Mike Tyson punching the fat bearded guy in The Hangover. What's next? Please let it be Mr. T punching out Mylie Cyrus.

It could happen.

Here's your Friday Links:

Cracked.com with a nice decoding of tatt location meaning. Good work Cracked. I always preferred you to Mad.

I can't tell if I find this new Burger King ad campaign hilarious or desperate for attention, or both.

Douchery in Deutschbagland. For the historians among us, an important artifact of Germanic douchescrotery is Leni Riefenstahl's 1930s work on the power of fascist name-branding, Triumph of the Gel.

Yeah. I just made a Leni Riefenstahl joke. Beat that, Perez Hilton.

If you thought future Hall of Scrote member E-Blo would finally show a facial reaction when embracing a half-naked guy instead of a boozy bar hott, you thought wrong.

Ed Hardy is now branding sneakers. And another piece of the future shrivels up and dies like beached plankton.

Breaking News: Hollywood Giggle Hott Anna Faris marries a goofy flagsack. Yeah, he's pretty much a nottadouche. But I have a huge thing for Faris.

The new Axe Bodyspray "dark temptation" chocolate guy commercial is a bit much.

And finally... for another great week of 'bag hunting in a very odd week of cultural disruptions, here's your Friday Ass Pear. You've earned it.

Go forth. Drink. Liberate a boobie hottie. If you are a 'bag huntress, get a douche to hit on you, then kick him in the nads. For it's the drinkin' hour. And your humble narrator's got a bunch of PBRs chillin' in the fridge.

Cocktus Plant instructions:

1. Make sure your Cocktus Plant gets plenty of light.

2. Water with L.A. Looks Gel every four to six months

3. Keep your Cocktus Plant in a dry area, and your Cocktus Plant should live for many years. Or until its parents cut off its credit card.

4. If you tire of your Cocktus Plant getting drunk and playing Journey songs on the jukebox just to sing along loudly and out of key, simply kick it in the nads and it should go away.

Somewhere in this lineup of perky coed boat hottness, I've carefully placed a saggy, pale pile of stinky manloaf.

Don't bother looking for it.

It's just poo.

Stephen's Hawking 'Mo,
Bethany giggles softly,
Motorbike jumps hair.

Motorcross poser
Has Harley attitude with
tricycle street cred.

-- Douche Wayne

Hair model, spray gel
Ass model in tight blue jeans
Grab it, I would, too

-- Vin Douchal

Mohawking Grab Ass
Pauses his X-box bike game
to mack on Katie

-- JoMama

Playstation on Pause
Hott ass pear grab cant hide shame
how to moto-x on VHS

-- indyhoosier

Sheen on 'bags forehead
Feels like I'm looking at the
Douche In The mirror.

-- Crucial Head

I have no idea how to pay adequate tribute to you on a site called Hot Chicks with Douchebags, Michael, so I'll just run a retro celeb hottie/douchey coupling featuring your early 1980s friends.

Andrew Ridgeley and Brooke Shields.

Well, that's one way to remove a gallstone.

Faux + frost + bling + shaved chest + drunk hottie slobbering on chin = $1 tucked into pants.

---------
DB1-

My friend is bleethed out so unredeemably that she's on the verge of no longer being my friend. She hangs with 'bags exclusively and doesn't even recognize them for the taintslime that they are.

I've tried to tell her in every way imaginable. I tapped it into her forehead in Morse code. I whispered "they're douche" into her sleeping ear. I made a diorama featuring a lone Bratz doll surrounded by a collection of Homies.

I swatted her delicate bottom with a newspaper to administer negative reinforcement as I poured her roofie-colada from a UBC into a proper pint-glass.

Help me Obie-Wonkedouchie. You're my only hope.

-Poppa's Got a Brand New Bag
-----

There is little that can be done when a suckle thigh becomes a full douchebaguette, or what we call a stage-3 or stage-4 "Bleeth." And yes, despite her douchebaguettery, you still want to suckle upon suckle thigh. A classic example of the "Douchadox."

Even the most experienced 'bag hunter suffers from this paradox between douche and desire.

You must minimize exposure to the toxicity and find still redeemable hotts to stalk awkwardly until she politely asks you to leave her apartment or she'll call the cops.

Say it ain't e-so!

Even with eyeliner, mandana, hand-beads and his boozy bar hott on his arm, E-Blo's botoxed soul shines through.

HCwDB of the Month runner-up, The Krackenbag, is not resting on his greased up laurels.

He's still out there. Still attemping to reach E-Blo level bankness in presence of hotts. His virus is so toxic it's like a supernova of douchal implosion. Note the 'bags and bleeths left in his wake.

No redemption possible in this pic. Scrub it all with Lysol and lets go get a coffee.

Ah yes, one of the cut scenes from Jurassic Pec IV: The Lost Vegas.

The Scrotasaurus attacking dual ass pears sequence just didn't jibe with the "family friendly" approach. But I would've kept it.

Like Dogs Playing Poker was to the 1950s, FratsnHotts Playing Pool is to the June 20s of 2009s.

FratsnHotts Playing Pool is a strong contender to be included as part of my touring installation-art exhibit.

When my genius for image recontextualization in the age of the simulacrum is finally recognized by the Academy as one of the great conceptual artistic leaps of the 21st Century.

I expect this recognition to be accorded to me by most major museums and critics by 2023.

Yesterday's"Translate that Forehead Untannery" writes in with an eloquent response for his critics:

--------
okay first all.... your all faggot hatas second we were all in acapulco so na itz real.... second that girl isnt his sista..... your alll fuccin dead gay
-----

And then moments later, a coda:

----
you go do that at least speak the truth if ur gunna take peoples pictures.....not alll tans are fake give it up
----

Give it up indeed, good sir. Give it up indeed.

And yes, in honor of E-Blo's win in the HCwDB of the Month, this is a new pic of that most legendary of consistent Hall of Scrote doucherstars, Peaches. The only update for 2009? His point is now turned upward.

At God. Or a hypothetical anus.

The kids aren't all right.

A solid and convincing win of blankness. And lets not forget Pics 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6.

But lest I babble, let me turn it over to the always genius 'bag hunters and huntresses in the voting thread:

PhilthyPhil: EBLO ftw imho. All eblo's pics are impressive to say the least but the original is pure douche entrancement. Britney is attractive and her pose is not awkward but expressive. For me her earnest stare, coupled with the submissive posture represents societies last pleading cry for salvation as eblo's red eyed and vengeful scrotal aura envelopes her soul. Eblo's vacant grimace cuts me deep and I go.. in fear....

Mikey: E-Blo and Guido are both HOS worthy, but e-Blo's body of work wins hands down!

Yahoo Scrotius: Many a combat veteran returns home with the 1,000-yard stare that E-Blo so perfectly demonstrates in photo after photo. And like his fellow veterans, he should be honored. For E-Blo wages a tireless battle -- the never-ending war against the receding hairline. While his audacious comb-forward flanking maneuver may never be studied at West Point, he deserves our mad respeck for confronting the enemy ... male pattern baldness ... and living to tell his tale. Wear those store-bought dog tags and your little sister's shirt with pride, sir. I hope we meet one day, for it would be my honor to salute you. And by salute you, I mean kick you in the nads.

Douchetros Douchetros Ghali: E-BLO FTW, because his body of work is like the rape scene from Deliverance. It makes you want to shoot someone before gouging your eyes out.

Redneckbag: It can be none-other than E-blo. He is destined for triumph in the monthly and a meteoric assent to the HOS. Too bad his employment prospects aren't nearly as bright.

notadouche: E-BLO. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, go directly to the Hall of Scrote. E-BLO is a festering pustule on the ass of society and he must be popped.

M: LISTEN! And understand. E-BLO is OUT there. It can't be bargained with, it can't be reasoned with... it doesn't feel embarrassment, or humility, or arousal... and it absolutely will not stop-- EVER!-- until decency and good taste are DEAD.

Jane Q. Public: E-Blo is the great white shark of douchebags. E-Blo for the monthly.

Scrotie and the Bandit: Electric Blight Orchestra! It has to be. He is a douchebag with remarkable consistency. He always brings it - a ridiculous over-gelled hair design; usually some lame hand sign; textbook DB-wear; classic DB details (man-jewelry, arm tatt, shoulder tatt, white belt, etc.) and the markofthedouche is strong with this one. Let's not forget, that somehow, this Uber-Douche always has hot Hotts in his pictures as well.

Anonymous: When I watched Jordan play as a kid, I remember thinking to myself wow I am watching a legend...Those same feelings came back to me after all this time with E-Blo.... E-Blo is just on another level here people.

fidouchiary responsibility: E-Blo should get a line-jumper's pass directly to the Hall of Scrote. That fact that this bag continues to infect hotts - and a wide array of high-quality tastiness at that - is a sign that the apocalypse is near. E-Blo by a landslide!

E-Blo by a landslide it is, fellow 'bag mockers. Excellent work deconstructing the causes and taint-nips of each of our contestants. E-Blo won with a solid victory, but Candice and the Krackenbag came in second:

Dr. Bunsen Honeydouche: In this line up Lumpy and Guido don't even rate. It is like the "Thrilla in Manilla" between Kracken and E-Blo. E-Blo has the body of work but Kracken has multiple docuhe qualities already listed by previous voters. Although I didn't initially vote for him in the weekly, I have to go with the Kracken. He made me rip a kitten in half like a used phone book.

DBAD: E-blo can only dream of getting his stare to the emptiness that is the red-eye of Krackenbag. Candace also looks like I girl I know in high school. I'm not allowed near her anymore. Damn restraining order.

AC/DC Bag: We have unleashed the Krakenbag. Woe to us all!

Woe indeed, AC/DC. The Krackenbag is Joey Porsche Posse douchitude, but not enough to take his own prize. Coming in third, the guidosity of Guido Buttchinksy:

Troy Tempest: guido FTW, because I used to date someone named Tonya, who was a GODDESS of Russian by way of Danish passport and was one of the classiest and finest women I ever drooled over, and Guido's association with her hallowed name, even if fictive, is enough to send me into fits of rage.

Douvhetastic: It's gotta be buttchinsky! He's the only one I'd immediately kick in the nuts if i walked past on the street!

Anonymous: GUIDO FTW!! He's got it all, except the hot chick, but he himself is the biggest douche!

The lack of hott definitely cost G.B. as Tonya was too covered up and distant to really rate the H.C. side of the equation. And coming in a fourth in spite of the legendary hottness of Steph was Lumpy:

Ol'Bag: I voted for him in the weekly, and he gets my vote again. He is a 9 on my douche-scale, while Krackster and E-Blo are indeed 10's, but, then there is Steph, whom, if it is her ass-pear in the third pic, is an honest 9.5 Hott chick indeed, w/douchebag!
Lumpy and Steph, for the win

Steph will definitely pop up again, if only in my dreams. But E-Blo's consistency is Hall of Scrote level, and his hots are nothing to ignore. RAPETIME takes us home:

In my nightmares, I am lying on the ground, wounded, about to receive the coup-de-grace from my enemy. I do not focus on the muzzle of the firearm pointed directly between my eyes, I focus on the eyes of that which is about to slay me, looking for the slightest tinge of humanity, of mercy, to save me from my fate.

All I see in those eyes is an all-encompassing emptiness. I am nothing more than an obstacle to his next victim.

Those eyes are the eyes of E-Blo.

One day he will slaughter me and my kind.

And Darksock:

E-Blo deserves victory for no other reason than being the first human to Botox his soul.

Well said panel. Hard to argue with E-Blo for the Yearly. The empty eyes and random hotts are too strong to overcome.

See you at the 2009 Douchie Awards, E-Blo. You've earned it.

Lets cleanse the palette after my Perez rant with a lineup of four tasty brunettes and one carefully hidden party-boy Waldouche.

Waldouche is carefully placed amidst two quality shoulder suckles and a tasty hott stomach begging me to make the "pooch" noise on it.

Look closely.

Can you find him?

Because sometimes Ubiquitous White Douchebelt is not enough to keep your pants on.

This here's the mug from Friday's Translate That Tatt.

Yet I'm fascinated by that weird gap of paleness between his hairline and his fake-tanned forehead.

Is it a skin condition? Vitiligo? Was it where the baseball cap was tilted when sitting in the tanning salon?

And what's with noted character actor William Fitchner in the background?

For wasting the collective world's attention on inanity and purile poo, I'm giving a long overdue honorary Douchebag of the Month to ass pimple, blogger and whiny drama queen Perez Hilton.

Normally I don't target the gaybags for the simple fact that it is those who douche it up to get the hotts that rankle me.

But for the fact that, despite all attempts to filter any and all knowledge of this Perez Hilton character from my brain, I still know that he got into a fight with William of the Black Eyed Peas last night, pisses me the hell off.

After someone emailed me this whining testimonal, it was time to give out an award to this preening, vacuous waste of space.

Do I care if Mr. Peas punched first? Do I care that you drew a penis mouth on Lindsey Lohan for the 400th consecutive day in a row?

Hedda Hopper called. She says you suck.

You are Warholian superstar pastiche without the self awareness. You are dim echo of 1980s gay counterculture, reprocessed and defanged as a slightly edgier version of the typical host on "E!" You make Michael Musto look like Oscar Wilde.

All the Lohans and Parises and Jessica Simpsons of the world, penises drawn on their faces, will never bring you comfort, Mr. Hilton. Your successful spew is still the spew of 57 websites and nothing on. Except penises drawn on Lindsey Lohan.

I may only make fun of Hot Chicks and Douchebags in my little corner of the simulacrum. But at least when I get into fights, I don't think the world needs to know about every detail. You have become what you beheld, and no amount of ironic name moniker will save you from the fact you are driftwood monkey poo on a sea of crystalline narcissism and overhyped redundancies.

Take your blank page and fill it with the latest starlet drama. Repeat it enough times and the noise will be loud and fame enhanced. But it's simply a feedback loop of white-noise douchosity. Clown.

Now get off my internets and go back to penis drawing.

A brief exerpt from Steven King's The Tongue:

----
It was late at night that Johnny's tongue came out. Like a tube sock of taint, it would wrap itself around his young, coquettish victims, using only its douchey-ass blue piercing as an eye.

Poor Sally. Before she knew it, The Tongue was upon her. The Tongue moved quickly into her ear canal, sucking her soul into a vat of toxic jerzery.
-----

What? Steven King's new book has embedded hyperlinks. It's the latest thing.

In one of the fastest takedown requests in recent months, not one but both of the Tuscan Eurodouches wrote in with takedown requests.

Firstly, the nice one:

-------
Good work, I knew someday my photographed intoxication would come back to haunt me. This was actually taken on my birthday about 5 or 6 years ago, yes that was me with the awful see through shirt. Please take this down and burn it for me. More importantly, where did you get the photo?

- (Euroscrote #1)
-----------

And then, the dickish one:

---------
This Photo was taken from py private files and you are not authorized to use it. Please remove it from the site immediately. Thank you,

- (Euroscrote #2)
---------

"Private files"? What is this, Matlock?

Which just goes to show us. The nottadouche turned out to be the true pudwacker, and the douche turned out to have a nice sense of self deprecation.

Hmm. I think we've all learned our lesson here.

Which is, of course, that boobies are squeezy.

PIC DELETED

Help me out.

Is this an authentoscrote?

Or some fratclown playing 'bag dressup to get Katie and Vanessa to pay attention to him at the Kappa Kappa Hey mixer?

EDIT: The takedown email confirmed that this tool was, indeed, a serious douche, and not dressing up.

PIC DELETED

There's no redemption possible here.

The Tuscan Scrotes have flown over to party in Vegas with chests and bling fully revealed. They are extreme Euro-poo.

But the Vegas Inflat-a-Hotts are no better. Too far gone for saving. Stage-4 Bleeths. Pure Douchebaguette, with no hope of reversal.

Doomed to small one-bedroom rentals outside of Reno for their next forty years of a life filled with scratch tickets and Sizzler coupons.

If Luke Wilson shat out a tumor, and that Tumor got a bunch of puffins and stars tattooed on his arm, and that Tumor then headed to Vegas to hit on Kylie Minogue, we'd have this pic right here.

Shirtless Old Guy with Hott Blonde in Grandma's Attic just voted in the Weekly.

Have you?

Here it is. The Monthly.

The point at which the last four hottie/douchey Weekly Winners must now compete for a coveted slot in the HCwDB of the Year at the annual Douchie Awards in December. This is where you vote. You pic. You smack that pud.

I turn the court over to you, and humbly present the Final Four. Here are your finalists:

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #1: Guido Buttchinsky and Tonya

Words that rhyme with "orange" include:

1. shmorange
2. Chlorange
3. Gorgonrange
4. Jerz Guid

A triple A/X play (belt, shirt, headband) sends Mr. Buttchinsky from the merely douchey into the scrotally sublime.

Tonya and her Big Gulp are everyday girl next door cute. Tonya's friend/mom has furry coat.

Together they not only sandwich the Orange, but the background lighting actually is orange.

That alone renders this pic worth all of our collective meditation on.

But the coupling itself is weak. Is the Guido/Tonya cohabit rankling enough to win the Monthly? We shall see.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #2: E-Blo and Assorted Lady Friends

Lets remember the legendary run. Pics 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6.

I used to believe that a true HCwDB pic should stand on its own as a singular piece of scrotal art. But I now allow for a body of work to influence a larger ascendance. And by body of work, I mean receding hair gelled forward.

Each pic of the Electric Blight Orchestra helped further complete this comprehensive portrait of blank.

This canvass of null.

This void of noid.

E-Blo has become a legend of both female grope and vacant, nihilist stare of a future of bleakness and human decline.

But what of Britney? She is sweet and wholesome, but also awkward.

And what of the green Gatorade? Will it be drank?

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #3: Lumpy

I've made an executive decision to swap out HCwDB winner Tudo with Lumpy, who was the close runner-up to Guido Buttchinksy and deserves his own shot in the Monthly.

Something about Tudo's pro-Vegas genericism just seemed wrong. So I made the decision to bring back the uberhottitude of Steph.

And the increasingly greasingly Lumpy.

lets not forget the Lumpster's run with blonde hott and Ass Pear here and here.

Lumpy Ass Pear alone might qualify for a 2009 Douchie Award for its artistic composition.

Besides. I needed to look at Steph again. Judge me if you must. But she tingles my nethers and enhances my coital potential.

Lumpy is regular guy real-world douchitude. And Steph is the hottest of the four hotts. Can she carry his Lumpiness to an upset here in the Monthly?

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #4: The Krackenbag and Candice (Candace)

The Krackenbag, long an anonymous uber-douche in the shadow of the legendary Joey Porsche, now steps out and claims his own Weekly.

Check the checklist:

1. Chest shavey reveal
2. Chinstrap
3. Gelled up Long Island Blowout
4. Punchable douche-face

But is Candice aka Candace enough on the hott scale?

Her understated boobs and come-hither stare all suggest a hottness well worth celebrating.

But, as with every great HCwDB pic, the question is the cohabitation. The hottie/douchey dialectics.

Which of these four pics brings enough schroad-kill and boob-hott to create a toxic wrongness that rises to the top (bottom) to win (lose) the prize?

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

With all that's going on in Iran today, I took down the douchey-ass video of Arabs proving to the world they can be as douche as Westerners. And yes, I know Persians are not Arabs. That was the satire -- American ignorance. But it's too painful a real world reminder of the events going on in the world.

So instead, lets all unite by laughing at Klaus.

In spite of his sexy if dominant looking Fräulein , Klaus is all that is douchey in Dusseldorf.

But if you'd still like to laugh at douchey Arabs, here's the video.

Clearly we have an uberdouche of chinstrapfung proportions. Of that there can be no debate. His ant-line chin fung deserves mock.

But what to make of Maria? Part of me is convinced she is plump lipped tasty boobed phenomenal hottitude.

Other parts of me are thrown by the excessive makeup.

Heck with it.

It's Saturday and I'm already cracked into my fourth PBR. I'm a'goin' with it. I vote Hot Chick.

----
DB1 -

Help. My 5 year old kid (white) is already giving hand signs, loves techno music and thinks any tricked out car is cool. This scares the shit out of me as he is already showing signs of bag development.

Can it be stopped? How?

Scared!
Mike
----

There is only one solution, Mike. Sell him into the North Prussian white slave market.

Bedouin spice traders often conscript young apprentices to till the harvest soil, fetch rice bundles and stitch Nikes. You will get good price.

You should easily get 10-20Gs for the little one. Even with the tatts and bling lowering his value by approximately 10-15% in a deflated market.

As the douche smells hott ass, so do we all inhale whiffs of our own proverbial hottassitude on this Friday.

The first week of the HCwDB show, Is She Really Going Out With Him? is wrapping up on MTV, and I'm feelin' good.

After so much work over the last year, your humble narrator on all things boobie/douchey is thrilled to see ISRGOWH finally reach the teevee. So far so good, but keep spreading the word.

Today, I find myself meditating on the arch of the young suckle thigh's inner neck. It is tasty and sometimes salty. And I am also ruminating on how much I hate those silky, designer rapsta Yankee caps. For they are camel poo.

But finally, I've been thinking about the vacuous emptiness of Jennifer Aniston. Her eyes are dead. Like a shark. Hers is the blankness of a nihilist framework without meaning. An empty shell of Hollywoodified personality blank. She's not a bad person. She's just an abyss. But I'd still lick her boobies.

Here's your Friday Links:

Honorary Douchebag of the Month: The Paparazzo Surfer 'Bag on TMZ.

Hot Chicks with... Something.

Commando: Libya. The greatest underground videogame of the late 1980s. For the legendary Commodore 64. The entire point was simply to shoot up Libyans as they walked across the screen who couldn't shoot back. It was sick and demented Reagan era crypto-fascist youth prep. Imagine my joy when I found a Commando: Libya flash simulator online.

The HCwDB of the Month is on Monday, but this coupling of hott and taint is the odds-on favorite in Vegas for the next Week.

Ed Hardy plague infects Australia. It's like when Bart unleashed the frogs.

There's even virtual HCwDB combos on Second Life.

Japan is being overrun by something called "grass-eaters", young men who focus entirely on makeup and preening. Are they Japanese douchebags? Hard to say, but warrants monitoring.

Via the always brilliant The Daily Show, Long Island wants to secede. Nice trio of 'bag tagging, Samantha Bee. If that is your real name.

And finally, for all of your hard work and to celebrate the first week of the show, here's a double reward: Twin Ass Pear. Quality.

So a guy walks into a bar with a tattoo of Middle Earth on one shoulder so he can find the one ring to rule them all, and a sexy Fran Drescher Hott from Queens on the other, and the bartender says, "Why the long face?"

Wait. I think I just mixed up my punchlines again.

Stupid sugary HoHo goodness.

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DB1 -

I was driving on I-95 in Connecticut yesterday when I saw a gorgeous hottie in the car next to me. I was checking her out when I noticed an Ed Hardy air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror.

Two questions immediately came to mind. First, what level of bleeth does it put this woman at? Second, what does such an air freshener smell like? All I can think of is a combination of sweat, AXE, and spilled liquor.

- Carsick in Connecticut
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To help explain the malodorous nature of Ed Hardy Air Fresheners, I've asked HCwDB Finalist Lumpy to come by and reenact.

Attempting to simulate one of our senses by creating artistic representations for one of our other senses is one of the most difficult challenges an artist can face. But Lumpy is a true artist. I think you'll agree that if images could smell, Lumpy has, indeed, created an image of the odor you seek.

As to the Bleeth? Without more evidence, I'd say it's a solid stage-2.

Tattoo backed temptress,
Asher Roth wanksta doucheface,
Combined, make bad rap.

Geddy Lee gone douche
But let's not "rush" to judgement
Ass is ass, my friend

-- saulgoode42

Tramp licks her shoulder
"Color me badd" bag cares not
Too busy mugging

-- Anonymous

O-town loser tries
To see past skanktastic's ink
Home to meet mother?

-- Hong Kong Douchey

two hands on ass pear
pursed lips, collar pop and product
douche leg between stars

-- Scrotie and the Bandit

"No M.S.Jerz."

"In case of emergency, gel."

"Confuscious Say: Douchey Guido should not give hard time to the tattoo artist when he no speak Chinese."

"Her body makes angels weep. Why'd you bring her into the tattoo parlor, choad?"

"Kill Kirk!" and also "Hallelujah!" depending on the context.