For those who missed this last year, bernethy sets an Adam Carolla monologue to pics from HCwDB. An enjoyable rant for a Sunday.

EDIT: Some in the comments thread wonder if I support the central thesis that Carolla posits. I do not. While I feel Carolla articulates the central paradox at the heart of douche culture, he does not examine the impact of mass culture shift that is always possible in our perpetually renegotiated media space. Uberchoads of scrotal spectacle were not inscribed as sexually viable until very recently, beginning in the early 00s with the rise of the metro boy bands. Culture can and will shift again, through the power of collective mock.

I'm pretty sure Alison and Samantha asked for no MSG with their Orange Chicken.

Looks like our hallowed Closet of Poo is about to gain its newest member.

Your humble narrator is giggly and excitable on this Friday. I consider the punchable doucheface (pictured here).

But also the lovely brunette smile that powers industry, starts wars, motivates artisans and causes bumblebees to fly into windows.

I would chew on her shoulder like a Malaysian Tree Frog with the runs.

Things are busy here at HCwDB headquarters. Gearing up for the site redo, heavily into obsessively tracking how the show is doing on MTV, and trying to get the movie made.

Which involves lots of sitting around on my rug, staring at my dying ferns that keep shedding all over my rug, and wondering why Babe 2: Pig in the City didn't get more respek.

Here's your links:

Here's the only proper way to respond to fans of The Jersey Shore.

The makers of Axe Bodyspray were fined by the government for polluting the air. About time our society takes action.

The always cutting edge hepcats with their fingers on the pulse of the youth over at The Weekly Standard give HCwDB a shout-out.

Mmmmm....

There were many creature horror films in the 1980s. None better than Critters. Siskel and Ebert knew what was up.

Hot Chicks with Douchebikes.

R.I.P. to the strange, unique, eccentric and brilliantly subversive adult film actor Jamie Gillis, who died of cancer last week at the age of 66. A uniquely American rebel and a true actor from porn's weird, avant-garde and groundbreaking cinema golden age.

Bros Before Hoes.

How's about a Peardrop? It's like flesh raindrops uponst my belly soul.

Okay, you've been good. Not only do you get Peardrop, but you get Rodeocowgirlpear.

Dig on that. And celebrate. For the Weekend is here. And the 'bags continue to be mocked.

Shiyen's journey through the world of American douchewankery is beginning to echo the transmedial cultural mythic retranslation of The King and I's Uncle Tom's Cabin sequence.

Say what you will about greasy Eurochoad.

No really.

Say what you will.

Like "Vie Gehts, und douchewank?" Or maybe, "I loved you as the bad guy in Hot Dog: The Movie." Or perhaps, "Is that grease on your head, or did Jurgen Hambrecht slip on a cheeseburger?"

AnnaLeisa Von Boobsmark regrets everything.

Yea, tho 'twere douchebags,
And douchette in Rehab square,
Ass Pear offers hope.

Middle guy is blank
Why such a waste of good space?
Tatt up, stupid douche.

-- wedgie

Dude up on the porch,
Has lost something important.
Can't find dignity.

-- scrotum pole

Winter Twenty-ten:
An epic Douche Nor'Easter
Spreads to Southern Climes

-- Franklyn DealorNo Doucheifelt

Both agreed Vegas
Just wasn't much fun with their
Parole Officer.

-- Mr. Scrotato Head

Bitch needs a sandwich
Hiroshima tatt needs work
Beanpole douche just smiles

-- Dr. Bunson Honeydouche

Tatted up "MILF" makes
Me want to gouge my eyes. Where
did modesty go?

-- Dicy

Shiyen's mother, Shin-Lii, is lighting incense right now to apologize to the spirits of their ancestors for Shiyen's familial disgrace.

Tony "just likes Asian chicks butts, yo." Because "they's smooth."

----
So apparently i'm british, and a douchebag... Nice. I have absolutely no idea how YOU came across the picture and, although i'm sure some people enjoy total strangers ripping into them on the net, I personally don't. So, the facial expression, fair call. i can see why one would think that.

Ironically, i was posing like someone you might expect to find on this very site (although now i'm questioning the validity of that). It's amazing how crucial a role context plays, hey?. And as for all the lovely, lovely comments that have been posted about me personally, as a result of this, kindly get f*cked!

Thanks,
'Britbag'

P.S. If it hasn't sunk in yet, the picture and comments are getting taken down. Excellent!
-----

It's k-k-k-ken!! Coming to k-k-k-kill me!!

Wait, what was the middle one again?

Since this cunning linguist forgot to tell me which pic it is that he's whining about (although, for the Holmeses among us, the obvious clue may be found in 'Britbag'), I'll run this pic of some random dude and party girls who may or may not be British. Because I'm accurate like that.

Oh annoyingly craptastic Francisco.

Your need to compete with boobies utilizing four levels of necklace and laser hair removal treatments is just sad.

Put away your toxic man boobs before a squirrel gets chlamydia.

Oh bouncy wholesome brunette Carol. How your mellifluous laugh at borderline racist jokes makes my nethers tremble.

I would help you make sandwiches for the Michigan Yachting Club one Sunday afternoon, and then masticate on your bra hanging in the bathroom, drooling on myself Schiavo style, when you were out buying mayonnaise and more rolls.

----
Dear DB1,

It appears that the douchebaggery of the world has invaded the midwest, which up until this point has been pretty low on the bagger-scale, corrupting those I considered friends into tight v-neck wearing, diamonds in the ears, hat tilted, tribal tatted, tanning bed inhabiting, grade A douches.

It seems that the "everybody's doing it" mentality of the douchebag has convinced my friends and acquaintances that it is okay to do so.

What can I do to convince them that it's ruining their lives by living this ed hardy infested world? My methods don't seem to be working and I come to you for your expert opinion.

Thanks in advance -
-BarBag-91
----

Cultural spread of the douchepocalypse can only be resisted through the power of the collective societal mock, BB91. Once douches face massive ridicule for their silly hair, tight t-shirts, douche-face and hat tilt, only then will they stop.

Ed Hardy jokes, delivered in a sarcastic tone and from a safe distance in the direction of douches hitting on hot chicks, will begin to help alleviate the problem. From there, move on to cracks about gel and hair spike. Then hit on their girlfriend when they're in the bathroom.

That's what you get for playing Truth or Dare with your sorority sisters at Kappa Kappa Woo, Shiyen.

Next time, choose "Truth."

Sometimes the need to transform one's body into spectacle to compete sexually in the hyperactive media age passes the point of name-brand and into the realm of the WTF "are these even humans?" ludicrousness.

This is one of those times.

I'll be in my room quietly shuddering under my childhood blankie if anyone needs me.

Captain Rehab brings the DB A-Game to his curling up with Zebra Librarian Hott, Luane.

Ubiquitous Red Cup? Check.

D&G sunglasses? Check.

Close Encounters Hair Peak? Check.

Petunia designer shorts? Check.

Overdone fungal tatts? Check.

Six Pound Watch? Check.

In a related story, four million tons of dead, herp infected minnows just washed ashore in Montauk.

Yeah, I just made a reference to early 1980s Halls of Justice Saturday Morning Cartoons in reference to douches and boobies.

It was either that, or obscure references to the sadly neglected and forgotten performance piece theater of PBS's Zoom.

Somewhere in this pic of drunk Staten Island summer girl you met at the clambake and made out with even though she tasted like suntan lotion and sand, I've carefully hidden a Waldouche Porcupine Trojan Helmet.

Look closely.

Can you accidentally step on his hair like a sea anemone?

In a close race between the toxic Grillzilla and The Brohawk (while Kelly Hott made her push for the Hall of Hott), the mugging of Lady Gwendolyn was too strong a bling to be denied. The voters speak:

Douche Inspector: Grizilla by a landslide. Look at that mouth, really just look at it and tell me either of the other candidates are douchier. True White Trash Inland Empire Cali douche. His girl is definitely cute and is also my favourite of the three so they clearly get my vote.

Maxim Kovalenko: Grillzilla for the win. Everything about him just screams "unemployable", while everything about her screams "more fun than is legal in the continental United States."

Wedgie: I have to go with the Killa Grilla on this one. If Dimples just pulls up his pants, he probably gets a notta. But Grillie will always look silly.

uscrascal: his dedication to the douche spectacle is evident, and his perseverance is supreme: filthy full-arm tattoos, sleeveless Affliction T-shirt, completely out-of-place silver chain, and ubiquitous Riverside/OC flatbill cap... also, Lady Gwen is nothing to shake a stick at... and i'd clearly shake mine at her.

Snoop Douchey Douche: Oh, this is painful. When a white boy trying his best to act black is put against a brotha trying to act white ... isn't that the plot of the "Left Behind" books?

Medusa Oblongata: In the name of the pustulent tide of douchebags who managed to turn the adolescent humiliation of a mouthful of jagged, food-catching metal parts into a fashion statement, Grillzilla FTW.

Melvil_Duchi: Grillzilla for the tatts alone but add the grill and i'm this close to punching baby ducks

Tony Ventresca: Grillzilla, simply because I can't tell where his shirt starts and his tatoo-ed skin ends.

AV: But I gotta go with Grillzilla. He instills an urge in me to kick kittens; and Gendolyn's apparent adoration makes me want to kick more kittens. And slap Kuala cubs. What's she thinking? Is she thinking? These questions hound me.

MC 900 Foot Douchebag: Other two look like it's a passing fad. Grillzilla has made it a lifestyle. We'll see him in the posting "Grillzilla Turns 80" in a few years.

Bob: Gotta do some HCwDB math here. For the hott: Gwendolyn is a 9, Viola barely a 5, Kelly a pure 10. For the douche: Grillz is at least a 9, Brohawk a 7, and Dimples a 4. Which gives us Gwen+Grillz 18, Viola+Brohawk 12, and Kelly+Dimples 14. So although Kelly is the hotter hott (not that I wouldn't do unspeakable things to Gwen's underwear were she to leave them lying around, mind), Dimples isn't douche enough to match the choadwank skillz of Grillz.

Mr. Scrotato Head: Grillzilla for the win because hitting him in the face with my shovel would only hurt my shovel and because millions of Japaneze screaming "Grillzilla" and running casually down the streets of Tokyo can't be wrong.

Veni, Vidi, Douchey: Grillz for the win, for having all the standard douche accessories (tatts, necklace, earring, muscle shirt, dumb hat, stupid pose) plus going the extra mile and paying for the "Lil Wayne Poser Orthodonture Kitt" at Dung Pac's Discount Dentist Emporium. Extra points because I can't tell if Grillz is actually wearing a shirt or if that is an extended tattoo.

Pablo Sinatra: Grillz takes it hands down, because NO! NO! NO! to White Guys with Grillz! That poor girl must be hypnotized to be impressed by that.

Douche Wayne: Grillzilla FTW. Mostly because he reminds me of that feeling you got when, as a child, you were too jazzed about your haul of Halloween candy to remember to fully unwrap that Hershey's Kiss and you bit down on tin foil, releasing 1,000,000 volts of static electricity directly into your cranium.

Well teethed, team, and the power of the late 00s Grillz as uber-scrote continues to haunt our collective consciousness like a childhood bitchslap from Uncle Marty. But Brothabag Corky, aka The Brohawk, almost won one for doucheversity:

End the Haberdouchery: Grillz are so past "cool" that I can't even mock them anymore. My vote goes to The Brohawk. She is kind of trampy but might be worth the courses of anti-biotics. He should know better.

ehcuodouche: Gotta give the Brothabag his due. Corky is the only one who is taking this contest seriously, though with a touch of irony.

dbBen: The Browhawk. With a simple raise of the eyebrow he out-smarms Dimples, and we all feel "icky" because of it

clam fist: Brohawk and Viola. She was impressed with his '82 Camaro and I drive a '93 model. So that gives me a shot at her whobag jumpoff ass, right? The other hotties would probably cross the street to avoid me, if they even noticed my fat ass. Viola for her skanky goodness.

MoeDouche: It is time to elect a brotha to our mockdouchery society's weekly honor. Besides, I want to see Viola's curves and seductive stare later in the monthly finals....Brotha Brohawk, UR THE MAN!

It's nice to see the Brothabags bringing some db-game to the Weekly. And by nice, I mean depressing. Sadly, while Kelly Hott makes her push for the Hall of Scrote, Dimples O'Sagg as a douche just didn't inspire the voters:

Adrian.W.: That grin-and-grab says nothing more than 'I might be a Douchebag, but I'm gettin away with it y'all!' Let us crown him DBOTW and prove to Kelly what she already knew... Daddy was right about him and she won't be driving the new Benz until she wakes up and smells the Sean John.

Dex: You don't see a pseudo-rocker Asian douche every day, and certainly not with a semi-rockabilly hott like Kelly. What is she doing what that little turdling? This is not a paid-to-pose hot. Not some random babe that Dimples managed to snag in a nightclub for a few pictures before she ran off to powder her nose and disinfect her midsection. They're in a kitchen together! I want to know how this happened, how one ended up in the home of the other, and who I have to shoot to fix this.

Whoop-di-douche: Such voluminous boobies can only be held up by either a springform pan designed for the heaviest New York cheesecake, or the ubiquitous and tortuous highly engineered bra. Her face is as sweet as the richest chocolate truffle, while his pointy hair is as smelly as a mound of untouched cat-food drying out in the dish.

But the grillzilla came to conquer. Lets turn it over to Publius Choadius Naso to take us home:

Grillzilla is everything this site is about: honest loathing for a broad but formulaic constellation of spectacle--like that spiderweb tattoo's suggestion that he's bad enough to have done time--that positions itself with the specific mission of mackin' on teh hott.

Well said team, and a worthy winner. Chalk up the Grillz and Gwen for the Monthly and the DB1 for tasty Cheerios with extra sugar added. Why Cheerios? There was a sale at Albertson's.

As we gear up for the site revamp and redesign in a few weeks, I need your thoughts.

I'm putting together a section on all the great HCwDB multimedia links done over the years. I'm talking songs, videos, any outside creative projects put together, all organized on one page.

To the regs, which multimedia links should we include?

Also are there any volunteers to become moderators for the brand new HCwDB message board?

Any other thoughts/requests on the redesign?

It's coming, fellow 'bag mockers. Get ready.

----
Hey DB1,

I know that one of the modern douche signifiers is something you've termed the "six pound watch".

I'm looking to buy a new watch, but I'm running into the problem where they're all freaking huge! It doesn't help that I have tiny wrists, but why must all these watches be hubcaps on straps?

What is an acceptable watch-to-wrist ratio for a watch for it to be non-scrote? Is it even possible to buy a non-douchey watch anymore? Have watches moved purely into the realm of spectacle and out of one of function?

- Arch Douche Ferdinand
----

A general rule of wrist is that the watch should be able to communicate time at no greater than a distance of eight to nine feet. If you're staring at a blinged out sundial from thirty five feet away, it's Six Pound Watch douche-territory, and should be mocked accordingly.

From Alexa.com:

----
Keyword / Percent of Search Traffic:

1 hcwdb 1.76%
2 douche bag 0.29%
3 anus pucker 0.16%
4 brothabag leon 0.15%
5 deuche bags 0.14%
6 scrump a douchus 0.10%
7 scrotato head 0.10%
----

"scrump a douchus"?

Continuing our series of history lesson HCwDB pics, it was in 1895 at the Grand Cafe in Paris that the Lumiere Brothers first projected their spectacle of the moving image.

The Brothers used their self-invented Lumiere Camera to project this new "moving picture" onto a wiggy club douche, Chad, trying to impress two giggle hotts, Phoebe and Jill.

They titled this first motion picture, A Train Arriving at the Station and This Guy Sucks.

Then, later, Auguste Lumiere unsuccessfully hit on Irene by complimenting her on her smile.

Interestingly, it was under nearly identical circumstances to this pic that Louis Pasteur first discovered penicillin.

I feel like Dr. Livingston, embarking on a 19th Century ethnographic mission of medical treatment from England to North Doucherica.

I will treat the natives like primitive heathens who have not yet discovered the joys of Jesus nor the purity of the market system.

Only to discover a tribe suffering from a massive case of leopard skin crotch itch.

And realizing I left my elephant gun on the boat.

Although having just met at the Wellfleet insurance seminar, being held this year at the Radisson in Indianapolis, Cindy secretly suspects that Harold has a very large S&M DVD collection involving midgets, candle wax, and a billy goat named "Pepe."

She'd be right.

The Trollbag brought his Navajo Mud Toy friends, "Dieter" and "Kenny," along with strangely glowing Iowa Cornfed British Cutie Hybrid to vote in the weekly.

Can you smile like an Aardman Animated Character while voting in the Weekly?

This was one of the toughest weeks to cull down to a final three. The selections of Hottie/Douchey cohabit were excellent (awful), and we have three worthy finalists for your consideration.

Which will rise to the top (bottom) of the choad/boobie pile? That's, of course, up to you.

Your finalists:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Grillzilla

Grillz.

Gilded bling from way back in the late 00s. The age of excess.

Before the Fall.

If anything crystallizes the "ballers" rollin' into the clubs dressed like brand name labeled peacocks of the consumer age, it's Grillz.

Toss in the sleeveless Affliction, bling and douche-hat, and Grillzilla is all that is toxic in Tupelo.

Lady Gwendolyn is sweet, pure, giggly and with high pitched, sonorous voice that suggests lutes and malls with sales going on in them.

I would act interested in hearing about her plans to open a line of shoe stores for children. And then I would hickey her shoulder.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Brohawk

To paraphrase the great Buggin' Out to Sal, we need more brothabags up on this wall.

Brothabag Corky brings true uber-'bag to the game.

Club greased hair. Chin pubes. Douche-face. Bling.

While it's true that Viola prefers not to use two syllable words and can't quite determine a proper dress size, her sultry stare and pink lipstick suggest a raunch factor that deserves applause from all who witness.

And many have witnessed.

Add up the fact this mugging is taking place in a Love Shack waystation on the outskirts of the village where Number Six struggles on a daily basis to determine who is Number One, and it's a worthy entry.

And I see you, pouty Brunette with wonderful curvature sitting down over there. Just pretend I'm not here, and I'll only lightly fondle for a few minutes. Then go off to sleep in the cellar

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Dimples O'Sagg and Kelly Hott

Making the third selection this week was not easy.

But I went for the hottness and Kelly Hott as my deciding factor. For she is uber-gnaw.

Not that there isn't an overpowering 'bagitude from Dimps. Just that Kelly Hott brings the pain in this worthy coupling.

Dimples brings the white trash kitchen. The spikey pyramid faux. And the pants sag + douche belt that deserve nothing but scorn.

Finally, who drinks Corona Light?

This was such a strong week, I didn't even include what I thought were sure finalists, Shmecky O and Tracy Hott, as well as Fishlips McSack, Guido the Killer Pimp and The Wizard of Noz.

And while Federico Fellini's 'La Douche Vida' will definitely be up for a 2010 Douchie Award for the Guggenheim HCwDB exhibit (as Troy Tempest suggested), too much Paid-to-Pose eliminates them.

Which of these three deserves to be HCwDB of the Week?

I want you. No. I need you. Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

Yeah, Gerry's pretty much bordering on a nottadouche (although dog-tag and hat tilt are worrisome early warning signs). But I'm hung over and scratchy on this lazy Sunday. And I felt like updating the site.

Why?

Because that's four back arch lickable wallpapers in a row in which the snozzberries taste like boobie candy.

Who says ballsack boy bands are a thing of the past?

EDIT: For surviving that video, you deserve a bonus Sunday Pear, Rocky Pear.

----
DB1,

Still out there.

Still spikey.

Still with creepy mouth.

Still hitting on the Brit-hotts with pensive aplomb and reddish hue.

I know.

I said no more Kadebag on the site, since it's obviously lame Dimitri-esque shtick. But what the hell. He's an uberdouche worthy of cultural scorn, and the Jager ladies are Paid-to-Pose hottness.

Finishing up press for the first week of Season #2 of Is She Really Going Out With Him? and heavily at work on HCwDB 2.0.

In fact, I'll have some new designs to post in a week or two for feedback. It's about time we make this leap and get all technological n' stuff.

Here's your links:

In Saudi Arabia, the 'bags get 1000 lashes. Bring back Sharia Law!

Steven Segal wears Ed Hardy and the circle of douche is complete.

boing boing.

Attention architects: When designing a bridge, don't forget to consider the shadows.

Happy Choad Day!

The Onion's Chive finds yet more "inspiration" from HCwDB, writing up How to Enjoy Ed Hardy Wine under it's "douchebag" section.

As does The Huffington Post's "Nine Douchiest Things John Mayer Has Ever Said". I could at least get a link-back when you borrow ideas from HCwDB, fellow websitians.

American Apparel's Ass Pear competition continues. I'd file this one in the "great minds think alike about ass pear" section.

Speaking of premature Ass Pear, how's about AssAssPear? There's a "cart before the whores" joke somewhere out there, but I'm too lazy to articulate it. Or maybe I just did.

Young Bill Gates. Table Stud.

Ding dong! What's that?

Delivery Pear.

Now go play with your package.

Even Brothabag Thomas in the back can't bear to watch.

And no, I don't know why this dude's head resembles the additional CGI shots of Coruscant that George Lucas just added to the reissue of Finian's Rainbow.

Yeah, that's right, whobags. Coruscant references.

Let us never doubt again if the Brothabags can get as douchey in the presence of the ladies as the white folk.

Creepy punkdouche Val,
Gives Sarah her Valentine's,
With a side of fleas.

Axe split hair of green,
Forehead acne and shaved brows,
Do a douchebag make

-- Douchesquire

Psychedelic dream
Quickly turns into nightmare
A rabbit-hand freak!

-- Justin

Lisa's tattoo guy
shows off newest idea
for her next tramp stamp

-- jonezy

Cirque du poo-leil douche
jumps offstage to mack on hotts
and to hump their legs

-- Bagnonymous

Tammy volunteers
With the mentally challenged
Wishes she was home.

-- scrotum pole

I made eye contact
Just once. He skinned my parents
To make me this card.

-- Mr. Scrotato Head

Remember that creepy dude who lived down the hall from you in your Freshman year dorm room? I think Pete was his name?

Or maybe it was Carl.

Ever wonder what would happen to him in five years?

Now you know.

A hotel in Baton Rouge. A week's supply of fast food. And Minnie and Mazola, whom he picked up after their shift at the Cracker Barrel ended around 11pm.

Those early 1970s surreal Italian films just got weirder and weirder.

Because sometimes 2008's culture poo simply won't die quietly.

----
DB1-

This afternoon at my local gym I stumbled onto an unmarked scrotal crime scene.

Having finished my half-hour on the elliptical machine, I stepped off to grab a paper towel and douse it with disinfectant to remove my sweatiness from the equipment. That's when I saw it - on the ground next to the machine was an Ed Hardy pamphlet/catalog of some kind.

I didn't dare touch it. Bot so much for fear of infection, but more because I didn't want any of the three other gym attendees thinking I was in anyway associated with the pamphlet.

I suppose I can't assume that a douche was browsing through the latest poo-splattered togs from E. Hardy while attending to his compensatory body-building, but I also can't not assume that. Because, if true, that's a new level of douchedom. Not to mention that leaving your cardio reading material lying around the gym is just rude.

- Caruso
-----

Read the signs, Caruso, and all will be revealed. Invasion of the Booty Snatchers is happening, one Ed Hardy piece of cultural travesty at a time.

Shmecky O busts classic douche-face and douche grease, and, in so doing, pops a squat on all of recorded history, philosophy, art and science.

Tracy Hott blinks her doe eyes in the morning dew sunlight, sings with bluejays and pirouettes with pinatas.

And then I hump her discared pizza boxes in the dumpster out back.

While the Hipsterbag is just annoying.

Using the "ironic," or self-aware strategy employed by such narcissistic doucheclowns as Kadebag and Stackhouse, last year's legendary douchemail leaver, Dimitri, attempts to cash in on his webfame.

This is why ironic-douchery remains authentic taint. It's simply a new stratagem by the 'bags to get around the mock.

Sure, by day, Fishlips is a semi-employed salesman of used Saturns, Hyundais and Kias down off the interstate at that sketch dealership next to the Carl's Jr.

But by night, be becomes... Fishlips McSack.

Skull tatt uponst chest shave. Powerhouse medieval magic necklace he won at the Renaissance Fair throwing the axe at the wood.

And the Long Island hotties like Tracy will never know in which direction Fishlips is really looking.

Because of the sunglasses.

And I've got a trig midterm tomorrow.

We see you pulling up Gayle's shirt for the camera with that sneaky right hand. And nice watch. Pud.

Gayle has the tiniest hands this side of that creepy Burger King ad. And she may be wearing a tablecloth.

But I'd still water her plants while she's in Tuscany on a boat owned by a Saudi Prince who's obsessed with midget Bukkake. And if that last sentence doesn't win a Pulitzer for poetic postmodern riff, then my name isn't Orville Reddenbacher.

In a light, holiday impacted vote, The belly tumor magic of David Crapperfield and Rachel Hottenstein came out solid winners (losers) in the Weekly. The voters speak:

Mr. Biggs: Crapperfield all the way. No ironic stance, no origins from some race of douchebags and that's just what he does - Crapperfield is serious, motivated, and dedicated to being a douchebag.

Horace Dangleballs: Crapperfield and Rachel for the weekly even though background voodoo mama in her floral housefrock is giving me a serious case of bad juju. Then again, her voodoo may explain his top hat a la Baron Samedi. Let us hope she put that freakish zombie back into his pit and taught the lovely Rachel some of the dark arts.

Evil Otto: David Crapperfield. What the hell is wrong with that man's torso? Is an alien seconds away from bursting through his left side? Is part of his colon about to explode, showering everyone around him with blood and poo? He must win, because he might only have seconds left to live and I don't want him to die unhappy.

Fatness: David Crapperfield, because just looking at him has made my hangover 10 times worse. Maybe Charo will comfort me.

Bob: David Crapperfield and Rachel are the essence of HCwDB winners. The garish clothing, shaved chest (not even fresh shaved), shirtlessness, overdeveloped abs, dumb tatts, and GSR are all classic bag traits. Rachel is all that is lustworthy and sticks-in-your-mind-for-days that a winning hott should be. But mostly, it's the alien gestating in his gut, ready to burst out. Crappy's so self-absorbed, he doesn't even notice.

Mr. Choad's Wild Ride: This is like all those couples who pose together in front of the Statue of David only to have a smaller-than-average dong in their picture. However, instead of a renaissance masterpiece we are treated to a forelorn looking rhino.

creature: DC gets my vote for having the worlds largest kidney stone, rachel cuz I wanna play tom-tom on her tummy & the broad in the bg who stopped in the "Animal House" grocery store for "nothing today" cuz I want to whale on that gut with a canoe paddle!

Douche shower and shave: This turd smuggler is neither a magician or a charector from a Dickins story. He is though a large pile of guano festering and rotting in a unwashed dumpster somewhere in Detroit.

scrotecles: I'll go Crapperfield FTW...I can smell him through my laptop. His whole look reeks of smeg and HotPockets.

Anonne Huntress: David Crapperfield ftw. Because men shouldn't be dressed up as trollops.

Fat, Drunk and Douchey: sweet Meadow Soprano hott calls to me. Her dead behind the eyes stare has me longing for an afternoon of feverish lovemaking and hours upon hours of apologizing.

Eh Tu Douche?: Crapperfield and Rachel for the win as they epitomize all that is HCwDB. I'm still baffled as to what is protruding from his body under the angel tattoo.

doucheywallnuts: Crapperfield, as manscara always trumps other forms of douchery, both subtle and otherwise. Plus his bleeth is on a par with Charo and far better than the 3-headed pig fest accompanying Crapachino.

Chris in 'Baghdad: David Crapperfield takes the cake on this one. The only magic this choad has going is Douchebag magic.

Erin: Crapperfield, he's more dead behind the eyes than a Kardashian. Is this a douchey interpretation of Steampunk?

douche equis: The Crapper. #2 looks dress-up-douche, and Chinholio, while offensive, doesn't rise to the level required to beat the Crapper. Guyliner puts you way ahead in any level-of-douche competition of which I'm a judge.

The all "poo" theme'd Weekly resulted in Tony Crappachino and Marco Chinholio coming in a distant second and third, respectively.

Abdouchah the Butcher: Tony Crapachino gets my vote for his kissy-face and his carefully pulled open shirt w/ sideways peace sign. TC FTW.

Melvil_Duchi: Marco Chinholio and Charo. I think his "soul patch" is beginning to lose its glue or is it just magic marker? Charo is Cuchi-Cuchi and by that I mean cuchi

Dicy: Tony Crapachino and the Three Hotties FTW. Because sometimes the professional pictures in clubs just don't do it for me. But the real life taint that super sweet girls like Elle Sue and Jen have to deal with is what this site is all about. And this is why we mock.

Spiny Norman: I throw my support to Chinholio. First, I like the fake doggie poo references. Second, although douchiness can be about trying to hard, trying too hard to be a douche is too damn much. The Brothers Crap, Tony and David, are both trying to look like yutzes (yes, they succeed, but let's not reward them.) Chinholio is what he is. Third, he is what I'd expect Bizarro World Apollo Ohno to look like. Finally, he needs some TP for his bunghole. Heh-heh. Heh-heh.

Douchesquire: Which brings us to Tony, who exudes crap form every pore, who thinks he is the man when surrounded by a bevy of chunky-Nott's, rockin the kissy face and 13 hairs on his scrawny chest. I want to eviscerate him with a garden trowel and laugh as stray dogs play tug of war with the entrails. and yes, flame thrower him. Tony Crapachino FTW.

Snoop Douchey Bagg: Chinholio because (amongst many other douche attributes) appears to be wearing a leftover Members Only jacket.

But lets let Troy Tempest take us home:

David Crapperfield FTW, because a million poodles drag their pudenda on the carpet from the itch of a billion fleas from a thousand bedouin camels who abandoned their desert posts on dromedary rumps. And it's all because of Crapperfield's magic poo

And one more, Paul Muad'douche, the Kwisatz Scroterach, to explain DC and RH:

I just spent $410 on a brand new Callaway FT-9 Driver. I would gladly sacrifice it for the opportunity to smash David Crapperfield with it in the chiclets seven or eight times. The gold-plated chain, especially, fires my ire, although the tophat-shirtlessness-guyliner combination is quite risible as well. I would shave with a deli slicer to have Rachel blow my shofar.

Abracadouchebra!! Book 'em in the Monthly. And the DB1 for coffee.

I do believe this is repeat choad. Yes, Grapeman's been on the site before.

First person to tag him wins a hearty handshake and a napkin.

While you're looking, I'll fondle Erika's thighs using only a rubber duckie, a vat of Crisco, and a German assistant named Gruber to supply me with towels.

You almost got the notta for scoring Rebecca, the cutest girl in math class, Sean.

But Ed Hardy + Bling cannot pass.

It bums me out. I wanted to let you off with a warning, Sean. But we gotta have standards around here. Much as I kinda like you and your weirdly misshapen ears, I gotta make a decision.

And you know how I have to rule here.

'Bag.

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DB1,

I visit your site often, and it never fails to make me laugh out loud.

While I'm laughing, I'm crying inside. You must have asked yourself this: why do the hots seem to be so irresistibly attracted to scrote? Why? WHY??

I didn't see the answer I seek in your FAQs. Is it pheromones? Is it temporary shifts in the space-time continuum? Does God indeed have a wicked sense of humor?

I just don't understand. Please help me....

Regards,
Big Billy Bag
----

This excellent question is expounded upon in far greater detail in my book, BBB, but the short answer is the simplest one. Our sexuality is not innate. We flatter ourselves into thinking we determine the course of our attractions, but these impulses are tribally guided.

Douche culture, by definition, requires endless repetition of spectacle as the eternally profitable product of nostalgia as newness. A copy of a copy of a copy of an echo. A brand name spokes-wheel of a reflection of recycled and reappropriated nostalgic pop poopie diaper. Quality? Irrelevant. Famous for being famous is all that matters. Fifteen minutes of greased up hair follicle entwined in the endless maze of two mirrors reflecting endlessly the vacuity of the soul.

Originality, be it in thought or expression, threatens the framework. Thus repetitive recycling offers safety, comfort and spectacle without the radical danger of risking the golden financial rainbow at the end of the megacorp product line. To use what's come before as the razzle dazzle of what is new again offers the well worn path of instant success through Pop Idol framework set by Coca-Cola advertising shift.

In our media saturated age, we turn bodies into billboard. We brand ourselves with tattoos, piercings and designer clothing to enter the endless ADHD competition to hold an attention suffering from eternal distraction.

The douche is simply one who self-brands through the corporate culture of logo. The hott cannot rise out of the framework to regain control of her buying impulses. For she has already been indoctrinated through a lifetime of advertisement-triggered purchasing instincts. And thus, she seeks the peen attached to the product she's told she wants every day through the cacophonous corporate shock doctrine.

Note to "ironic" Situations, Snookis and J-Woww's the world over:

Dressing up as a douche for a Jersey Shore party is not an excuse.

You're still a douche.

EDIT: A number of 'bag hunters are raising legitimate counterpoints in the thread, suggesting dress-up may still be a potent form of visual mock. Although I question the "irony" in many of these cases, the counter-points are well argued. I will meditate on this. And on boobies.

Top Gun aviators? Check.

Ed hardy + bling? Check.

Zomborific douche-face? Check.

Dorothy, you're not in Kansas anymore. So be careful! Toto's an 80s rock band and the Flying Monkeys have the lip herp.

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hey boss,

does wearing a mandana while competing, with a soul patch & a laminated grill make speed skating/dancing with the stars sensation, Apolo Ohno, a douche?

all that coupled with his less than gracious demeanor during his post medal winning interview (walking off when the reporter turned her attention to fellow U S teammate, bronze winner, J. R. Celski) is Apollo a bag or notta bag?

-- creature
----

Performative leniency is granted to those who douche it up as part of theatrical spectacle only. Those in the WWE, or musicians like Keith Richards or Jack White, who use spectacle as part of performance.

Ohno has no such excuse. An olympian or not, that chin fung alone can lead us to one, and only one: Douche Skater.

Because while Dimples O'Sagg's all Asian Blink 182 tribute band, Asbestos Flaygon, may convince Kelly Hott to spend time in his trailer kitchen, the pants sag is inexcusable.

I just punched a narwhal in the testes then gargled a petunia.

Arrr!!! Me club is off the proverbial hook!!! Arrr!!!

Five sexy ladies and me douche on a table!!...Arrr... Yo hoes hoes!! And a bottle of Kristal!!

Arrr!!...

Yup. No idea what I'm saying today.

I blame Woo Kimmy's second from left slatherable gnaw legs for driving my lizard brain to distraction.

Arrr...