As we enter the year 17 A.G. (After Greico), I hope all of our parties end up like this roasted turd chestnut. With sixteen hotties all drinking from the classic Ubiquitous Red Cup, and one skeezy scrote who's more interested in the camera than the perfect munchy leg he's perching on.

It can't be good to want to tie this feral slice of small intestine to a ball of metallic razor blades and roll him down a hill. That can't be a positive emotion heading into a New Years, which is supposed to be about change, and uplift and positivity.

Feh. Screw positivity. Lets chain up Grinny McCheese to a tractor pull and go bear hunting.

One question: Is the 7-11 Big Gulp Red Cup the Ferrarri of Ubiquitous Red Cups?

Greetings from San Francisco, where The DB1 is planning to spend a New Years of utter debauchery and sin in which I will be chasing hippie Hotties with hopefully a stage-0 Bleeth level.

Good times will most definitely ensue.

Before I forget, I have to hand out a few 2006 Douchie Awards to some of the key contributors to the site. So without further ado, the Douchie Awards for the 'bag hunters from the comments thread:

2006 Douchie Award: Most Prolific 'Bag Hunter -- Douchestar Runner, for submitting dozens of pics over the past year including some of the greatest hits of all time on the site. This guy is a 'Bag Hunter Master of the Scrotiest Order, a true King of Bling. Good work, D.R. Expectations are high for 2007.

2006 Douchie Award: Zen 'Bag Master -- Doc, whose volume of pic hunting was not high in quantity, but absolutely fantastic in douche quality. The man is a sushi chef of 'bag hunting, a Minimalist masterworker in the vein of a Frank Stella painting or Robert Bresson film. Doc waits for his moment, still as Schiavo, then strikes with lighting quickness. For that, he earns a well deserved 2006 Douchie.

2006 Douchie Award: Philosophical 'Bag Master-- Baron von Douchehausen, for understanding that analyzing the cultural ramifications of douchebaggery requires a detailed approach to linguistics, semiotics, cultural studies, critical theory, psychology, parapsychology, and a deep-rooted desire to mercilessly mock all that is scrote. Keep up the excellent analysis, BvD. We've only scratched the surface of our detailed topographical analysis of douchie/hottie comingling.

Special props to all the regulars for keeping the dialogue going as we dig deeper into what it is that creates these monstrosities of male superego and the cuties who love them. Cheers!!

In the immortal words of Marvin Gaye: Ain't no Mountain High Enough...

I don't know quite what that means, but it seems apropos of something or another for this fantastic and perfect example of the Holy Cleavite in all its glorious relevation.

Not to mention the combo with this skankbag. Such HC + D gale force winds are what can kill a horse if not properly monitored.

So lets raise this pic to the rafters and honor it with a 2006 Douchie Award. There really aren't two better examples of what makes the world spin in its utter perplexed confusion than in this pic right here. In many ways this pic represents war, peace, injustice and cereal bars all at the same time. What, you don't like cereal bars?

Can I get an "amen"?

How can we forget this classic inverted 'bag sandwich formation from back in June? A well earned 2006 Douchie to this pile of yak crap in the middle. I'd like to klog dance on his seed.

I will forever love quirky dark haired hottie in the green bikini. I know I've said I love other women on this site, and I meant it everytime. But this time, I mean it for as long as I continue to type this sentence.

I know it's a few days after Christmas and all, but... uhm.... er... I... yeah. I feel dirty.

Candycane on the right has all sorts of meaty childbearing hips. And for some reason, I like it. Maybe it's the Vans.

Lets give this pudge a 2006 Douchie Award for "Douchiest Tie." Hell, the irony of the Douchies is even though I'm making them up as I go, they still have more credibility than the Blockbuster Awards.

I've got a few more Douchies to hand out before the end of 2006, but for those of you jonsing for a new pic, this one's a beauty. Yes, bow your heads, fellow 'bags, 'bag hunters and hotties. This is yet another extremely rare pic of the legendary spiritual Zen ubermensch, Douche Lee, snapped of the mystical D.L. in action just last week.

Yes, our intrepid witness to the Douche Lee manifestation has once again gone out and snapped a pic of this omnisexual spirit in action.

Let us never again question the Douche Lee, nor wonder about such trivialities as Its sexual orientation or identity. Let us simply marvel at Its ability to continue to summon the hottest tail this side of a New England harbor back-alley at 2am.

Douche Lee is a myth no longer. For now we can, no we must, believe in the spirit of the D.L.

Let us bow our heads in reverent prayer. We come to praise Its holy manifestation in all Its glorious earthly revelation. Let the legend of Douche Lee sing out across the lands in poem and song for all eternity to hear Its douchey cry.

Since we're voting on frosted hair and perfect abs in seperate Douchie Award categories, lets give a 2006 Douchie to this perfect combo of the two that ran back in mid June.

It really don't get tanner/douchier than this unholy combo. It's like finding a rare Brazilian tulip in full bloom in the rainforests of Madagascar only to discover a piece of elephant dung on it's stamen.

It's enough to drive the DB1 to drink.

Then again, so's a light southwesterly breeze.

Voting on the general quality of the hotties on this site is a near impossible task. So many gorgeous creatures have revealed their weakness for oily scrote that trying to narrow them down to three is a near impossibility. So rather than attempt a general "hottie" vote (which we've tried in the past), I'm going to open up the floor for a debate on the perfection of the female abs.

I'm talking baby back rib abs. The type you want to dip in a nice steak sauce and chew on for a four day weekend. And, of course, we must factor in the other half of the ledger, the power of rank douchebaggery that those abs have chosen to comingle with.

So, without further ado, here are the nominees...

Hottest Abs #1: Ab-solutely Douchulous


I didn't really give this pic an adequate name the first time around, so this time we'll go with "Ab-solutely Douchulous."

Speaking of douchulous, headband 'bag could've been a finalist for spikiest hair with that frosted mop of thorns.

I do sort of appreciate anyone who tacks up a neon "Bud" crown light on their fireplace.

As to abs, she is all that cheers me to a state of perpetual warmth on a cold, cold night.

















Hottest Abs #2: The Wigga Clown




Persian Princess has those soft abs with just a hint of definition. Couched in a lightly dusted layer of fat, they are supple, yet firm. Like a tasty pork tenderloin, I would dip in apple sause and serve sizzling hot. It may be a costume pic, but the fact that Halloween continues to be a holiday that allows hotties to let out their inner slut makes it good by me.










Hottest Abs #3: The Scrote Warrior


Here's a fan fave from back in the day, as this skeezy 'bag attemps to grab this slender stalk of abaliscious perfection like a sucking pleco fish. I want to feed him algae until he sticks to the side of my fishtank.

She may only be a mid level cutie in the face, but stare at those abs, blink repeatedly for thirty seconds, then stare at a blank wall.

Do you see that?

It's perfection.

Good thing I don't have to vote. My first answer to these three pics? Yes, please. But it's up to you. Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

As Jean-Paul Sartre once said:

Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.

It would be unfair to attempt to privilege any one of the douchebag specificities of White Chocolate above the rest. Therefore we must award a 2006 Douchie to W.C.'s totality. His "everything." To award a Douchie for the grill, or the Jesus bling, or perhaps the aqua satin Yankee cap, would be to deny Sartre's totality of existential douchebaggery.

Sure we could talk about his bizarre facial pube configuration. His multiple outfits. His douchey sunglasses. His inordinately head scratching ability to pull hotties.

But to focus in on any of these specificities would detract from understanding W.C.'s douchiness in its totality. As Sartre understood, douchebaggery, as in life, can only be fully comprehended through the philosophical macro. And in so doing, we bestow a special 2006 Douchie for "Douchiest Everything" to the douche who has everything, White Chocolate.

Good on you, W.C.

An HCwD of the Week Award Winner and the pic that caused the most reader fantasies this year, there was no way The 'Bagsgiver wasn't going to get honored with a 2006 Douchie Award.

For pulling two of the sweetest looking chickas on the site, neither of whom appear to me to be of the "professional" variety (although there was much debate on this point), and for remaining in a state of pure douchitude, the 'Bagsgiver is a worthy Douchie recipient.

He'd also be a worthy DB1's-Boot-in-his-Ass award recipient, but alas, no award in that category this year.

Here's another category open to voting. I know a lotta 'bags, 'bag hunters and hotties are on vaca this week, but it's the end of year awards so if you have a fave, now's the time to vote in the comments thread. But enough of my rambling.

The nominees are...

Douchiest Oldbag #1: Richie Rich





Hip Hop is dead, sayeth Nas. And who am I to argue? Especially when creepy middle aged music producer types continue to score tall, leggy, blankly expressioned model types?

That's what makes the turntables spin, baby.





Douchiest Oldbag #2: Yellowtail


What more can be said about this saggy boobed monstrosity, other then if Richie Rich is a hip hop producer, this guy's one of those Phil Spector types, still trying to live up to his 1970s fame when he produced "A Fifth of Beethoven" for the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. Yellowtail's gold chain remains one of the douchiest talismans to ever grace the site.

He's going to be hard to beat.

Douchiest Oldbag #3: Gramps


An early folk hero fan fave on the site, Gramps may have been the first 'bag to reverse the polarities through sheer force of will and end up a true legend. There's something to be said for being 70 and cuddling up to a girl in a purple satin lace bra as absolutely mouth watering skittles level tasty as this curvy viola.

Should Gramps take the Douchie?

It's up to you. Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

While it's true that there have been a plethora (and by plethora I mean "boobies") of extremely choice beauties on this site (granted, being clutched by monstrosities of dung), there's something about Barbarino 'Bag's librarian hottie that just knocks my socks off. Maybe it's the dark raven hair, of which the DB1 is a huge fan. Maybe it's the helpless expression. Maybe that hint of a sexy black bra under that white t-shirt.

Whatever it is, Barbarino's Librarian Hottie gets a Douchie Award for most likely to divorce the DB1 after a stormy shotgun marriage.

So whaddaya say, Librarian Cutie? Marry a drunk, unemployed pudgy douchebag living in a basement hovel? Oh wait, it appears you're already well on the way.

And the Douchie Award for "Most Persistent Fan Club" goes to.... Big Red. As if there was any doubt.

This one's for the huge fan club north of the border, so please stop emailing me asking for more Big Red. Big Red's earned a 2006 Douchie for everyone's favorite one-shirted budding 'bag in training. Give it up to the popped collar legend.

The amount of teenage hotties this mythic 'bag has managed to headlock remains a triumphant accomplishment for a mini'bag so young and impressionable. Good work, B.R.! In many ways, you're a 'bag hero.

Yeesh, a fan fave from back in the day, deserves a special Douchie and I had to go with "Best GeneriBag" for his utterly blank generic douche expression. Not to mention his oh so sexy, milfy and enhanced hottie with the David Lee Roth wardrobe.

For all that HCwD unholy genius comingling in such a rotten combo, Yeesh gets a coveted 2006 Douchie Award.

Enjoy it, Yeesh.

Along with that gelly head and judging by the background, that massive drinking problem, I know that you will.

Other Douchies will have open voting all week so get yer votes in during this holiday week before Old No. 7 finds out where I live.

This Douchie is for the "special" 'bags, those heaping turds who've rolled off the short bus and somehow corralled a hottie along the way. Whether out of pity, sexual attraction or somewhere in between, you'll never know. And because of that lack of knowledge, you must mock. And in doing so, you must pick a winner.

The nominees for Best "Special" 'Bag are...

Best Special 'Bag Nominee #1: Hootie is a Blowfish


His chin kind of resembles those fried egg inside a slice of bread "bullseye" breakfasts we used to eat at summer camp. Although why I would want to associate this nipple rubbing poobag with a fond food memory is a question better left for my psychiatrist.

Of course, that would be if I could afford a psychiatrist. Instead I mostly just talk to the 7-11 Clerk who usually asks me to "please leave" right around the time I start telling him how my mother didn't show me enough affection growing up. Stupid 7-11 clerk.

Best "Special" 'Bag Nominee #2: Polo Boy


This is one of my favorite pics ever on the site, if for nothing else then the yellow polo with pink polo wraparound sweater. And of course the most perfectly tanned hide since Buffalo Bill used to hand stitch saddles back in the 1880s.

I know I shouldn't make fun of 16 year old training-'bags, but how can I leave off Polo Boy from the list? If Anna Pacquin can win an Oscar at 10, Polo Boy can get a Douchie Nom.





Best "Special" 'Bag Nominee #3: The Red Cup



The fact this rather befudled young 'bag resembles the younger brother on "Growing Pains" is only one of many reasons to mock his scrotey nature. Wholesome midwestern Red Cup clutching lass is another. The dude in the back jonsing for cereal is simply an innocent bystander in this trainwreck of HCwD wrongness.



Best "Special" 'Bag Nominee #4: Graduation Scrote


The fact this guy graduated anything outside of the Learning Annex Tony Robbins "Personal Power" class is a terrifying indictment of the American educational system.

To paraphrase Otter in "Animal House," I put it to you, Greg. Isn't that an indictment of the United States of America itself?

This pic most certainly is.

Dartboard with darts holding up notes. Captain Morgan poster. And two cute little Frosh-in-Training hotties. Horns McShortbus makes me want to spew on the couch if it wouldn't blend right in. Because, uh, the pattern on the couch looks like puke. Figured I'd spell it out, in case Graduation Scrote's reading this.

Four good candidates. This one is a tough vote.

Here's another tough category with so many worthy entries. I've boiled it down to four of the finest in douche-hair of the past year, and this is another category I'll be opening up for voting. I have a few categories I'll just be handing out awards in, because hey, it's the Douchies not the Oscars.

So fire up the grill and skewer some strip steaks on these frosted tipped douchebag porcupines. Here are the nominees...

Spikiest Hair Douchie Nominee #1: Yet More Cactus Head



This is a classic two-toned 'bag muscle-t example, complete with 'bag face expression #02 and two half-drunk and long lost Bleethed out hotties.

But the hair.

Oh man that glorious spiked out hair. It's like bronze sculpture from the early impressionist period. I half expect Man-Ray to hang it on a wall next to a a Duchamp bicycle wheel. It is douche art.

Spikiest Hair Douchie Nominee #2: Chin o' Douche

I keyed in on C.O.D.'s chin when I first posted this pic, but now that I look at it again, I can't believe I didn't celebrate the shampoo-like swirly genius that is this dark and foreboding winter sea. Melville would have waxed poetic on this hair swirl, oh so long ago. Or, for the gutter humor fans, its like a giant pile of ferret puke.

Not to mention the deadly coral snake coiling around his neck. Add in that lively arc of Cleavite that could even make The Boitano find new ways of double axeling and this pic is all sorts of HCwD head pounding wrongness.



Spikiest Hair Douchie Nominee #3: Purple Lips



This pic really deserves a special award, and I'm still not sure how this monstrosity didn't make it into a HCwD of the Month winning entry, but it may have had to do with the "HC" side of the ledger. Regardless, Purple Lips deserves a little end of year Douchie Love (and by love I mean "spew"). If he doesn't win this category I'll have to give this turd some form of special honor.

Megods.

My eyes hurt like they've just run a marathon. Maybe we'll do a special award here at HCwD, if you can stare at this pic without blinking for twenty seconds, you'll get a free bottle of Night Train. Okay, no not really. Unless by "Free bottle of Night Train" I mean that I'll point you towards the local corner store where you can buy your own damn bottle for $1.99 plus deposit.

Spikiest Hair Douchie Nominee #4: Supernova



It's hard to argue with this slice of all-American douche goodness. Prom night never felt so scrotey. Like a sunflower plant basking in the rays of the Grieco Himself, this blooming ball of 'baggery has taken his first steps down the dark road of perdition.

Voting, as always, is in the comments thread. And since this is the end of year voting for the 2006 Douchie Awards, voting will be open all week. Winners, and virtual trophies, will be handed out next week.

This a vote for those HCwD pics that illicit pure horror and fear. So this isn't "scary" in the sense of a horrifying White Chocolate pic. We'll have another category for that type of fear/revulsion. This is the Horror 'Bag category of the Douchies.

Without further ado, the nominees are...

Scariest Scrote Nominee #1: Old No. 7


A classic HCwD from last summer, I would like to reiterate that Old No. 7 is a class act, a scholar and a gentleman who is by no means a douchebag on any level whatsoever.

Please do not break me in half, Cro 'Bagnon Man.







Scariest Scrote Nominee #2: Wake Up!!


Holy crap, this 'bag goes beyond ordinary creepiness into another level of scrotery. But I do love this wholesome tomato. She's corn-fed Midwestern goodness.

This pic makes no sense. Which makes it a glorious contribution to the HCwD canon.


Scariest Scrote Nominee #3: The Angry 'Bag
Maybe Angry 'Bag doesn't quite create the visceral horror of the other two pics, but he's frightening in his own right, and he's protecting quite the little ball of hot wax with his angry gaze. Plus he's got hair issues and a sweat stain that frighten children like Michael-Jackson-Nose.

While it's true that this creepy knob may not be on the stomach churning level of the other two pics, lets also not forget his absolutely fantastic hottie.

Oh hell, I'm stretching. I couldn't find a pic to live up to the other two but I needed a third to round out the category.

So here you go. Douchie Award voting is open.... now.

Scariest Scrote Nominee #4: The Warthog


EDIT: Crap, I can't believe I forgot The Warthog. Dammit, I knew sorting throw all the pics of the last year was going to be tough. If anyone's already voted and wants to redo their vote for this Planet of the Hog, do so in the comments thread.

Damn, I forgot how fantastic a pic this is. It's like being punched in the face, and yet I like it. Must be the grey plastic sportscoat and American flag bandana.

'Twas the night before douchemas,
and all through the house,
not a scrotebag was stirring,
not even this hairy sleeveless shirt wearing tool.

Okay that's it on the poem, there's no way I'm attempting the next seven verses when I feel like I've been kicked in the head by too many Rolling Rocks. Can't get a Rolling Rock on the West Coast so gotta stock up and abuse the liver while I'm here.

This sweet reindeer won't survive long. Note the Izod with collars about to pop up like a hungry titmouse on Christmas morn.

Yeah, I just analogized a collar to a titmouse. Because it's the holidays. And when I'm looking at a mustachioed tool like this oval headed Village Person, I can do that.

I do appreciate anyone who wears the Snake Plissken shirt, tho.

Merry Christmas!! And to all a 'bagless and hottie filled night.

At first I was gonna do a twelve post daily countdown of the twelve 'bags of Christmas, but that would entail all sorts of conceptual breakdowns of HCwD 'baggery along metaphorical lines (what exactly is a douchebag in a pear tree, anyways?).

So instead you simply get this pic.

With three douchebags instead of twelve.

But how much do you want to punch 'bag hand gesture #113? What is that, anyways? A "Westside"? A distorted "Shocker"? Or just confirmation that aqua-blue silk zoot suits can not hide the soul of a scrote?

As for the two knobs fondling inflatable santa, that's all you two choads are gonna get this Christmas. Inflatable Santa ass.

A guy walks into a bar.

The bartender says, "Hey, wanna see a picture of a total and complete douchebag oozing scrote over a group of cute little college cuties?"

The guy says, "Sure!"

The bartender pulls out this pic.

And they both spontaneously burst into flames and die.

Hey, so I'm not the best joke teller. Maybe it's in the delivery.

May your Christmas weekends be 'bag free and full of pure, uncut hotness. And may you avoid creepy stalkerbags like that weird dude in the back left of the pic. I don't even want to know what kind of toys are in that kid's closet.

All we need to make this pic a complete journey into the darkest depths of the douche ski patrol is dancing monkeys flinging poo. Or perhaps we already have that in this pic. I started to count the wrong, but once I hit the combo revelation of that rarest of species, the fantastus assicus attempting to grapple with that most common of fungii, the scumbagus douchebagus, my head Buckaroo Bonzaid into the 8th dimension with headache inducing speed.

It's bad enough broken wristed ski-bag is attempting to fondle that tall stalk of corn. But toss in a pucca shell tonguebag more interested in a flashing digital camera than the round perfection below him, and you have the perfect pic to cause the entire HCwD fanbase to collectively slam their heads into their monitors on a Friday afternoon.

Please, do not go Peter Gibbons on this PC Load Letter. It's not worth it.

With Christmas rapidly approaching, I thought I would share a heartwarming tale of attempted douchebaggery brought to us by our very own Douchestar Runner, who put on the Santa outfit as his means of engaging a stage-1 'bag strategy to meet the hotties. Gotta give him points for originality. Not too many 'bags running around using the highly unusual "Santa Strategy." Especially Presbyterian Ministers on the make.

As DR recounts the tale:

Friday night my roommate and I have his brother and our mutual friend from high school over at our place for good old boozing. My roomie's bro arrives carrying two Santa costumes because he and his brother are going to an event called "SantaCon" (which is held in Manhattan every year) the next morning. It's an all day affair where several hundred Santas roam all over Manhattan getting drunk and causing all kinds of debauchery. My buddy from high school--who happens to be a Presbyterian minister--shows up, and with very little convincing he and roomie's bro start getting into the Santa suits because we are going to hit the local bar. My roommate and I tell them--"c'mon, Santa ALWAYS gets laid!"

So we put the two Santas in the backseat of my huge '62 Pontiac and we drive down to the bar and park right in front in order to cause the biggest scene. We aren't in the bar for 2 minutes when these chicks come over to have their pictures taken with the Santas.

And there you have it. Trouble is--wouldn't ya know it--these chicks were with some total douchebags, complete with elbow tats and cigs behind the ears, who were NOT enjoying all the attention we were getting in the bar. Unfortunately I didn't get any pics of them--we were probably very close to a fight just by being in there.

--DR

Nice try, DR. Santa'Bagging is only a stage-1 'bag strategy. Looks like tribal tats, gel and bling beat a Santa suit any day of the week.

Silky, preening knob,
Shaved chest, existential quake,
'Bag headlock, doves cry.

There's been a noted lack of popped collars on the site lately and I am to correct that with this pic. Which is kind of like turning on a light by setting off a neutron bomb. This exploding light-blue ball of popped "L.A. Looks" Tag body O.D.ing poppy seed is a nice way to wake myself up on a Friday by punching myself in the conceptual nutsack.

This little chicklet has taken her first step down the dark road of 'baggery with her sadly cute attempt at a tonguebag pose and fondling of Popeye's poppedness. Like a toddler taking her first tentative steps, she is dipping her toe in the douche pool. We are witnessing one of the earliest stages of a Grieco infection right here.

I'm thinking we need a Jerry Lewis telethon.

'Bag Rule #06: If you're wearing a conductor hat and Liberace garage sale sunglasses, your ur-douche power is beyond source douche to an almost Grieco level of luminosity.


Observe this douche sun-God's unholy power taking out two hotties and rendering them instant stage-4 Bleethers. Very sad.

This turd reminds me of a Rock 'Em Sock 'Em robot, scrote style. I want to click-punch his head until it pops up.

As to the long lost hotties, they may have gone down the dark road of douchitude, but man alive I'd munch on that yellow bikini-top with a nice strawberry topping.

Is that the legendary grease-head, Socrates, dancing in the "Douche is in the Heart" pic? Doc seems to think so. I'm not sure, but it could very well be.

And here's one more chaser pic in the afterglow of the HCwDotY. Nothing too amazing about this pic other than the fact this bulky chinbag's forehead is apparently the size of Trenton.

And that cleavite. That oh so fantastic cleavite. I would live in the jungles of Antwerp subsisting on rice cakes and grasshoppers just to juggle her socks for an hour outside the Tastee-Freeze.

While we're all celebrating Glinty's win, lets get down to the early 90s club hit by Deeeee-Scrote, "Douche is in the heart."


The puke that you
send up my throat
Keep me filled with
Satisfaction when we're done
Satisfaction of what's to come
(I) I couldn't ask for a douchebag

No I couldn't ask for a douchebag,

Your bling I do deeply dig
No walls only the wigg(a)
My scrotey bitch, my succotash wish
(Sing it baby)
(I) I couldn't ask for a douchebag,
(Uh-huh uh-huh)
(I-I-I-I-I I)
No I couldn't ask for a douchebag,

Douche is in the heart
Ah-ah-ah-ah
Douche is in the heart
Ah-ah-ah-ah
Douche is in the heart
Douche is in the heartttt,
Ah-ah-ah

The depth the forehead grease,
Move us to the nth release,
We goin' through to Jersey,
Hears a who-ooh
(I) I couldn't ask for a douchebag
(I-I-I-I-I I)
No couldn't ask for a douchebag,
DJ Scrote (scrote) popped a collar,
I've been told the douchebag hollars,
He's not vicious or malicious
Just de-lovely and a total and complete ball of f-ing scrote,
No (I) I couldn't ask for a douchebag,

(Sing it)

Douche is in the heart
Ah-ah-ah-ah
(Ne-na-na-na-na)
Douche is in the heart
(Ne-na-na-na-na)
Douche is in the heart
(Ne-na-na-na-na)
Douche is in the heart-ah-ah-ah

Douche is in the heart
Ah-ah-ah-ah (yeah)
Douche is in the heart
Ah-ah-ah
Douche is in the heart
Douche is in the heart
Ah-ah-ah

In the end it was fairly close, but Glinty pulled it out like the champion West Coast greaseball he is. Although Socratic Douche did put up a tough fight to come in second, with Dung Beetle still receiving enough votes to finish a solid third.

But the overwhelming grease/hot combo of Glinty remains a fan fave. There were just too many attributes for Glinty to be denied. The bling. The shirt with the stupid douche "humor" partially blocked by a gorgeous, exposed beauty. However, the greased up forehead and chin pubes are what I think carried him through the finals to a convincing victory for the coveted first annual HCwDotY Award.

I'd inform Glinty himself, but I'm not sure he's actually human. Staring at this pic makes me think he might be like Orange 'Bag, an apparition or a shell that you simply move into a storage bin when the clubs close.

So lets all clink our bling and give HCwD props to Glinty for beating out the rest and taking the coveted top spot. He is "Classic HCwD" on so many levels. He is archetype. While there are more gut wrenching douchebag freaks and sexy-ass hotties from the past year (I'm still recovering from the perfection of Barbarino 'Bag's hottie), there is no doubt that this pic contains too many douchey/hottie qualities to ignore its greatness.

As Mitch Meats breaks it down for us:

Winner and still champeen: Gliny Blinglescrote, I want to douse your soul patch in turpentine then immolate your @#$@ing oily head. I want to draw and quarter your nutsack with very powerful and slow moving tortoises. I want to put you in a blender, make a dirty douchetini, and throw you off the Statue of Liberty. There are so many thousands of ways that I can imagine killing you this morning. For that, and the combined strength of your über-delicious rays of sunshine, you completely deserve the title of Douchebag of the Year. Now get the @#$@ out of my sight.

Well said, M.M. And nice job finding the umlout key. I still haven't been able to crack that Germanic nut.

I'm also pleased to see i bling key in on an important 'bag factor that we sometimes overlook -- the attitude problem. There's no doubt that Dung Beetle's sneer (and his hottie's perfection) are the reasons he's made it this far in the first place.

But the sneering Dung Beetle has the crucial douchebag arrogance that raises him above the other two. He's wearing all black, has the stupid sunglasses indoors and a death grip on his hottie. He's mocking us in this photo, knowing we will likely never have the opportunity to give him the throat-punch he so richly deserves.

Nice work, I.B. Another interesting hypothetical is brought to us by Douche, PhB(ag), who ruminates on the differences between genetic douchosity and douche-as-persona:

A philosophical question. What is more douche? To be as one is, like a shiny mountain, Phidias' Zeus in silver track pants, an eternal Jersey guido douchebag? Or to change with the seasons, shedding the glinty belt buckle and fake tan like a diseased maple dropping its wormy rotting leaves only to blossom into a new and more horrible form the coming spring?

I believe the latter is more reprehensible. Vote Glinty, as I do.

Pandora brings an important female perspective as she uses the "least likely to touch" barometer to make her vote before casting in with S.D.:

Needless to say, all three douches here are very HCwDBofY worthy ... yet the one I would be most unwilling to let touch me is the Socratic Douche. Not only does he look like he just rolled out of a tanning booth and into a lard bath, he is wearing the classic douche tank top and bling. While not sporting the grillz of White Chocolate, I bet he's saving up his money from his full time job at Burger King to buy a pair. I would like to buy lighters for each of his blondes so that they may be able to burn the layer of skin off that touched him.

Nicely reasoned, Pandora. In fact there was some excellent work done by all the 'bags, 'bag slayers and hotties in the comments thread including an excellent poem by Undouchesided, I refer all to the comments thread for a more detailed analytical deduction of some of the larger moral, intellectual, philosophical, ethical and puke/boner factors that we're exploring.

Great work all, lets tip our red cups of Night Train to Glinty. For he and his hotties personify all that is uber hottie/scrote in today's douchey world. All that makes us hopeful, and all that makes us want to kill ourselves with an ice-pick through the eye.

HCwD of the Year voting is still open, mainly because I'm a lazy git who hasn't tallyed up the votes yet. However the actual entry dropped off the main page so you can access it By clicking here.

As always, make sure to only vote once, explain your reasons for voting, and remember to factor in BOTH hottie hotness and douchebag douchebagginess for the total effect of each pic.

I'll post the results tomorrow, and then we're on to the end of the year Douchie awards. And to the Big Red fans out there, don't you worry your heads, B.R. will get a Douchie too. Can't forget the Big Red.

Let there be no confusion. Douche Lee is not "man" nor "woman." Douche Lee has no time for such petty categorizations and spiritually vapid gender classifications.

Douche Lee is a higher level of spirit. A far more expansive plateau of existence. He has no time for your attempts to classify him. He is both chick and douche, male and female, in one Yin/Yang corporeal body of earthly manifestation.

Do not doubt the Douche Lee. For he will only grow douchier.

Instead let us all bow to the gender confusing Pat-level Zen Master. Like an apparition he graces our site in brief pixelated form, only to move on to corral hotties with his mystifying douche powers forever more.

Lets us take a moment to nod our collective heads and honor Douche Lee for his brief appearance in our lives. He has touched all of us. Perhaps in inappropriate ways. But his legend has only grown. And like all douche legends, we will sing songs to his memory around the campfire for many a moon. Many a lonely Douche Lee moon.

There is a legend that even the boldest and most experienced 'bag hunters whisper about with fear and awe. A 'bag whose existence itself is more rumor and myth then fact. A famous Zen Douchebag who legend has it has wandered the ancient sprawling hills of mainland China for eons. A zen 'bag master who goes simply by the name, "Douche Lee."

But now, for the first time, a reader believes he's snapped actual photographic evidence of this all powerful 'Bag Master in action.

Here is what appears to be the legendary Douche Lee caught in full on mystical douche action. He may be hard to see in the pic (he's in the back center), but like with The Loch Ness Monster or BigFoot, the elusive Douche Lee can not be easily captured nor observed working his douchey magic.

(click on pic for a closer examination of this startling discovery)

Note the 'bag master shirt, bizarre glasses and rare cigarette 'bag hand gesture #105 (a move only a stage-4 'bag master can attain). Observe the ring of hotties worshipping in the presence of this skinny hip-hop Asian wigga. I don't know about you, but I'm convinced. Here, for the first time, we have actual evidence of uber-douchosity of the one and only Douche Lee.

He is real. Oh yes. He is real.

We haven't had a lot of Office 'bags on the site, those everyday scrotes who make all the women in the office feel uncomfortable and then bust out the douchebag moves at the office holiday party or when out drinking.

Office 'bags, like Jim the Coffee Scrote here, are stage-1 'bags, basically on the level of a tonguebag or awkward nerdbag. Like the many high school 'baglings we've seen, office 'bags aren't remotely on the greased up shiny forehead and excessive bling level yet. But they want to be. Just like Jim here.

As to the lineup of barely 18 hotties, I will simply thank God for miniskirts and call it a day.

Here's another light HCwD snack while we digest the HCwD of the Year and figure out the how to break down the Douchie Awards by category. As to Electic Hair Orchestra here, I loved guitar heavy mod rock as much as the next guy, but man, ditch the red silk tie before I set your face on fire. Back in the early 90s during the Ian Ziering "Red Tie" period (1990-1992) it would've made you douchebag. Today it's like entering the hyper-scrote zone. The hottie appears to be 17-ish, so I will simply admire that artwork on the wall. That is fine, fine artwork.

I'm thinking I'll set up a few select Douchie Award votes for the major categories, and then I'll give out a few more to my favorites over the past year as sort of an Oscar parallel "Irving G. Doucheberg Award." Ya know, those honorary lifetime achievement kinda things where old people get to pretend they're still relevant.

Man oh man, so much hottie/scrote to go through, so little time. They almost all deserve an award (and by award I mean "spew").

I can't tell what's driving me to distraction more, the fantastic dual cleavite on display or seeing Tarantino 'Bag's creepyass hand gripping the sultry diamond on the right's arm. Fishhead needs to be wrapped up in yesterday's newspaper and put in a freezer somewhere. That chin alone deserves a Douchie Award.

Although now that I think about it, ChinBags may be one of the most competitive Douchie categories we have. There have to have been at least thirty or thirty five douche chins in the past few months alone.

As some of you may have noticed, HCwD got its first monthly sponsor this month, EvilEye Clothing, whose banner is up top. Check out their stuff, some very cool t-shirt designs, and the site owner assures me that the shirts are excellent as karmic douchebag repellent in addition to providing the type of mystical protection that the poor hotties on the left desperately need right about now. Look at that creepy haired chinbag giving us the 'eye.' Maybe we need a subsection, the evil eyed Thomas Dolbags and the hotties who are polluted by them.


So special props to EvilEye for being this month's HCwD sponsor. If anyone else is interested in sponsoring the site, drop the DB1 a line.

And fer chrissakes people, if you haven't voted in the HCwDotY, do it!! What are you waiting for? If you don't vote, I'll sick Old No. 7 on your sorry ass.

I've been staring at this pic for an hour (probably because I have no life) and I can't figure it out. Where is 'Bag Hand Gesture #60 coming from? Is it growing out of the back of brunette's head? Or perhaps one of thug douche's piercings has mutated into a new life form trying desperately to escape his facial pubes and is flagging us down begging for our help?

The hand angle just bothers me. But not as much as the three lurking creepbags in the back.

What is love? Baby don't hurt me...

Orange 'Bag Says, "Don't Forget to Vote for the HCwD of the Year!"

Since it's the end of the year and we're voting on the HCwD of the Year, it's time to think about the Douchies. There were many fine examples of rank douchitude and the hotties who love them that didn't make it to the final round but deserve their own recognition with a Douchie Award.

Any suggestions for categories and finalists? As douchestar runner notes in the comments thread, what about Purple Lips? Jon Bon Douchey? Big Red? The Shocker? Labor Day 'Bag? The Holy Douche Spirit? The Holy Grail? So much putrid scrote to honor. So little time.

Should we give a special award to the lovely Hippie Chick who kept us warm after first horrifying us with her appearance next to The Joker back in April?

Lets come up with some good categories and then we'll start handing out the awards.

While we're tallying up the HCwD of the Year voting, Baron Von Douchausen writes in to bring all of our attention to the horrible and debilitating 'bag disease, "CSS."

Please won't you think of the 'bag children? Won't somebody think of the 'bag children?

I remember just a short time ago (maybe a month) when I was a virgin baghunter. My excitement seemingly knew no bounds. Now, I am sad to say, I've been diagnosed with a Chronic Scrotatic Syndrome (CSS). CSS, according to the DSM-IV, manifests itself with alternating fits of uncontrollable anger and unconsolable sadness. Many misdiagnose it as bi-polar disorder.

According to the New England Journal of Medicine, CSS is suffered by males of any race who are subjected to witnessing the public displays of affection between beautiful women and "disgusting greasebags" (Schmidt, 1998). Advanced CSS is suffered by those who actively seek out hottie/bag action (Vitalini, 2005). Apparently, afflicted individuals become addicted to inexpensive alcohol-dense beverages and simple carbohydrates typically found in Lil' Debbie or Hostess snacks.

The only known treatment--there is no known cure (Hoffer, 1999)--is to find a hottie of one's own and humiliate her publicly with your hand gestures and tongue lolling (Schmidt & Dingle, 2003). It is not necessary to develop a relationship with the hottie (Dingle, 2004).

Well folks, here it is. Since I'm a hung over douchebag with crumbs on his shirt, I only managed to get all the way to a HCwD of the Month contest three of the eight months since I started this site, but in a way that kind of works out since it means we'll only have three finalists for this coveted and valuable honor.

Yup, it's that time. The Hot Chicks with Douchebags pic of the Year. It's your turn to pick the ultimate in douchebaggery/hottie combination. Douchebag nation turns its scrotey eyes to you... woo woo woo...

These three pics managed to beat the odds, to slay the Pats of the world, to defeat the Labor Day 'Bags to make it all the way to the top (bottom?) of the pile of greased up scrote. Actually there was a fourth HCwD of the Month when after hearing "You're beautiful, you're beautiful" one too many times on the radio I made James Blunt an automatic HCwD of the Month winner, an award well deserved. But since voting wasn't involved, I'm leaving BluntBag out of this contest.

Think. Contemplate the horror of each pic. The greasy douchitude. The sexy hottie. The combination that makes you want to slam your head in a 19th Century drilling press until block letters are stapled on your forehead.

But I've rambled enough. In the festive holiday spirit, let us tip our cups of egg nogg to the skeeziest of the scrotes and the sexiest of the hotties.

Three enter. Only one will exit with the crown. Which one will it be?

HCwD of the Month #1: Glinty


The very first winner of the HCwDotM contest and still a fan fave, Glinty's lazy eye and shiny belt buckle bling still annoy fans by the thousands. His perfect wispy gelled hair and his two utterly fantastic chickas almost render his chin pubes as a form of Shakesperean performance art. You can see those chin pubes performing at the Joseph Papp theater, "Hark! What douchebag through yonder window breaks! It is the East, and Glinty is a giant ball of scrote."

And the fantastic, enhanced dark haired beauties don't hurt neither.








HCwD of the Month #2: Socratic Douche


On the other spectrum from chin pubes reading Shakespeare is Socrates and his philosophic douchitude. He thinks, therefore he's douche.

S.D. is one of those Energizer Bunnies of scrote. Below the radar he just keeps going and going. Virtually ignored when he first appeared on the site, his shiny forehead continues to be an irresistable draw for his ascension up the douchebag ladder. Not to mention his sexy blond little hamantashens. Mmm, I'd dip them in strawberries and whipped cream and gargle them like windex.

HCwD of the Month #3: Dung Beetle


One of those pics who's douchitude/hotness factors caused some readers of the site to kill themselves, driving down readership badly. (note to self, try not to cause fans to kill themselves)

Dung Beetle burrows to the steaming stench of douchebaggery in all sorts of wrong ways. And featuring perhaps one of the most fantastic beauties this side of a Miss USA coke party, this pic elevates on a number of primary HCwD levels.

It really kind of sucks to have to pick one of these pics for ascension into the hallowed Hall o' Scrote as our first HCwDotY winner. Maybe we should just give all three a Douchie Award and call it a night.

But no, that would do a disservice to our role in the cosmic plan. So get off yer ass and put down that coffee. It's Monday morning, and you gotta pick one, and only one, pic to win.

None of this is easy folks. Believe you me, I feel your pain. All three make you want to down shots of cyinide laced apple cider. As always, enter your vote in the comments thread.

I'm sure he's just a big fan of roosters.

Here's an excellent example of lesser stage-1 tonguebags. As many have posited on this site in the past, ascension into the douchebag class takes study, discipline and careful attention to detail.

However early dabbling into the douche arts is usually engaged in merely through facial expression. Through tonguebaggery. Like a gateway drug, once a douche apprentice gains a taste for douchebaggery, he quickly works his way into the douche arts from there.

This is an example of base level douchebag apprentices just starting to get a taste for the dark scrotey powers awaiting them. Soon, excessive chest gel, 10 degree hats and bizarre facial pubes await discovery and mastery. Feel empathy for these munchy doughnut hotties in front. They are unaware as to the dark forces coalescing behind them.

The DB1's been on the road heading to the east coast for a little Holiday Family Love. Which means cutting back on the Night Train and instead hitting the spiked egg nog.

So in honor of my early jump on the holidays, here's one of the smokingest ball of smoking smokitude this side of Tennessee smoked ribs. Mmm... ribs...

I wasn't sure if Chet, the Aryan Douchebag was going to qualify for the site or not until I caught the Dog Tag accessories. And seriously, wtf with dog tags as fashion statement? There are freaking kids in Iraq dying and douchebags decide they're going to adorn tags used to mark dead bodies as a f-ing fashion statement before hitting the clubs? Man it pisses me off.

In honor of Sartre 'Bag's Existential skeezyness, here's another pic of this creepy weirdo fondling a hot ball of summer wax.

However, there's less outward signs of douchebaggery from N.E. in this pic. He almost looks normal.

But do not be fooled. There's one dead givaway even if you haven't seen the previous pic: The rolled up sleeves.

Rolling up sleeves was a good look. Back in 1988. Now it's a sign that scrote is omnipresent. Even as yet another sexy chicka falls under his douche powers.

She's got sexy eyes. He's got douchey face. Together they make pain.

Sha na na greasebag,
The 50s are over, choad,
Hands off my night nurse.

Once, when I was about twelve, one of my best friends had the wind knocked out of him while we were playing kickball during recess. As he lay on the ground gasping for breath, we stood around unsure what to do.

Finally, he coughed up a bit of phlegm. Not a lot. Just a small wad. And then he was able to breathe better.

Why do I bring this up? Because in an amazing coincedence that rivals Moldy Toast Jesus and Tree Stump Mary, this Jersey Toad resembles the exact formation of that phlegm.

And in an even more unbelievable miracle, his visage has again been spotted, this time in a bowl of pea soup. Witness the miracle of the "Pea Soup Scrote" image here.

It is hard to believe, and were it just the phlegm on my 8th grade kick-ball field, I would chalk it up to coincedence. But two appearances in viscous materials is enough to convince me: This is the Holy Douche Spirit himself.

Princess Bride Hottie needs saving. Fezzik 'Bag has kidnapped her and the Dread Pirate Roberts is nowhere in sight.

Someone seriously needs to spear this Rodent of Unusual Size, stat, before I down a few shots of iocane powder laced wine.

Okay, I'm about out of Princess Bride references.

Options for ironic observations in the comments thread: As You Wish, The Six Fingered Douchebag, Inigo MontScrota, etc.

A reader sent in this pic of his girlfriend trying to lick his douchey neck. Not sure what to say other than I loved his performance as Mowgli in "The Jungle Book."

And she appears to be a fantastic porcelain doll even if her alien brain eating abilities are somewhat scary.

Exremely tight, evenly balanced contest this week. I have "No Exit" winning by just one vote. However I didn't count the hanging chads that were Yellowtail's saggy man-boobs. But in the end No Exit's accessories, bizarre hair and finger rings put him over the top.

However Yellowtail will definitely find a place in the Senior Scrotizens section of the Hall of Scrote.

All three of our finalists won their share of love (and by love I mean "spew"). There were a couple of write-ins for Ben Grimm 'Bag, so I'll be including him in the next HCwDotW contest even though that might not be for a few weeks what with the Yearly Scrote-Off coming on Monday.

This week's dilemma seems to come down to the classic problem of Old-Douche. When grandpa is still out trolling the clubs for young poon, there seems to be an inverse correlary -- we begin to gain respek for their ancient douchitude. Like they transform from young balls of scrote into wise Zen-Douche Masters. Even with the cheese odor of Yellowtail, this seemed to flip enough votes to take the cake for No Exit.

Don Juan de la Douche tosses in with the Creature from the Blond Lagoon by factoring in the luscious hotties:

I gotta go with 1, Blondenstein. The hotties are the hottest out of the 3. The girl in the middle is top shelf, and the blondie to the right ain't no slouch either. Frankenbag doesn't have much going for douchiness other than his goofy hair. But Frankenbag was there in that picture and I wasn't. That pisses me off more than the other 2 pics.

douchestar runner sums up this week's conflicting douche-motions, however D.R. tosses in with the old git:

I was already to go with Yellowtail, hands down--I mean, any 'bag that has more leathery skin than George Hamilton (and who's also about as old) and leaves his also leathery shirt WIDE open just can't be topped, right?

Then I started reading the arguments for No Exit, and I started to have doubts. And I started to examine his picture more closely. From the accessories alone we can tell this guy's a big time douchebag--throw in a creepy molester-grin and you've got some considerable 'baggery going on. And his wholesome looking spring-break coed hottie definitely makes you think "what the hell is she doing with him?"

But I have to ask myself--which one of these guys would be more unusual to see in real life? Which one is more delusional? And without hesitation, I say it's #2. Dudes that look like No Exit are a dime a dozen at the club--his accessories may be ridiculous but his shirt and hair are pretty tame.

But even though Oldie's power of puke was overwhelming, #3 took the cake. As the ever present anonymous formulas it out:

Let's do the math: Douche-smirk + ethnically incongruous hair dye job + ((sunglasses x number of hairs cascading over them)/price of the sunglasses) + pucca shell necklace + dogtags + finger acknowledgment to the Big Douchebag in the Sky +(finger accessories x 3) + (open shirt x number of open buttons) + bag headbutt and all multiplied by a Hot Chick factor of 8 = one of the rankest scrotes ever to ooze his way into these hallowed pages. If he were a little greasier and had a more flamboyant shirt, we'd all be lining up to crown him Proto-Bag of the century.

Hard to argue with cold hard math.

I hear your thoughts. You've been thinking, "DB1, those are some great hotties and some truly freaky scrotes, but where's the sourse douche? Where's the primal 'baggery from which all tertiary douchiness eminates?"

Your wish is my command.

Here's a little pure uncut 100% Jersey douchebaggery and hotness mixing in just an offensively wrong way.

Feel the douche warmth eminating from the spikey hair and zoot suit. Pity the sexy avacado. She has nowhere to run.

Not sure if you've caught The Amazing Douchini's act yet down in Vegas. He performs nightly at 7pm, 8:30pm and a raunchy 11pm show at the "Vegas Motel 6" in the Shecky Green Ballroom. Tickets are $19.95 but you get five dollars off if you eat at the "Ribs, 'Dibs and 'Nibs Buffet" next door at the Food Fantasmagoria.

Watch The Amazing Douchini astound and delight your friends with his psychic "'Bling Reader" act, as well as his ability to magically make grease float in mid air. Enjoy his famed red headed assistant, "Zebra," as she performs the "Linking Hoop Rings" followed by the famous magic levitating 10 Degree Hat illusion.

The Amazing Douchini got his start playing strip clubs in the midwest before moving to Vegas after a failed shotgun wedding in 1989. His dream is to someday see his name in lights like Lance Burton or Penn and Teller. For now he'll have to settle for the dry eraser placard outside the check-in desk at the Motel 6.

Oh dear God. Halloween pic or no, Thug Life just kicked me in the nuts. But like the beauty that is a great HCwD pic, Catwoman brings me back to life. But no, this shirtless freak of nature shreds my will to live like a cheese grater hopped up on crack. Ah, but the Holy Cleavite warms my soul and reassures me like "Goodnight Moon" did when I was five.

It is heaven and it is hell. All mixed up in the blender of scrote that is a HCwD pic.

Enjoy it. Revile it. Let that swirling emotional cocktail fire you up and cool you off. And then punch this skeezy old douchebag in the digital face.

Not sure what to make out of this twosome. I could make a broach, or a pteradactyl. Or I could set Gallagher 'bag's Oasis on fire. All I know is that the Lilliputans used to build tiny shrines to worship ambiguously Asian hottie's derriere. And can you blame them? Wars were fought over an ass that fantastic.

Man, this dude is just killing me. Literally killing me. Flop combover, vulcan eyebrows and douche smirk make Homer go something something.

I don't know when penguins started cross-species comingling with hotties, but this is definitely leading to global warming. What the hell is Happy Feet doing with his hand? Is that supposed to be a "Westside" hand gesture? Or a sign of douche palsy?

I am pleased to see "Ubiquitous Red Cup" make yet another cameo here on the site.

And when the Council Elders ask me, "DB1, whither six pack abs?" I will simply nod sagely and point at white bikini hotness.

Here's a little HCwD of the Week chaser before next week's uber-bag smackdown, the HCwD of the Year. This week's collection of scrote falls more along the scarybag lines, those creepy crawly scrotes who are likely to send you crossing the street so as not to come into contact with them. And yet, here they are cuddling up with hotties. Go figure.

Then again, that's why we're all here. To figure out just how these noxious poo-vapors-in-solid-form somehow come to inhabit the proximity of sexy balls of spice. Perhaps we may never know. And, like all of humanity, what we don't know, we mock.

HCwD of the Week #1: Blondenstein



This FrankenBag is all sorts of scary. Then again, so is his hottie who's curves seem strangely out of order. Or maybe they're just trying to flee Blondenstein's mutant presence.

I'm also a little intrigued, what's Isaac Hayes doing in the background? C'mon Chef, get back on South Park. Scientology sucks and you know it.


HCwD of the Week #2: Yellowtail


Really, what more needs to be said about 70s Record Producer / Porn Producer / Refried Bean?

Blondie is fantastic. Actually, brunette is even more sexy in that "real" way. And by real I mean her nose isn't a pert little button.






HCwD of the Week #3: No Exit


No Exit may have been yesterday but I can't tell what day it is anymore so we'll throw him into this week's contest. But then that brings up what we'll do with "The Thing." He'll come back too. That pic is too priceless not to preserve in the still theoretical (but hopefully real soon) "Hall o' Scrote."

So what say you, people? Who deserves the first entrance into January's HCwD of the Month contest?

Another piece of upchuck that feels like he's been on the site before, but that last pic has me so rattled I can't tell if I'm on my sixth HoHo or am chewing on a cat turd.

Wholesome cutie looks vaguely 17, so I'll confine my comments to chin pube boy. WTF is he wearing?

Forgot to do the HCwDotW yesterday so am gonna try and get it up this afternoon. Any requests?

And on Monday... the HCwD of the Year. Yikes.

Holy sweet balls of flaming cheese, I haven't felt this dizzy since the 10th Grade nitrous whippit experiments in my friend Evan's garage. It's like I'm being simultaneously punched and caressed by a boxer with a soft spongey feather in one hand and a brick in the other.

My brain can't take this sort of abuse. It's already mad at me over Saturday's mohito-thon. Stupid mohitos.

This pic violates the rubrics of muon/lepton hybridity. It shatters the soul and rewrites history by inserting douchebags at key historical moments. The chapter on the assassination of Arch Douche Ferdinand is just wrong.

She is perfection. She is purity. She turns turds into gold. Well, except for the big turd she's cuddling with.

And on that note, I'm having another mohito. The more braincells I drown in alcohol, the less will be left to contemplate this wrongness.

Holy God damn. That is some serious Willy Wonka I've got a golden ticket chocolate perfection. Her Oompa Loompas make me want to go to a world of pure imagination. Uhm... her snozzleberries... okay, I'll stop.

As to Def Jim, 'bag hand gesture #64 might send him into the world of scrote, but he's still feasting on the finest Godiva chocolate in the western hemisphere.

(sigh)

I'm gonna go play my Superfly soundtrack and honor the memory of the late, great, vastly underrated genius, Curtis Mayfield, and forget Hip Hop here exists.

In the immortal words of Judge Smails, "Ohhhh, Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy.... this is a big one, Billy..."

So much wrong. So much painfully not right.

I do enjoy what appears to be a "HCD" on the shirt, which is only a "w" away from plugging the site.

As to upturned, shocked out, Billy Baru, I'd like to chew on glass for an hour to get his mug out of my mind.

Hottie's very perky.

Does his shirt say "Coll," "Cholera" or "Colitis"? Or is that simply base-15 code for "Douchebag"?

Mmm... enhanced cleavite on a monday morning to make the warm and fuzzies dance around my peripheral vision.

I want to lock this hairy thug up until he throws monkey poo at his trainers. Not to mention the fact he can get a cutie to munch on his face while I sit here flicking dandruff off my jeans. Stupid dandruff.

Jean-Paul Sartre was right. In existentiality, there is no escape from the douchebag. They are omnipresent. They are everywhere. And there is ultimately no escape.

Dig Muto the Frog Boy's rings, tags, glasses, and hair. Megods, look at that douche-face. Tell me you don't want to punch an orphan after staring at this pic. And if that doesn't scream nihilism, I don't know what does.

Say what you will about setting a douchebag's face on fire, at least it's an ethos.

I weep for the future.

(yup, I'm on a Bueller kick)

Somewhere, hidden in this photo, buried deep among hotties, there is a skeezy douchebag.

Can you find him?


Mmmm... Beyonce clones....

Apparently in honor of Saint Pat's Day, some douchebag is using my email account as a front for spamming so my mailbox just filled up with a bunch of bounced emails. So we're going to honor spammers with a rare, honorary "HCwDotM" award.

Blow me, email spambags. May your girlfriends hook up with this guy, get caught on video, and end up duped on a million websites.

If anyone emailed me and got a bounce-back, send again.

Today is Saint Pat's Day here at HCwD. To celebrate this holy day of douchebaggery, we'll drink cans of Miller Lite and purse our lips in bizarre and feminine ways.

I have to say, Pat's kind of growing on me. Maybe it's the earing. Maybe it's the inverted "white silk tie with black shirt" pimp look.

But to me, Pat isn't just a person of indeterminate sexuality. (s)he's a state of mind. A way of being. A manifestation that says, "Love me. 'Bag me. And ship me to Peru."

Okay, I don't know what that means. But I do know it's the first annual holiday here at HCwD, Saint Pat's Day. How do you plan to celebrate?

Come now, it's Friday, you didn't think I was gonna let you ride off into the weekend without at least one more bitch-smackingly painful HCwD pic, did you?

If this one doesn't fire up the existential grill for the weekend, then nothing will. This oily Jersey tool isn't just mauling a cute little button of love, he's smirking at you as well.

Are you gonna take that?


Well, are you?

(sigh)

I sure am.

Feh. Time to start drinking.

Okay, I know I said I'm trying to stay away from the budding 'bags, those potential teenager pics, the "'bags in training" if you will, but this Nerdbag deserves at least some tertiary love (and by "love I mean spew) on a Friday afternoon.

Especially as I just spent three hours fixing my publishing software, and so I deserve a little slack.

Besides, tell me he isn't the 'bag spawn of the lead singer of 80s band, "The Cars," Rick Ocasek. Cue "You Might Think I'm a Douchebag" song lyrics in three... two... one...

Yale has that Jason Lee "Earl" look working for him, and I gotta say, it really doesn't work for him. Unless cultivating that "I'm a skeezy dropout with no job prospects outside of stealing Snickers bars during the midnight to eight am shift at the 'Snack 'n Go."

Sultry lace mamamita has that "early stage teen pregnancy" vibe, but I'd still love her lace gloves in an uncomfortable fetish sort of way.

And that stockings/shoe combo. Que bella. She's my Sloane Peterson.

Porcelain Sultress,
Don't look now but there's a choad,
who smells like frog poo.

Big Red here wants to thanks all those sending in pics, but please remember, only send the best HCwD combo, and please, for the love of all things scrotey, do not send sixteen pics of your best friend and his girlfriend smiling at the camera. This site ain't called "Boring Midwestern College Students with Minimally Attractive Chicks." If you find a great pic, send it. But be selective.

As always, if you have a pic of unbelievable douchitude and hotness cominging in unholy glory, and it's a decent sized pic (400 pixels or so) that isn't a huge file, then by all means, send it on in to my drunk ass at douchebag1@hotchickswithdouchebags.com.

And remember kids, 'baggery kills. Do not even dip a toe into the dark path down scrotitude. Do not let skeezebags fool you into thinking you too can replicate the oily, popped collar, hand gesture making, spikey haired douchebaggery. Resist. Instead, rescue the hotties from their folly. For they know not what they do.

Nothing says "Spring Break" like post-industrial wastelands and 10 Degree Hat Scrotes. You can just hear the Timberlake in tinny echo playing out of his ipod.

Yeesh.

The tonguescrote has leapt into Bleeth form. The beach is unsafe. We're going to need a bigger boat.

Looks like John Stamos and that tall guy from "Full House" turned into a couple of 'bags lately, although I do love the Olsen Twins all grown up and enhanced.

This is what we call a classic double decker 'bag sandwich. They have this on the menu at the Carnegie on 7th Ave. I recommend the soup and 1/2 'bag sandwich with a Dr. Brown's Black Cherry and a side order of the 'slaw. Mmmm... deli food.

As to Stamos 'Bag, I'd toss this dimpley little pudwad off a moving train, Dennis Hopper style.

And what's with the background drapes? Are they in a Moroccan whorehouse? Wait, don't answer that. Kills the fantasy.

For halloween next year, I'm going as this creepbag. No outward signs of douchebaggery, but just skeezy enough to make me feel uncomfortable even being in his digital pixelated presence.

But why am I really posting this pic?

Hottie.

She is as clear as an unmuddied lake. As clear as an azure sky of deepest summer. I want to listen to Beethoven and dance to Gene Kelly movies. I'd even suffer the Ludavico technique just to watch films of her parents playing chess.

In short, I'd nuzzle her goodness for a weekend, then take a long nap.

It'd be a tasty double decker sandwich if it wasn't for that e-coli laden douchebaggery in the middle. Okay, they're just regular turdburgers, but that doesn't change the fact that I've had triplet fantasies since, well, forever. And triplet blondes at the Tiki Ti just makes the DB1 want to dance the luau. Three times.

There's little left to be said about the genius that is White Chocolate. Only that his powers of douchebaggery are possibly 2nd tier only to the hallowed Grieco himself.

Look at this profound douchitude. So many levels, so many permutations, so many ass-chins of douche it's hard to know where to begin. Top it off with this sultry cherry cuddling up with him, and the only debate left to have is whether W.C. gets one Douchie Award Nomination or gets multiple categories.

He may not have been a HCwDotW winner, but W.C. will always have a place in our hearts. And by "hearts," I mean collective spew.

I just had an amazing sushi lunch, so for no particular reason other than that, I'm naming Oldy McSkeeze here "Yellowtail." Although his sagging chest flesh does sort of remind me of salmon sashimi.

Ugh. Now I'm feeling queasy.

We've had oldbags on the site before and they often acquire a sort of folk hero status. Still in the game after all those years. Yet somehow I doubt Yellowtail's going to gain anything other than collective vomit.

As to the two spicy Salmon Rolls on either side, yes please. I'd dip them both in teriyaki sauce and wash them down with saki. Enhanced California Rolls on the left there are award winning. I suppose I could go for the "box lunch" joke, but that might be pushing it.

Admit it.

You didn't see it coming.

It was gonna be the 'Bagsgiver or if not him than androgynous Pat and his uber-sexy girlfriend/sister. Well the votes are in and totaled, after one of the lengthiest and funniest debates in the comments thread, and Socrates Douche barely beats out the 'Bagsgiver in a squeaker. I have S.D. by ONE vote, so it may have been douchebag OUT! flipping that coin at the end that turned the tide. The deciding factor seems to be the fact that Socrates is pure Jersey source-douche. The purest, uncut douche on the market. Not to mention his head is the La Brea Tar Pits of douchitude.

So lets all tip our red cups of cheap wine to the Soc. He is this month's HCwD of the Month winner.

But have no fear, fellow hotties and 'bag hunters. All four of these choice samples of Scrote will be eligible for awards during the end of the year "Douchies." In which, as suggested by undouchesided and mitch meats, we'll be handing out awards based on our favorite pics. I'm also considering a series in late December called "The Twelve Douchebags of Christmas." So fan faves like White Chocolate, Big Red, and maybe even the original Shocker, will get honored.

However the "Douchie Of the Year" Award will only go to the winner of the HCwDotY contest, as fair is fair.

In the end it came down to which was more overwhelming, the sunglass wearing sexual power of the 'Bagsgiver versus the true Jersey source douche of Socrates. "Know thyself" indeed.

cuke makes out the case for Socrates's supreme douchebaggery:

His two internet amateur porn hotties from the Valley, his black, Eyetalian skeez jersey that just screams "My pizzabox laden apt is a 1/2 a block off the New Jersey Turnpike" , the silver trackpants. the 4 buck knockoff euro shades-- Socrates' pic emits a rotten stench of douchbaggery that you couldn't wash off with a tub of bleach and a brillo pad. But the clincher is that massive silver cross on his greasy, waxed Bag chest. He's a Werewolf Hunter Douche. He's a Douche for Jesus. He's The Father, Son and Holy Ghost of Douche. Please, let us all bow our heads in prayer to His Holy Doucheness, Lord Socrates. Amen.

And then there's mitch meats, who may be in the running for "best metaphor in the comments section of the year" describing the haunting nature of the 'Bagsgiver:

'Bagsgiver: What else needs to be said? This putrid ass hat has been haunting me nightly as I cry softly to myself. I guess I should be thankful that he has replaced the nightmare where all my teeth break while eating a butterscotch. But I still want a stingray to stab him in the heart.

Until, in a shocker (and not that kind of "shocker"), MM reverses himself and casts in with the stealth uber-douche power of S.D.:

But, even though I know I said 'bagsgiver was a shoe-in for HCwDotY, I'm gonna have to agree with some other folks in choosing Socrates as the upstart rag-tag giant-killing shit stain of the century. I had forgotten about him until I saw myself in his forehead and promptly punched my own mother in the face.

As baron von douchehausen explains, Jersey Douche is just too powerful to ignore. Not even two naked hotties with a spikey knob can overcome its unholy source-douche:

Alas, as in music, it comes down to the roots, the source. Heavy Jersey Douche is douchetude in its purest form. All other styles are merely variations on this basic theme. And while variety can be kitschy and cool and serves a purpose for cultural growth and innovation, we must, at last, when confronted with such a broad spectrum of grease, faux-jewelry, and gorgeous hottie skin, find ourselves judging on the basics.

But the Bagsgiver definitely has his fans. As il douche succinctly observes:

Bagsgiver, on the other hand, is already in a house and any of those doors could lead to the bedroom in which those girls will double team him. If you still don't agree that he's the worst of the year, go back and read that last sentence again and let it linger. Let it eat away at your imagination and you sense of what is right in the world.

As to the legend of Pat, jem sums it up in an almost haiku format:

ok, no hand gestures but LOOK AT HIM. I just..gah. its definately 4

But bmt brings it home for Socrates:

So I've got to go with Socrates. He's got no weaknesses. Every catergory this site espouses as criteria for douchetude he meets. The clinching factor is how absolutely soaked his face is in douche resin. There's so much light reflecting from his grill that if you stare at his cheek you can see what happened on Pluto 20 million light years ago.

Good job, people. Yes, we all feel dirty as a result. But we have done our work like the finest of 'Bag Hunters. In the great historical tradition of William "Scrote Hunter" Wallace and Genghis "Bagslayer" Kahn, we are hunting down the poo and the hotties who love them.

Man, that comments section was good. I need a cig.

Last minute votes are still trickling in for the HCwD of the Month. I'll post the winner tomorrow, who will face off with previous HCwD of the Month winners in my extremely disorganized and half-assed HCwDotY contest in a few weeks.

Why disorganized? Because of the seven months I've been running this site, I've only managed to organize three actual HCwD of the Month contests.

Kids, alcohol kills brain cells.

And then there's Blondenstein here.

Douchestar Runner asks a good question in regards to the HCwDotM voting:

DB1--correct me if I'm wrong here, but the 4 pictures here are the only things we're voting on, right? A 'bag's previous pictures, myspace pages, testimonials from friends, etc... should not be criteria used for voting.

That is correct. Extratextual information should not inform the voting process, however if a 'bag has made previous appearances on this site in other pics (like Pat, or W.C.), it is acceptable to take that into secondary consideration.

However the power of the HCwD pic should lie in the total emotional experience of just that pic. On its own. So whomever "Pat" is in real life should not affect your vote so much as whether Pat, or the 'Bagsgiver or BloomBag make you most want to slam your head in a car-door while dreaming of his hottie's creamy thighs.

And no changing votes. I got enough problems trying to add up the tally without higher math getting involved. But god damn, that's a funny-ass thread. Some genius comments in there. A definite classic.

This elephant eared, sneering, 'bag hand gesture #94 making turd muncher is the perfect douche to fire up the energy and piss me off enough to motivate for the day. I get that vaguely Australian vibe, which as anyone who's ever been to a youth hostel anywhere in the world knows, has produced it's share of its own form of unique douchebaggery.

Which brings up the question, wtf Australia? Are there any people actually living IN your country? Or is everyone simply camped out at Youth Hostels all across Europe and the U.S.?

I love hottie on the right. Love that pouty stare and English bob cut. She's like an S&M Edith Wharton heroine. I'd let her spank me while correcting my grammar and preparing four o'clock tea.

I feel like Creepy's been on the site before, but once again, damn you, cheap wine! My brain addled state is no way to go through life, son. Elfen cuties are a little strange looking, thy make me want to protect them in the battle for Mordor. But I'd still celebrate their curves in a rousing game of dwarf tossing.

And no, "dwarf tossing" is not a metaphor for wanking.

Anyways, this lesser inverted 'bag sandwich combo is merely a side dish as we see which way the HCwDotM contest is heading. I'm surprised to see Pat picking up so much steam, but know that all our candidates are worthy of The Hall of Scrote, a subsection of the site I will be putting together whenever I learn how to actually code HTML.

In the meantime, mmm... coco puffs...

I remember back at summer camp when we'd sit around the campfire popping Jiffy Pops on the flames, and the aluminum popcorn bag would slowly form into the shape of this scrote's head.

Okay, hottie isn't that hot, but she does have a fantastic back. But there was no way Jiffy Pop shouldn't get some douchespect on the site, what with exploding hair and the horrifying red-silk-shirt and black-tie combo that went out when Robert Palmer died (RIP).

Not to mention that drink. What male organism this side of Pat holds a drink like that?

EDIT: Damn, if Rogue is under age, I'm getting old. She looks 19 to me.

I have a definite thing for Anna Pacquin's "Rogue" in X-Men, and so for that reason this Rogue-hottie and her creepy 'bag are a nice afternoon chaser while we contemplate the explosion of scrote in the HCwDotM thread.

Speaking of, God damn, those are some funny-ass comments. Keep 'em coming. I have a feeling this is going to be a tight vote. Almost as tight as Pat's cooch.

Well here it is, folks, the moment you've been waiting for. The long awaited smackdown of smackdowns. Clash of the Douchebags. Mad Max in Beyond Doucherdome. Driving Mrs. Douchey (wait, that last one doesn't really work). Which one of these four candidates will join our hallowed Hall o' Scrote with such classics as Glinty and Dung Beetle? Only you can make that determination.

Sure I could ramble on a bit more about how deserving all of these HCwDotW winners are to enter the next level of noxious odor, but you already know all that. You see the dripping hair gel on their douchey foreheads. You smell the Tag Bodyshots and are blinded by the 'bling. So without futher ado, here are our candidates for Hot Chick with Douchebag of the Month:

HCwDotW #1: The 'Bagsgiver

It's rare to see the HCwD phenomenon so utterly stripped to its bare essentials, rendered naked in all its douchey glory, but here it is -- all that is unholy and wrong with douchebaggery and the hotties who love them.

This one's killed some of this site's readers with heart conditions. It hurts on a gut level. Not to mention a puke level.

As others have wondered, what is the backstory here? How could sweet young nymphs not see this pukey pud as the pile of poo he really is? And do I score any points for the alliteration in that last sentence?

HCwDotW #2: BloomBag and the Striped Raven

An underrated HCwD explosion, not as obvious as the 'BagsGiver, but still high on the upchuck factor. To quote Chet in Weird Science, "How about a nice, greasy pork sandwich served in a dirty ashtray?"

Well Chet, here it is. A greasy pork sandwhich served in an ashtray. And Striped Raven makes me all sorts of tingly in ways I haven't felt since we rigged up cable to get the Playboy channel in 8th grade. Well, we turned the T.V. to channel "4" instead of "3" and put cable a station lower, but we mostly got static. But clear sound. And when you're thirteen and could hump a tree, Playboy channel sound is good enough.

HCwDotW #3: Socrates Douche

Never underestimate the power of scrote in a pic where you could power North Korea by burning the oil off this guidobag's forehead.

Not to mention fake-ID hottie on the right is simply delectable. I would drift off to sleep between her cleavite while dreaming of cotton candy.





HCwDotW #4: Pat

Pat hurts on a completely different level from the other scrotes. He's unnerving. It's like that old Twilight Zone where they unwrap the woman in the hospital who's head is bandaged, only to reveal all the doctors really look like Pat.

Where's Rod Serling when you need him?

Anyways, there you have it, four worthy candidates. The 'BagsGiver has to be the early favorite for the sheer power of naked hotness, but the other three pics have hotness of comparable worth. Not to mention scrote of comparable douchebaggery.

This is no runaway doucheslide. Think long and hard. Which of these four pics most makes you want to shoot yourself in the head with a nailgun? Which combos contain BOTH the elements of the worst of American Douchebaggery and Young Hotness? Which makes you want to down HoHos with a bottle of Irish Rose? Oh wait, that last one was just for me.

Have at it, fellow 'bag hunters and hotties. Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

Sunday afternoon and all is good. Last night the 'bags were out in force swarming the hotties in L.A. I did what I could to save as many cuties as I could but it wasn't easy. They love that tattooed, gelled up, freak look. There's only so much the DB1 can do.

Can't save all of 'em.

But anyways, kick back, enjoy your Sunday, and laugh at this fleshy ball of clapping scrote here. More good stuff tomorrow.

Ever chug a Big Gulp too fast and let loose with one of those Burp Du Soul moments? Where the vibration of gas echoes through the esophagus and resonates deep within the soul? When it's more than simply a belch, it's a reinforcement of one's existence?

I burp in salute of this hottie.

I burp in disgust at this thuggy ball of goo.

I burp, therefore I am.

Since my stomach is feeling better and in honor of born to be 'bag, it's another taste of White Chocolate Weekend here at HCwD.

This one's like a sucker punch to the groin. I have no idea who W.C. is or what he does, but clearly the spiked, cornrow look, ass-chin and facial pubes like a cracked out b level porn-star are doing the trick.

I can't tell if this is the same hottie with W.C. in This W.C. pic from a few weeks ago. And I feel like I've seen that dress before on the site but my brain is too fried to remember where.

Ugh. Looking at this pic, maybe my stomach isn't feeling as good as I thought it was. Yechhh.

Indy is all that is tonguey about tonguescrote. I want to drop him in a pit of snakes in ancient Egypt with only his cunning and his hair gel to protect him. Look at that grease forehead. I could run a short-order kitchen off that head. Cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger...

As to Chesty McBlonde, she's what I like to call a time-bomb hottie. Tremendous right now, but one of these days, she'll tick-tick-boom into a size 12 bohemeth.

But for now? Tutto buono.

Again, I'm on a strict lesser-'bag diet today. Can't stomach the hard stuff. Stupid huevos rancheros.

These two mini-bags are like the White Castle Sliders of Douchebaggery. They're small, square, and they come in six-packs.

Sultry vixen may have tan-in-a-can orange skin, but I'd still floss her teeth while humming ragtime.

Not sure The Tick here is really a 'bag, but I've always had a thing for women in Togas. And it's Friday. And DB1 feels slightly queasy from the Mexican food he ate south of the 10 last night (long story). So it's time for a swig of cherry flavored Pepto and a nice soft pic of a semi-'bag so as not to upset the stomach too badly. If I post another White Chocolate, I'll be done for the day, so I'm on a no-choc diet for today.

Friday night bar hop,
'The 'tender is a scrote 'bag,
I'll simply drink more.