Rodriguez writes in:

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Greetings DB1!

Geographically speaking, I live in the ass of Mexico.

Somehow, Ed Hardy douchery has made all it's way to my hometown, a small city in the Yucatan peninsula. Even though we don't have a derogatory term for them yet, they seem to be multiplying like wet Gremlins.

Alas, the hott is not what you'd call a hott, but keep in mind this is third world hott we're talking about. And, if you do post this, they'll never know. Internet here is for the royal family only.

Greetings and congrats on your website.

- Rodriguez

(p.s. I am Mexican, with a sense of humor and auto-mockery)
----

There is a word you can use to describe them, Rodriguez. It's called "douchebag."

However, I disagree on the hott factor among Mexican Latina women. Fiery Mexican hott pockets inspire my minute man to want to partake in their border patrols, and my itinerant migrant workers definitely want to examine their produce.

And yes, that last sentence wins the award for worst comedic analogy of the week.

While we're going with a Fey Orange Guy theme, here's OJ's Imp Son, clearly casting his vote while a number of sexy ladies (and one or two questionable ones) wonder why he isn't paying them any attention.

Here's why, ladies. Imp Son has eye issues.

But The Real OJ is having none of it, as he parties with the nice white folks who do not judge him.

Oompa Manilow and Showgirl Denise just voted in the HCwDB of the Month.

Have you voted yet?

Our abbreviated HCwDB of the Month as we make our final selection for the 2009 Douchies has some surprises in store. Here's your finalists:

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #1: Wretch-a-Sketch and Jezebel

And don't forget Wretch Pic #2.

The Wretchster reminds all of us of the insidiousness of the Travis Bagger look while chasing the ultra tanned zebra vixen, Jezebel.

And, of course, baskets of tasty gourds.

Of course, judging by the beaches in Amity, we're gonna need a bigger boat.

And by bigger boat, I mean someone shoot the tatt guy who won't stop.

Of course it's not the tatts that make The Scribbler so annoying. It's the oh-so-clever "Sideways Peace Sign."

The 45 degree hat tilt.

And the undies poke.

Lame.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #2: Robopud

Robopud was an innocuous Vegasy pool choad except for two key signifiers:

1. He demonstrates the toxic "Groin Shave Reveal," a new 'bag move heretofore unseen on this site until earlier this year.

It's not enough to shorn one's scrotum, as Dr. Evil did in Austin Powers.

But to actually reveal it is to climb the heights of Mt. Doucheverest.

And, two, the power of perky brunette ass chomp and suckle thigh. They are powerful Kimmys from State School, and they are to be celebrated.

Incidentally, Kimmy #2 is demonstrating her own form of Groin Shave Reveal on the right.

And, proving I am a hypocrite of the highest subjectivity of gender bias, I do not complain.

A worthy finalist.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #3: Red Tony

What's this???

Its....

No, it couldn't be...

Red Tony!!!

Red Tony's stormed the Monthly by greasing up and lifting up a brunette cutie at Jerztoberfest 2009!!

Without winning a Weekly!!

He's even brought an overly developed bro to accent his red tinged douche-skin!!

Yeah, okay, I'm filling out a premature monthly like Red Tony fills out a prescription for "enhances" in the Dominican Republic while standing next to A-Rod's "trainer."

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #4: Kettlehead

And what's this???

Kettlehead is back???

The 'Head will not be denied.

Ignored and rejected for boring lack of uberdouchosity in presence of the ladies way back in January, the 'Head has festered in our collective unconscious like a singular eyebrow.

The ladies come and go from Kettlehead's presence.

But the eyebrow and uber-waxed chest never deviate.

For consistency of douchosity in the face of hotness, the 'Head pushed his way into the final Monthly before the 2009 Douchies.

So them's your four.

Select the last of our twelve finalists for the HCwDB of the Year, which begins next week as we launch the Douchie Awards.

Which coupling of hott and choad is most deserving?

Vote now.

Yuri and Boris got mad Russian playah game!!

Your humble narrator is busy processing and preparing for our gala year end awards show and competition, The 2009 Douchie Awards.

A two week festive celebration/mock of all things hottie/scrotey, as well as a voting competition to determine our final winners of the year.

Forget the Oscars. Ignore the Emmys. Urinate on the People's Choice Awards.

This is where the real cultural awards are given out.

Props to all for their suggestions/nominations, your voices have been heard. I've fixed the overlooked categories, adding Hottest Librarian Hott, Douchiest Tattoo and Douchiest ShamWOW Pitchman to the mix.

There will also be a 2009 Irving Thallbag Lifetime Achievement Award, and I'm sure many of you can guess who will receive it.

Get ready.

The Douchies are one week away.

Some days you eat the bar.

Some days the bar eats you.

And some days the douche in the "Dirty Beats" shirt goes home with a girl like that.

And God smites a puppy.

EDIT: Props to Justin, who realized this was another appearance of the Red Hot Chili Pooper, Anthony Peedis and doe-eyed Dina, from September.

The "double thumbs up." And check out the guyliner. I always knew McDonald was a douche.

Here's your links on Turkey Friday:

Wondering about holiday gifts for the 'bag who has everything? How about this?

Speaking of holiday gifts on this "Black Friday," Ed Hardy finally makes an appropriate product. And they're vegan!

Here's a pretty funny Howard Zinn / Noam Chomsky-esque revisionist children's play about Thanksgiving. Great, now I'm depressed.

No, I'm not involved with this show, and wasn't asked to be. For starters, I'd never call them guidos. They're "Jerz Guid Pudscrotes." Everyone knows that.

Someone in Orlando took to Craigslist to question the premises of HCwDB. I have this problem in that the items appearing on Craigslist are neither written by Craig, nor lists.

Speaking of douchebaguettes, Douchebaguettes on Facebook.

A bit too long and more bizarre than funny, but Douchey-Doo!! is a pretty enjoyable cartoon rip on 'bags.

Okay. Since everyone's doing silly things like "spending time with family" today rather than mocking the 'bags, here's your reward for being here:

Turkey Pear. With extra thigh meat.

Somewhere in this pic of an extremely expensive first date hott with a cute little bump-nose, I've carefully hidden a chin-pube swirling hat wearing asshat.

Look closely.

Can you find him?

Sarah writes in with a complaint:

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DB1,

I'm sure you hear this a lot... but a lot of the pictures you put up unfortunately have chicks who, though technically hott, are clearly just as douchey, if not more so, than their male counterparts.

Yet you usually fail to mention this. Such an intellectual as yourself can surely see the logical folly in excusing 'baggy behaviour, simply because it's exhibited by the female of the species? I think this may call for a new category: Douche Couple.

For the HCwDBs moniker to REALLY work, the chick in the picture has to exhibit innocence, beauty and be seemingly un-orange-streaked. If she's as douchey as him, it just looks like anyone with tits can be a loser and not get pwned for it.

What say ye, Douche Master?
- Sarah
-----

I agree that the truly toxic HCwDB pic contains exactly the alchemy you describe, Ms. Sarah. But we must also witness the Bleethed out Douchebaguette, in all her douchery, as the warning of our times.

As to my own skills at mocking female douchitude, this is a concept I explain at length in my book, and is generally referred to as the douchadox. The moment at which boobie hottie suckle thigh calls to me, and overrides my critical faculties, preventing honest critique. This is also a sign of the 'bag within, and represents the limitations of subjectivity. And boobies.

There once was a boxing lightweight,
Who liked to vibrate his jailbait,
But the crowd on the wall,
Did forestall his girl maul,
So instead he'll aerate his prostate.

Yup, that's some high class humor on this Friday. I blame the Turkey.

From the cast of Gossip Girl II: Still Living With Our Parents in Our Thirties.

Important advice this Thanksgiving season from "Healthy Cooking:"

----

Thawing the Turkey

If you get a frozen turkey, you'll need to thaw it in the coldest part of your refrigerator in its original wrapper with a tray resting underneath. You'll need to allow 24 hours for every 5 pounds of turkey.

Preparing Your Turkey

Be sure to pull out the neck and giblets from the body and neck cavity of the turkey.

Don't laugh. More experienced cooks than I have made the mistake of leaving these parts in, only to find the house warmed by the smell of burning plastic an hour later.

Other important prep factors include the size and shape of the pan and the way the turkey rests in the pan.

When I called the Butterball help line -- a useful resource if there ever was one -- I discussed this issue at length with them. And they convinced me that putting the turkey in a pan no deeper than 2 to 2-1/2 inches is ideal and resting it on a flat rack is key.

Or you can just mock it from a safe distance.

----

Some excellent advice on proper dinner etiquette this holiday season, from "Rental Decorating:"

----
5. Once seated, stay awake!

Look to your hostess to lead. At this meal even the most unsuspecting people will say a grace, for instance. The hostess will indicate when to start passing things, and when she starts to eat, you may eat. Facilitate the meal for others – start passing the shared items, the salt and pepper (both), the butter, the cranberry sauce, and the gravy.

6. The passing of things.

If your plates are served, then when someone asks for the salt, pick up both the salt and pepper and place them down beside the person next to you. They are not passed hand-to-hand, and only the requesting party may use them. Inefficient? Manners are not about efficiency.

7. Make conversation.

It’s an active thing! At a smaller seating, there may be one general conversation; in a larger group, talk with the people across from you and on either side of you. If you’re conversation-challenged, work with your coach and come up with a list of conversation-starters, i.e., Did you see that great special on PBS last night? What are your plans for Christmas this year? How was the traffic at the airport? What football team are you rooting for? Start training your children young. Help them come up with a list of things to talk about. They’ll love it and feel included.

8. Mocking douchebags

Should any 'bags be seated at your table this Thanksgiving, be sure to mock and ridicule their absurd choices of clothing and preening narcissism. Your host will appreciate it! Then steal the gibblets from their plate when they're busy talking to the person on the other side of the table about the benefits of Creatine and Muscle Milk. Then hit on their girlfriend.

Be sure to follow these easy etiquette guidelines this Thanksgiving, and yours will be a festive and happy occasion!

And remember. Ubiquitous Red Cup is watching. Always watching.
----

Readers share their recipes:

----
I have never had corn pudding before but decided to make this just as "something different" for Thanksgiving.

I was reluctant, at first, because I come from a very traditional family and I wasn't sure how they would take it. To my surprise, everyone loved it and raved about it! Even the pickiest and most critical eaters loved it. The only problem I had was, since I've never had corn pudding before, I really wasn't sure what the texture or consistency of it should be.

It says "pudding", so I'm thinking it should be the consistency of pudding. But then maybe I was mislead by the directions on the recipe where it states that it's done when a "knife inserted in the center comes out clean". Well, I waited and waited, and kept setting my oven timer over and over again, waiting for the knife to come out "clean", well, an extra 30 minutes or so later, it still wasn't clean and I don't think it ever did come out clean.

So, for those of us that are trying a recipe like this for the first time, maybe the directions should be more clear and less deceiving. Although this came out really good, I'm still going to give it a 4, only because of the directions and the extra amount of time needed to make sure it was cooked (as per the directions).
-----

Between Scribbles #1 and Scribbles #2, the Wretch just barely eeked out the win (loss) over Boobies and the Cosmobag, leaving the Mutaint a distant third.

On this short week Turkey Wednesday, lets go to the videotape:

Publius Choadius Naso: Wretch-a-Sketch FTW. Because tattooing "End Stereotypes" on your skinny white neck among a cacophony of gang-inspired affectations and amidst a pell-mell of emo-inspired fashion is the perfect way to get that particular point across.

Saving Private Guido: Wretch-a-Sketch... because I would prance alongside her in Kenya, shielding her from ravenous lions... and because I want to karate chop his soul.

The Donger: Wretch for the win. If anyone could make my unborn son cry in the womb, it would be him. That picture alone makes me want to be a better father.

Sluggo: Wretch-a-Sketch for the win. The guy's entire life is built around his desire to look more like Travis Barker than Travis Barker looks like Travis Barker.

End the Haberdouchery: Having multiple tattoos about what a badass you are does not a badass make. Want to scare people with a tattoo? Get a narwhal f*cking a unicorn on top of a rainbow. Why? Because you have to have seen some messed up shit to get that tattooed on your body.

Troy Tempest: Wretch-a-Sketch it is for the win. Why? Simple: he's a complete and utter douchebag - pure and simple. I'm really hungry right now, and I haven't the time today to go into this farther - I have to go get something to eat before I pass out.

manimal: FTW...? Gotta be the (Gut) Wretch... He is just so insanely horrific I feel sick... Fortunately, he is destined to work the night shift at a 24-hour adult book-store, in downtown Flint, Michigan -

Wheezer: His desire to transform himself into a pseudo-Travis "Forever a Carnival" Barker shows dedication to the douche craft of perpetual instant gratification. Besides, the attitude he exudes in both photos (dual hat tilt accompanied by head tilt) makes me dizzy.

memphis doucheworkers local 421: wretch a sketch and zebra. as if bertrand russell didn't have enough reasons to deny the existence of god

Jacques Doucheteau: Wretch FTW. He is a skid mark on the tighty whities of society. I guess one would just shave off all their body hair, then get eyebrows and chin pubes permanently etched in if you get crabs as often as McScribbles here does.

dbBen: Wretch-a-Sketch. Because Jezebel has a mother and a father. And someone must speak for them. Just as Ender became a speaker for the dead, I will speak for the mothers and fathers whose hearts are broken because of douchebaggery. "Come home Chiquita Hott, we have fresh pomegranates from the backyard and are just putting on Tortilla Soup featuring Hector Elizondo. We know it's your favorite."

Mr. Scrotato Head: The Census of Marine Life announced today that it had discovered 1000's of new species in the deep recesses of the Librarianus Trench, an exotic chasm located in the depths of the heaving, bouncing Funbaglantic. Unfortunately, most are single celled bacteria, viruses, and yeast. Oh, and one mottled shrimp called Retch-a-Sketch. True story. Retch for the win. Biodiversity for the loss.

Well said panel, although Jezebel is not getting nearly the love she deserves for that poochable pooch. And since Turkey is coming up fast, lets move on to our #2 winner (loser), The Cosmobag and Boobies:

bourbon bill: Librarian hott has the boobies of my dreams. She can shush me all night while I comfort Karla and bandage her broken thumb with extra care. Cosmobag can sweep the meat off my porch. What does this mean? Booobies for the win!!!

jimmy manners: Wretch-a-Sketch is bad, but Cosmo made my monitor greasy. And sexy librarian boobies seal it. I will bury my head in them now.

Sergeant Scrote Stain: 'Tis the week to give thanks, and I shall. I'm thankful for boobs, librarian glasses, boobs, and boobs. Cosmobag is more than douche enough to hold up his end of the scrote bargain with stupid glasses and general Persian douchitude.

Adrian.W: Gotta be Cosmobag FTW! I haven't seen a Douche:Boobie ratio like that since the now infamous Chris Angel and Holly Whatsername pair up. Plain an simple.

Snoop Douchey Bagg: Wretch-a-Sketch is a sub-human Rent-a-Wreck and in any other week may have won. However, Samantha is too hott to be denied, and Cosmobag reminds me of every weaselly car salesman I've ever met. And car salesmen are always douchebags. Cosmobag FTW

True that, SDB. Samantha's boobies may see the light of day again. And by the light of day, I mean chomp. And in distant third, The Mutaint:

ManBearPig: With the glowing orange face, hair freshly harvested from the north side of a tree, sunglasses that are worth more than his '94 Ford Topaz, flashy watch, double skull shirt, and ultra douchetacular pose, the Mutaint is a carefully handcrafted cornucopia of scrote.

atomed: The Cosmobag is punchable, the Wretch-a-Sketch is baseball bat-able, but the Mutaint is gunshot-able, no douchotomy for me, The mutaint wins.

Anonymous: The Mutaint FTW. The hotts with The Mutaint remind me of the wholesome goodness of a three pack of TastyKake Krimpets. The Mutaint reminds me that I have to pressure wash the part of the driveway that doesn't get any sun, so I can get rid of that moss. I could go on, but I think "Pfft, what a douche!" says it all. Oh, and put me down as voting for Jennifer as the hottest 'bag huntress.

Mutaint was a long shot but I wanted to give the ladies a chance to win a Weekly since it was such a good 'tag. So lets let Parabellum take us home for Turkey:

Travesty Barker, Wretch-a-Sketch, the lesser member of Stink18Poo, FTW. For his is the ultimate in non-reversible douchism.

They should have a photo of him in every tattoo parlour as a warning.

He is to tattooing what Michael Jackson was to plastic surgery.

Well said team, and another excellent comments thread of turkey carvings and sweet peas. Chalk up Wretch for next week's abbreviated Monthly, and the DB1 for breakfast cereals of sugary persuasion.

Crotchett and Stubbs have one thing to say to you from the bowels of Miami.

It is a request for you to perform sexual congress upon yourself.

Shakira Hott refutes their aggression by calling for sideways peace.

For she is like Gandhi and Mandela. Only sideways.

We've charted many 'bag trends over the years here at HCwDB.

But we've never fully identified this strange black hybrid muscle-t/bra that so many of our club puds sport.

Is there a singular defining shirt more indicative of douche-poo than this monochromatic name-brand tight black club bra?

I think not.

I therefore dub item of pudwear, The Schmock.

Oh, and you got a little Ed Hardy stain on your pants there, Schmock Wearer. Let me get it off. With elephant pee.

So this dead tree forest is where childhood imagination goes to die.

Yes, fellow 'bag hunters. That's facial stubble shaved into semi chin-strap.

While glorious Gloria smiles for the camera and wonders if her ex is still single.

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Hey db1,

This morning, while pondering the vainglorious pomposity and uber-sonic deuchebaggery that is Donald Trump, I began to wonder: is he not a HCwDB Founding Father?

The pursed lips, the horrific orange comb-over, the trashy-riche persona, and the hots who adore him....

where would deuchebagging be today if it weren't for Donald Trump? Years, perhaps decades behind the scrotal curve.

Perhaps a new hall, the "DB Founding Fathers," could restore balance to the universe.

- Scrotald McDoteald
----

1980s Trump is definitely one of the Choadal Founding Fathers of the modern 'bag plague. His garish excesses and narcissistic self-absorption led to the modern club going puds we see attempting to "live large" today.

Trump is a founder of the religion of consumptive narcissism. His soul is as hollow as his hotels are empty. Sure we can make fun of the hair. But even hairless, Trump combs over his psyche to hide the crisis of empathetic absence that rots underneath.

In preparation for our upcoming awards show, The 2009 Douchies (beginning December 7th), 'bags like Kettlehead are demanding appreciation for their ability to pull hotts while arching a singular eyebrow.

I already told Kettlehead he didn't even win a Weekly, let alone a Monthly, and therefore is ineligible for the 2009 HCwDB of the Year.

But his creepy, shiny shaved chest and double brunette kiss skill are demanding satisfaction.

And by satisfaction, they mean laser treatments every ten to twelve weeks.

Say a prayer for The Unknown Jersey.

Marked neither by athlete name, sports team affiliation or jersey number, the Unknown Jersey wanders the clubs with only mandana, arm tatt and chin pube dribble to mark his identity.

Until he finds Gucci Prada teethy to hit on.

And then he is memorialized forever.

By the bouncer. Who throws him out.

Somewhere in this uneven assortment of giggle girls (with Red Bra in the back winning the top prize), I've carefully hidden a homeless trucker douche.

Look closely.

Can you semi-employ him?

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hi there DB1,

I am a soldier in the army deploying over to afghanistan very soon, and I will not be able to have internet access very soon. so i would like to take a minute to thank you for making me laugh and always amusing me (nothing makes me laugh harder than douchbags with fake dog tags).

in my opinion your website has always separated the men (us) from the boys (dbags) by keeping the faith among us normal guys who live awesome lives and are most likely 10 fold more hardcore than our douchebag counterparts. one again thank you and keep up the good work.

-Military 'Bag Hunter
----

Amen, MBH. Glad and humbled to entertain you. The unearned dog-tag wearing "tough guy" poser type (pictured here) wish they had what you have.

Stay safe over there, and get your ass back here as soon as you can. The hotts need saving from the poseur douchewanks as soon as your tour is over. I expect you to serve this mission as soon as you're back.

Somewhere in this standard issue HCwDB of Vegas Party Douche and Paid-to-Pose luscious brunette Hottness, I've carefully hidden a grinny, creepy Harry Potter.

Look closely.

Can you find him?

Random Joe and His Boy Friday took time off from hitting on the Swedish Au Pairs, Inga and Svenga, to vote in the HCwDB of the Week.

Have you voted yet?

It's a short week, but don't think the upcoming turkey means we don't have pics to disseminate, congregate and coagulate. One more slot remains open in the HCwDB of the Year. And that slot must be slotted.

Here's your three:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: The Cosmobag

For embodying the "urbane" playah, The Cosmobag brings greased up Joey Fatone Old Kid on the Couch game to the Weekly.

Cosmobag is underrated poo, subtler perhaps, but still worthy of Weekly mock.

And Samantha brings uber-librarian boobie hottness that makes Koalas dance the famed Bamboo Dance.

It takes a lot to make Koalas dance.

But Samantha's goods bring it.

And by bring it, I mean make your humble narrator long to dewey her decimals. She is the gnaw-worthy arm tastitude that makes my psyche ache for the impermanence of life.

And I see you too, tonguey blonde badgirl, Karla. You deserve butt powdering with name-brand butt powder. And I will oblige.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Wretch-a-Sketch

Name courtesy of Baron Von Goolo, the Wretch-a-Sketch, aka "Scribbles," brings some Blink 180poo tattbaggery, and a lovely Chiquita hott, Jezebel, to the Weekly.

And don't forget Scribble #2.

The scribbler nature of WaS reminds us of one of the most important catagories on the douchestrological charts:

The Travesty Barker. Fake post-emo punk pseudo rebel "badass" crap.

This may not seem like "douche" in the traditional Jerz/Miami mold. But do not be fooled. It is festering unwashed ball taint.

Mmm... Missus Zebra.

How I would love thy bellybutton with extensive "pooch" noises followed by a deep and pensive reclining with a glass of iced lemonade and a collection of essays by Bertrand Russell.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: The Mutaint

Jennifer's targeted douche tag is one of the rare in-person 'bag tags submitted by a reader to make it all the way to the Weekly.

Nothing makes me happier than when the ladies write in with their stories of 'bag mock.

Well, maybe a tall glass of fortified wine after a long day of scratching myself.

But other than that, nothing.

Note the pale/tane discrepancy between Mutaint's face and arms.

Anyone who thinks this is Halloween dress-up is woefully mistaken. This is real world "game" in action.

Sorry Red Tony, you just didn't have what it takes to earn a Weekly shot.

So them's your three, people. I need you. I can't sit around and eat sugar cereal by my lonesome.

Vote for your pick, as always, in the comments thread.

Thought it might be time to bring back an oldie but goodie as we head into the Turkey week. One of the rarest of rare captures ever put on hand-held shaky videocam:

That's right. A 'bag mating dance captured in the wild.

This is a real image from "Second Life," in which douches can now create tatted up, uber-pumped online alter-egos.

With bling. And Douchebaguette on arm. And underwear poke. And six pound watch.

I suppose when the human body emulates the hyper-spectacle of the brand-name billboard, it's only a matter of time before the avatars follow.

A virtual echo of a corporeal echo of a virtual spectacle.

Sometimes when we meditate and ruminate on the Miami Beach douche/hott permutations, we need new visual angles for contemplation.

Like those taken by an eight foot giant during an earthquake.

While Lizette tries to pass off her doggie poop bag to the groin of a Doggie Poop 'Bag.

I have many thoughts upon this crisp, Los Angeles Friday.

With the 2009 Douchies coming up fast, the pics are being processed and the awards committee is hard at work. And by awards commitee, I mean me. Sitting around. Scratching myself. Eating bowls of Frosted Flakes and enjoying my 1970s Eliot Gould Netflix festival.

The Douchies begin December 7th.

I tip a half eaten HoHo to all of us bag hunters and huntresses. I sip an Ubiquitous Red Cup filled with Trader Joe's Blood Orange soda from one of the vintage bottles I keep on my Blood Orange Soda rack. And I burp.

My burps taste like fresh HoHos.

Here's your links:

Lets get our retro groove on with the uberhott and frequently naked Dolly Read "singing" Sweet Talkin' Candy Man in the Roger Ebert scripted classic, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. This song is genius. Crying out for an updated indie cover.

Moving up a few decades, how's about some 1980s retro douche: The William Zabka Trilogy.

And, in our present historical moment, there's: Michael Bay. Douche.

Reader Matt looks up The Salt Licker's stomach tatt and discovers it's the symbol for sulfur.

Speaking of the 80s, This'll cheer you up.

But also sad news: Ken Ober has passed away. At a ridiculously young age. The hilarious host of the great game show on MTV that inspired much of my early teen years, Remote Control. In memorium: Kenny wasn't like the other kids.

My contributions to the development of linguistic discourse continue.

Do not click on this link. I'm serious. If you do, I don't want to hear any whining about it. I must include it because it's superdouchey, but it's also psychologically scarring. I take no blame. (although if you can make it to :53, the dance is hilarious. Good luck making it.)

Okay, after that link I owe you.

Here's your payback: Sky Pear.

Red Tony thinks he's going to be up for HCwDB of the Week on Monday.

He's so excited, he's serving up Vodka and Red Bulls to get Michaela drunk while he prepares to compete.

Sadly, Red Tony hasn't heard that he's not making the cut.

Sorry, R.T. Pumped up Jerzguidery without faux and kissylips just isn't enough.

Vegas Hal isn't major league douche. Sure he's got the mini-faux popup head. The douchey tatts. The six pound watch. The white belt.

And, of course, apparently tweezed eyebrows. But it's not the sneery punch-worthy kind of douche.

If Vegas Hal bats for the hometeam, I'd simply mark him a gaybag and be ready to dismiss him from the debate.

But Vegas Hal's currying favor with Sexy Sandra suggests faux-gaybaggery, which is, of course, authento-douchery.

I call 'bag.

And now, I will softly rub my flannel shirts from the early 1990s, hum angsty Stone Temple Pilots songs, and dream of brunette boobie marshmallow peeps.

Sneery Goose Runner
Almost pulls "Double Shocker,"
Needs index to hold.

Frosted glass at night
In a Seventies basement
Side boob and lip gloss

-- Publius Choadius Naso

Spring Break trip mistake
Got on plane to Russia, oops
Still met bags with booze

-- Dr. DB

Latin goblin bags
Vanilla chocolate goose
Hots drink to endure.

-- The 'Baggernaut

Three hotts in a room
Douchebag Pack encircle them
Forsake all hope, run!

-- Hector, Tamer of Douches

It's Los Stooges Tres.
Left to right, there's Moe, Curly,
and El Carne de Porch.

-- "Lesbian Thermos" Ernie Tubesock

El Chupacabra
turns his back on tequilla
por que, amigo?

-- Douche Wayne

I chalk this up as a variant of the game young children play.

The "I'll show you yours, then you show me mine, then I'll shoot 20 CCs of Andro into my eyeballs and beat up a couch."

That's what they call it in the schoolyards now, right?

Puds, please leave the Kappa Kappa Woo Sorority Sisters alone.

Jerztoberfest isn't until January.

Last night's HCwDB After Dark pic, in which this tatted up, hat tilted, pants dropping grease-scrote was found rubbing up on a fiery zebra Latina we'll call Jezebel, was not given an official tag.

Since the naming pool is plentiful, I figured I'd open up the 'tag for Monday's Weekly. The leading contender right now is Troy Tempest with "Scribbles."

Can you do better?

Tag that 'Bag in the comments thread.

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DB1,

Last weekend, I, an American woman, met this British guy who was perfectly normal and pretty attractive.

He was wearing not-too-tight clothes, there was not a trace of orange on his skin, and the tips of his hair were mercifully unfrosted. He had a cute accent, laughed at my jokes, and was a good kisser. I liked him.

Fast forward to this afternoon, when I noticed that he had friended me on Facebook. I looked at his profile pictures, and was shocked. He was displaying multiple sure-fire signs of scrote -- including but not limited to: forehead shine, hair gel, kissy face, and chest-revealing dress shirt. Throw a fake tan and some Armani Exchange on this bloke, and he's HCWDB material.

Is it possible that a Jekyll and Hyde phenomenon is occurring here -- i .e. Dr. Normal and Mr. Douche? Or, more disconcerting, maybe he's like a Were-douche and his baggery only reveals itself during a full moon?

Your thoughts and guidance on this matter would be greatly appreciated.

-- Natalie
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There are frequent cases of split personality 'bags, Natalie, and you must be careful to check for the signs.

Search for hidden canisters of Axe Bodyspray in the bathroom. Rummage for old "Affliction" shirts hidden in the closet. Check his online bookmarks to see if he reads "The Dirty."

It is not surprising to learn that such split-level choadsity is occurring in London. The alienation caused by living on an island of failed empire can only lead to the fracture of the self. That, and way too many Robbie Williams songs.

This week's HCwDB of the Week loser (winner), The Salt Lick, is not taking his loss (win) very well.

In protest over the vote, The 'Lick went out and got the Gaelic symbol for "semi-employed" tattoed on his belly button. And now he's macking on Tiny Lori with only semi-efforted douchosity.

Because The Licker's blue.

He wanted scrotal appreciation. And we gave him only disinterest. Which is like spiritual death to a 'bag.

Come on in!!

It's late nite HCwDB.

We've got chips and dips.

'Bags and whips.

Zebra hotts and creepy drips.

And a basket of tasty organic gourds.

Because when Red Tony really gets serious about playing the hilarious "Nipple Button goes 'Boop!'" game on Lisa at the State Fair, he knows that only one forearm sweatband is for amateurs.

True Playahs wear two.

Still out there.

Still douchey.

HCwDB of the Year contestant, Smoot, laughs at Robopud's pathetic attempts to become uberdouche in presence of hott.

Smoot does not need Groin Shave Reveal in the presence of the ladies to announce his scrotal powers.

Nor does Smoot need kissy lips, hand gesture or facial hair.

For Smoot is douche. It is Zen Douchosity. And as such, it must be observed.

And by observed, I mean plaid shorts.

A subtle pic when it first appeared, the power of Robopud's "Ayyy!" hand gesture and GSR (Groin Shave Reveal), plus the Giggle Hottness of Mona and Kate, was too pungent an HCwDB combo, and took the Weekly.

The voters speak:

Wedgie: I gotta go with Robopud. GSR is an automatic vote getter in my book. Like Baggie a couple of weeks ago, the newest douchie maneuver tops all others in pushing my gag reflex. What could be worse than a man who is not preparing for a hernia operation intentionally shaving his crotch? Nothing.

08armydoc: Robopud, hands down. The abs say it all - if someone puts that much effort into his *abs*, how much effort does he have for the rest of his life? Ie, that last workout left him too tired to even smile. And to have that little body fat in order to show off said abs, he eats fewer calories than the slutty bookends.

Genital Electric: The Robopud. For his Hotts are the hottest, and his swim trunks have demonstrated their disgust over the GSR by vomiting their innards like a tired sea cucumber.

Patrick: Robopud. GSR, Bag Pouty Face, Stupid Hand Gestures, shirt hanging out of the trunks, stupid oversized sunglasses. Very hott hots. The pud wins, but we all lose.

The Donger: I have to go with Robopud and his hotts. They would all be stars if Paul Verhoeven decided to re-shoot "Robocop" and "Showgirls" together as a single indie arthouse film, though I would much prefer Robopud get run over with a steamroller while he just feature the girls in a movie called "Alabama Piledrivers #3."

Bourbon Bill: Robopud ftw. He has come from the future to help proliferate the GSR to new levels. Who else could have known it was a great place to hang a shirt? Robots, that's who

miss leigh: robopud!!! the hotts are hot and the douche is douchey!

End the Habedouchery: At some point in his worldly travels he decided "You know what? This shirt would look better hanging out of my shorts. That way I can show off my sweet abs."

French for Shower: The Robopud kind of sneaks up on you. It's hard to see just what a Douche he is because of the poor exposure but on close inspection the guy is an uberdouche. Warning don't look to closely at his manscaping it's horrifying.

Massengill: Gotta give it to Robopud for best impression of ED-209 by a douche.

Filthy McBaggin: Robopud. GSR has clearly become the province of the truly narcissistic Bag. Even with the welding shield on, I can see the self absorbed look on his face. He's not happy to be there, he thinks those Bleeths are his birthright. I'll bet he also thinks male porn stars are, well....stars.

Jessica: I like Robopud the most. He's kind of an everydouche himself, but I love the girls, especially Mona, with her great ass, side-swept hair and glasses tilt. She reminds me of an 80s beer commercial, which makes me happy

Mmmm... Jessica bringing the sapphic imagery on this Wednesday morning. Good round on voting and excellent points all around. And by all around, I mean GSR makes me weep for the future.

Coming in a solid second, and nearly taking the prize, was the ridic Salt Licker and white glove:

Mr. Scrotato Head: Salt Lick for the win because someone in Interpol needs another opportunity to see this pick, show it to Franz and Helga, and ask in perfect Belgian dialect, "Heir Kruger, Frau Kruger, is this your daughter?" At which point Frau Kruger will burst into shieks of anguish and tears will roll down Franz's face as he nods in stunded silence.

Anonne Huntress: Salt Lick ftw. If the only way you can get a barely legal chick while looking like that is to drug her until she can barely stand, you are a douche of epic proportions.

El Queso: I say it once, I say two times: Salt Lick Crew effects douchebag re-enactment of Rembrandt's masterpiece, "The Night Watch". and some dang screwball sour mash Kentucky poon-tang, aged in the finest hollers the backwoods can offer, a bona-fide 15 years.

El Caganer: I have to vote for Salt Lick. He has those goofy Mickey Mouse like gloves and spiky hair with a touch of dried bird poo. He also has the barely legal hott collection. His hotts are nice and slutty, just the way I like them.

Desert Douche: Salt Lick FTW. The gloves, the attempt at making seagull shit a fashionable hair trend, the under-age drunk girl who snuck out of the house to go to this slammin' party and his hanger-on Sancho Panza make me want to rub salt in my open wounds.

Vin Douchal: He looks like he's peeing on his leg at the bowling alley as he readies himself for a shot at a 300 game and greatness in his own mind.

And a solid third place belonged to the Dissected Frog:

AV: The Frog's hair is a registered lethal weapon in three states. And he has been banned from riding blimps and hot air balloons in all fifty. Plus, his hott, Angelica, has an exotic quality that rouses my loins; more so than the other hotts. I hope he gets eaten by an alligator while riding a log to his home.

Publius Choadius Naso: Frogger FTW. Manicured chin pubes and eyebrows are enough to call douche on, but the emo affectations juxtaposed with the street (in)cred matching tats and t-shirt put him over the top in this weekly. And bouncing between all of that black and white stuff--hair, shirt, hott garb--adds an extra layer of poo to the swirling vortex of HCwDB.

Justin: My vote goes to Froggy. He has the outrageous hair spike, the chin dribble, the smug facial expression, the incomprehensible gang sign-like hand gestures, and he has pretty hot babes around him. Oh, and plucked eyebrows. Fuck you Froggy.

DoubleBock: With a nod and a shocker salute to F. Scott Fitzgerald's quote, "There are no second acts in American Lives", I vote Dissected Frog/Alpaca Farm Head for the win. His glorious return from the trash heap of history to the HCwDB weekly should inspire us all.

Well said, D.B., the 'Frog reminds us that 'bags on this site never really go away. They just pose again.

But as we gear up for the 2009 Douchies and vote in these smaller contests, Robopud, Mona and Kate had the hottal/douchal goods to take the prize. Lets let Bob take us home:

One vote for Robopud. He's got the Dumb Hair, he's got a little Meaningless Bling, he's got the GSR, he's got the Overdeveloped Abs, he's got the Oversize Mirrored Sunglasses. All good and worthy 'bag attributes. But mostly, he's got those hotts. Mona, the one with the Side Ass profile? I would cockpunch a football field full of adorable penguins just for the opportunity to gargle the discarded water used to wash that bikini she's wearing.

Well said on the hotts, Bob. Those football field penguins deserve their cockpunch. Given the short Monthly, Robopud may just sneak in and snag one of the coveted Yearly positions in a few weeks. For now, we laugh at his groin shave, and appreciate Mona's curves. Excellent work to all who voted, and I get cereal now.

1. Put on your cheapest Ed Hardy

2. Lean over a well endowed lady friend's boobs (for inspiration)

3. Flex intensely

4. Make "The Kissy Lips"

5. Squeeze

I'm convinced that, in many of the rural regions of this country, owning a small boat on a lake is like owning a Lamborghini in Miami.

It is vehicular douchosity.

Then again, so are lame Chinese body tatts that order "Beef with Broccoli" in Mandarin while making the "Rocker Horns," all while the secretarial pool from Initech take the weekend off.

And yes, that's an Ed Hardy bikini on Shawna on the left.

Or, as I like to think of it, the modern equivalent of Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.

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DB1,

I was wondering if you could discuss a new trending topic I've seen sweeping the douchebag nation.

It's something I like to call it the "I'm from NY/LA/Miami/Las Vegas" phenomenon.

It seems to me like the cool thing to do now is for douchebags (AND douchebagettes - they may actually be more guilty of this than your typical run-of-the-mill dbag) to claim that they're "located in" or "are from" a number of big cities where the doucherity flows like wine and the Bleeths flock like the salmon of Capistrano.

Am I missing something?

Do dbags have out of body experiences resulting in their presence in multiple places at one moment in time?

Keep fighting the good fight,
-- Saving Private Guido
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What you are referring to, SPG, is the Cosmopolitan scrote, aka "The Cosmobag." Cosmobags attempt a perpetually distracted and constant Blackberry checking 'tude that suggests a perpetual "high roller" travel schedule. This implies untold wealth in other cities (not the one they're in). Multiple homes where they "Run with the Goose" in various sundry party scenarios. That exist only in their imagination.

It is another oblique strategy that marks true douche, and you are correct to highlight its strategic use in the act of nightlife presentation.