In a world of turmoil and change, of environmental chaos and an economy in crisis, it's good to know that some things will always be there.

Grandma, sitting on the porch with a glass of lemonade.

Your dog, Rusty, wagging his tail, when you come home from a hard day of work.

And Criss Angel, leaving a trail of fungal doucheslime on all those within a three foot radius of his scrotal nest.

Since we're going with a bit of a pitstain theme today, and we haven't had a porcelain doll of springy spongecake frosting on a plate at a birthday party hott, I thought Fariq and Caroline would make a nice pairing.

And by nice, I mean douche-face nastiness contrasting with soft, lower back embraceable cuddle joy.

She is pie. He is poo.

Just Wantin' to Know writes in:

----
DB1,

there are so many different-scented versions of AXE spray on the market, which is the one worn by douchebags everywhere?

-Just Wantin' to Know
----

While there can and will be a larger discussion of ranking the different Axe Bodyspray products along the douchological spectrum, here's a pic snapped by reader Coco after she inadvertently discovered she was dating a douche by opening his bathroom cabinet.

Yes, Bod Man is the name of the product. And the scent is called "Really Ripped Abs."

I wish I was making this up.

After a lazy day spent wandering shirtless through Mexican bodegas, Aisle Five gets his stylin' nightclub groovin' on with Marion's amulet from Raiders.

Little did Cheri know that while Anton loved him, himself and him, his sweat stain loved ice-cream.

Detlef writes in from Belgium:

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Hail douchebag 1,

me and a couple of my friends admire your site greatly, it has helped us a lot in spotting douchebags in our own country.

This is a perfect example of a Belgian douchebag, 10 years ago he scored a couple of hits and now he is trying to get back on top of things after, and I quote "years of sex, drugs and alcohol in affluence in Ibiza".

If this quote alone does not convince you of his douchebaggery, just check out the pics.

Greetings!
- Detlef
----

Ah yes, the classic Eurodouche. The Nordic Scrote. The Aryanbag.

I haven't seen a chin that square since Udo Kier in Andy Warhol's Blood for Dracula.

Once is an event. Twice could be a coincedence. But this many times?

We're in full blown trend.

I speak not of the dumbass douche-friend encroaching on the pic whilea scrote is in mid pose, but of the Middle Finger 'Bag Hand Gesture.

For Teddy Troll Doll, the Ed Hardy Double Shirt, the bling and the spikey blowout only compliment his rosy red cherubic cheeks that have the scrotey glow of the lightly slapped.

But it is Teddy's ability to mug Michelle without even a glance down at the Holy Cleavite that takes him to the next level of douche-pose.

Michelle's complimentary 'Baguette Hand Gesture is tragic, but understandable. That much exposure to stage-4 Toxicity, and even the strongest hott will succumb to douchescrotery.

Someone spilled some Bodyspray.

It was a moderate week for hottie/douchey toxicity last week. Between the Fung Debates and Fish Slap's Nipple showing up to haunt our collective zeitgeist, our selection of new pics was lessened. But three solid hottie/douchey finalists have emerged, and here they is:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Douche Zak

There's a sneaky fungal quality to Zak's scrotewankery. His disarming smile and wee man status may throw you off at first.

But note the blingin' earring and necklace. The sideburn giving way to a second, chinstrap facial hair configuration drawn thinner than a storyline in an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical.

And let us not forget Dutch Windmill's Klogs of Copenehagen perfection.

I would discuss the Uncertainty Principle with Heisenberg and Bohr while we watched the canal boats drift languidly by the Scheepswerf Bierenbroodspot.

And then I would hump Camilla's kneecaps like a cracked up anteater after rainy season.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: He Rides the Short Boat

The Short Boat may be your standard issue G.R.E test taking DeVry class of 2011 engineering major.

But to pull four uberhotts while making standard Boatbag Tongue Gesture #12 deserve finalist status.

True, Short Bus doesn't inspire rage the way many other douchewanks do.

But there's enough to annoy. At least mildly.

Still, the hotts may have to carry Short Bus to victory, as the vague "I'd like to push him overboard" urge is only moderate. Stage 2.

Maybe, stage 3 now that I look at it a bit longer.

Because those Bramble Tatts are douchetatt wrong like a smack to the butt of a Nun named Catherine.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: The Sad Clown

There's a certain genius toxicity to this hottie/douchey combination that defies explanation.

What forces brought an eyeliner wearing member of Ringling Bros. Barnum and Douchey Circus into the willing embrace of a pearly white Southern Peach of Banana Milkshake Ice Cream Holy Boobie Pie Daughter of a Southern Pentacostal and Hates Her Father Hottie?

I do not know. But the Sad Clown knows.

And wonders if his starring performance in Jerry Lewis's The Day The Clown Cried will ever get released on DVD.

Probably not, Sad Clown. I hear it was pretty offensive.

(Dis)honorable mention to Pooper McGee,Don, and Carlos Finds Love, all of whom just missed the Finals.

But them's your three. Three enter, but only one may crown itself "HCwDB of the Week" and earn the final slot in next week's Monthly.

Which'll it be? That's up to you.

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

On this lazy Sunday, let us pay testament to one of the abstract categories we find on the douchological spectrum.

I speak, of course, of the Hoverbag.

As detailed in my book, The Hoverbag is an otherwise innocent shmoe who achieves douche status simply for ruining the frame.

Unlike most categories of hottie/douchey commingling, Hoverbags often would achieve a nottadouche pass if they were simply on their own.

Hoverbags are frequently met with off-screen cries of "Get out of the frame, douche!" and "Move, dumbass!"

I dub this Hoverbag, Sam.

It is a sad, sad moment for those who claim cultural progression when we collectively realize that a barely literate boatdouche with bramble tatts is sitting on a boat with four of the most sparkling examples of crystalline femininity this side of a naughty librarian convention.

These four bouncing beauties of boobie hottie suckle thigh are so hot, they reject death as a trope. They inspire angels to rend fabric and cry out in tongues. Their butts do not poo, they produce buttery cocoa cremes gift-wrapped in glittery sparkle paper.

Hail, hail East Germany / Land of fruit and grape / Land where you'll regret / If you try to escape / No matter if you tunnel under or take a running jump at the wall / Forget it, the guards will kill you, if the electrified fence doesn't first.

BREAKING: Natalie Portman no longer Dating a Yeti.

Ah, Natalie. My tiny bottled brand name water of hott. My little jello shot of perfectly formed Librarian Glasses Wearing Brunette. I would put thee over my knee and softly paddle thy upper thigh area with my collection of vintage Hot Wheels cars until you asked me why I was using words like "thee" and "thy."

And I'd stop, and apologize, and get you a Mr. Pibb from the kitchen.

Come to me, Natalie. I will regale you with made-up stories about my adventures on the high seas battling pirates and whales, and then we'd make out while watching Mad Men.

Speaking of Semitic Hotts, Sarah Silverman may be quirky and odd, but she still Gefiltes My Fish. Now that she's dumped Jimmy Kimmel's ginormous melonhead, I'll add her to the list of those who will find their inner thighs softly paddled by vintage Hot Wheels cars.

Congrats to our newest enshrinement in the hallowed Hall of Scrote Fung, listed below his earlier formulation as a Prompa. And congrats to HCwDB of the Week winner, I Say, Old Chap, who will fill in admirably in the Monthly.

As of this morning, the Hot Chicks with Douchebags book was #10 on Amazon's "Literary Theory" bestseller list, directly between Walter Benjamin's "Reflections" and a book on philosopher Giordano Bruno. My life is complete.

And lets not forget The Slim Trim Razor, for that perfectly coiffed douche-face.

Los Angeles smells like burnt umber. But it's sunny. And everyone's happy. So who am I to complain.

When last we studied The Ass and I, we considered Feynman's theory that all of matter consists of a single electron, traveling backwards and forwards through time to form everything. Which would mean therefore that we are not simply staring at an ass. That ass is us.

For this pic, let us turn to Guy Debord and his discussion of the spectacle in the age of post-modernity:

In societies where modern conditions of production prevail, all of life presents itself as an immense accumulation of spectacles. Everything that was directly lived has moved away into a representation.

From Debord's perspective, that ass is both ass and representation of ass. It is ass as spectacle and ass as signification of previous ass spectacle, ass infinitum.

Richie's going for the exotic/classy thing, taking Kimmy and Kelly to the new Indian restaurant that opened downtown. I get that.

But chest shave + talisman necklace + six opened buttons? And a crescendo hair fauxhawk?

Sorry Rich, we have to tag you 'bag. Stage-2 Suburbanbag.

I would bribe a small Bedouin boy with rice and mead to steal Susan's cocktail glass while she's in the bathroom just so I could rush home and awkwardly fondle it while listening to old Fats Waller records.

Rubber raft floats... floats...
On reservoir. Kimmy tans.
Herp sore in shadow.

must be a theme park.
AVAST! retarded pirates
make off with your girl.

-- pfah

washed up beach-bag
rafts in city sewage stream
hottie walks the plank

-- canadouche

avast fine beauty!
why dost thou ride with a douche?
arr! it reeks of poo

-- bcs

"Ahoy, Me hearties"!
"I be the douche Cap'n Bob"
I pray for Kraken.

-- doucheous scrotimus

He sure looks the tough.
But pink (re-read PINK) striped shorts!
View is bad from here.

-- Holbrooks Douchestershire Sauce

One of last year's HCwDB Wonder Twin Duo, The Greaseheads, likes to get his shirtless Hebraic Douchin' on, Doggie Style.

The Hebrew Tatt translates roughly:

And Adonai said, Lo! / The Greasehead is a douche! / And I am the Lord your G-D, and you shall mock him in pixelated form. / Especially for his douchey white belt.

I haven't seen a beard that thick since the Cruise-Holmes wedding. It's like 400 caterpillers got trapped inside the Large Hadron Collider. It's like the residue left in the sink after Robin Williams fell into a vat of Nair. It's like a Merkin left over from 1892 after Hurricane Ike tossed it through a bramble.

Oh lovely Amanda. I would compose sonnets entirely in Pig Latin them sing them to you with only a lute and mouth harp to accompany me during the twelve-tone bridge section. I would hire the Kronos Quartet to finish the Trio in B Minor, and then we would repose to the boudoir, where we'd sip Champale out of plastic cups, with only the light of a flickering Bugs Bunny Nightlight to keep us illuminated. I would then awkwardly fondle your knee while you sighed and checked your watch.

Numerous readers have written in claiming that last week's HCwDB of the Week winner, Fung, appears to be one of the infamous High School Oompa Prompas, all grown up, sporting facial fung, and having ripened from orange to purple.

First, let us relive the offensive orange-face High School travesty of the Prompas, as they wait for Prom, Pose at the Prom, and ditch their dates to party at the After-Prom Party.

The Prompas echo the offensive minstrel shows of Vaudeville filtered through the lens of Jersey-Douche manscaping.

But is Fung one and the same as Prompa #1?

Even more convincing is this later Prompa shot.

This would make sense, as only the Orange Face clownishness of a Prompa could make such an impact on the HCwDB community without the requisite Hottie to balance the HCwDB equation and force us to contemplate dialectic.

But if Fung is a Prompa, this would also impact both the Monthly and the 2008 Douchies.

Can a Prompa, already enshrined in our hallowed Hall of Scrote be allowed to compete again in the Monthly, and the 2008 Douchies? Or should we hand the Weekly to the runner-up, I Say, Old Chap?

What say you?

newbie asks:

---
someone sent me a link to your site and i'm reading through and i get the general concept. But when it comes to your name tags, like Fish Slap, Gauntlet, etc. i'm not sure if i should understand what goes on or if i need to read through your entire years worth of archives.

i guess i'm saying is this, is it like femullet or something of that nature where you can understand what the name tag means? or would a glossary be a good idea to new people?
----

While most names should be somewhat self-evident (Fish Slap because he needs to be slapped by a giant dead fish, etc.), there is indeed a glossary of terms you can find at the back of my book, on sale at Amazon.

Don't think of it as spending $12.21, needing only an additional $12.79 for your order to qualify for FREE Super Saver Shipping.

Think of it as gaining the wisdom of a lifetime of douchological mock and hottie lust within a larger philosophical dialectic.

Or you can just read along for a few days and pick up the terms as you go. So long as you understand that douches are to be mocked and hotts lusted after, the rest falls into place fairly quickly.

I do not judge Don for the ginormous mellon head, nor the silk yellow boxers, nor even the mugging of two delightfully curvy nutrasweet pixie sticks of melted twizzler sunshine enchantment.

I judge Don for the four scrotey-ass necklaces.

I can accept one necklace. I can accept two. I can even accept the reprocessing of ordinary objects as jewelry, as with the Sid Vicious lock.

But four? Is, how you say, douchey.

And that little patch of chin fur needs to be shaved with a dull pottery fragment recovered from the Albila of the Decapolus archeological dig of 1983.

Because the Byzentine Empire made some rad pottery.

Life's been rough since losing the belt in the Light Doucherweight division, eh, Vitaly?

Blondie is a little too Dress-Up/Alien for my tastes, but underneath all that swag, there's a sweet innocent coed that just wants me to lightly spank her toesie wowsies with a Hawaiian Mai-Tai umbrella after dusting them with confectioner's sugar.

Somewhere in this lineup of thirteen tasty California fountain-drink hotts, I've carefully hidden a Waldouche or two.

Extra degree of difficulty: In tribute to John Lennon's I am the Waldouche, this pic presents troubling notions of subjectivity and spectatorship in the digital simulacrum.

Who is the Waldouche? Is it I? Is it he? Is it we? Have we indicted ourselves? Or ourselves as "Other"?

Look closely.

Can you find him/us/them/we?

I think it's sweet of these two girls to attempt to remove Albert's swollen appendix with their tongues.

And by sweet, I mean douchey.

The Slap laughs at the newbie attempts of Fung to take his crown.

The Slap muscles up. And shaves a streak in his hair. And mugs three Milfs at a party.

Better keep on your toes, Slap. There's new competition in town.

In spite of a healthy debate over proximity of hott within the hottie/douchey dialectic, it was an utter landslide.

The sheer overpowering stench of Fung carried a distant and ambiguous hott side to a slam dunk win and an early favorite for the next Monthly vote.

HRH King Friday XIII: FUNG. How can you not? He's approaching the theoretical limits of douchebaggery.

Anonymous: Neither of the two can even touch Fung, he is the true T-1000 of douchebags. If anyone uses Fungs name in vain they will spontaneously combust.

Baby got 'Bag: This isn't even a contest. Fung wins hands down. That blonde in the background is just trying to even up the competition by looking normal and not particularly sexy, but she's a healthy girl next-door type with a nice...well, I can't really see much, but you get my point.

Willy: I vote F.U.N.G. F@#king Ugly Newjersey Guido. If a picture says a thousand words, the first 999 words for Fung are pejorative adjectives and the last word is douchebag.

Fish Slap: I looked at satan and I looked at Fung. They are one in the same. His eyes have burned my retinas. His fungi has made my skin melt. His orange glow has made me write bad checks. It is because of Fung that my credit is bad. God, please kill this man now. He is what is wrong with our country.

Desertdouche: Oy vey! This was a tough one. Even though Fung doesn't have a hott in the foreground, I am giving him the win. Mencken and Old Chap I just want to laugh at. But Fung I want to inflict serious pain upon.

anonydouche: fung - so douchey he won't even allow himself to be pictured with someone else

KierNotKier: I must vote for Fung. For Fung is all that is douchebag. If one was to lookup Douchebag on Google, Wikipedia or an old fashioned Encyclopedia Britannica you would discover two photos. One of an actual Masengill container and one of Fung. He is Dante's 9th Circle of Doucheitude. He evokes douche in all the standard ways: Gotti Hair, trimmed eyebrows, tight Armani Exchange style shirt, bling, chinstrap beard, huge diamond earrings, posturing for the camera and last but not least a shade of orange that the people at Crayola have now upgraded their 64 crayon set to 65 by adding their latest color - Fung. .

Syradouche Orangeman: No question this week. Fung FTW! He fills me with rage, but it is a rage I have to hide as I believe him to actually be an android douche from a future that we will fail to prevent, despite the holy work of this website. Perhaps he has come back to our time to make sure the evil plan of the Master Douche goes through.

Well argued, people. But a significant and vocal minority voted for the balanced Hottie/Douchey toxicity of I Say, Old Chap. Billy Pilgrim makes the case:

Old Chap. I dock points from Fung because the hott is hidden behind him (is she really hott?), and is in fact so far from him that you could reasonably argue that they're not together. And if the hot chick is not with the douchebag, the pic doesn't cry out for Justice.

Old Chap, on the other hand, isn't worthy to feel the breeze of librarian hott as she drives past in her sensible four-door.

I agree, B.P. That librarian hott was delectable and those sideburns were rot. Anonymous agrees, citing the mission statement of the site for avoiding Fung:

old chap...this is 'hot chicks with douchebags'. if it was just 'douchebags', there would be an army of fungs in the weekly every single time.

Well, there are bends for certain uberdouche (like the Prompas and DJ Bello). So while points should be deducted for not invoking rage through hott mugging, Fung was still able to create douchitude by himself, while maintaining just enough cute young female to qualify. It's like 16 pieces of flair. It's the bare minimum. But it qualifies.

And Cameron notes the sadly neglected uberdouche move of Mencken:

Mencken for the win. Mainly because I'm impressed. Did he pick up the bottom of his shirt with his mouth? Did one of his 'bagettes hand it to him to put in his mouth? Quite the quandry.

In a normal week, Mencken would dominate. But this is a Fungal landslide. The Everpresent Anonymous sums it up:

FUNG. He looks like how my mouth feels when I forget to brush my teeth in the morning.

Indeed he does.

Book Fung and his backseat ambiguous cutie a ticket in the Monthly.

You almost earned a nottadouche wee man, but then you had to go and get all giant Jesus Bling with Earring Combo on me.

Blonde is statuesque Dutch Windmill perfection. She makes butter while raising nine children and dancing in klogs around a Maypole. I would Rotter her dams, and then Amster her Fluffenwagen, while Van Gogh and Rembrandt kicked back with a Heineken.

Who weeps for the sad clown?

After the cotton candy is spun. After the Big Top has been packed up and sent off to the next location.

Who weeps for the sad clown?

Who mugs a Blonde Bottleneck Hott with soft, fluffy Cleavite and Listerine Whitened teeth.

Who weeps for the sad clown?

Not I, said the cat. Not I.

But I would kick him in the nads.

I need an expert on urban gang signs to translate this for me.

Judging by the hand gestures, is this aspiring gang member in the presence of a lovely and extremely healthy hott:

A) A Crip
B) A Blood
C) A Latin King
D) A Future Sizzler's Washroom Attendant

----
DB1, I have a serious problem.

I work at the airport as one of those shmucks that load luggage onto the planes. Yesterday while loading a plane (bound for Newark, no less) as I was stacking one of the bags, there was a faint pop and then the distinct scent of some sort of Axe-type body spray or deodorant. I don't know if you've ever had the pleasure of being in the cargo bin of a DC-9, but there's not a whole lot of space. I was essentially trapped in this douche fog for a good 20 minutes.

Now here is the problem. When I got out of the bin, I noticed my hat was tilted a bit sideways.

No big deal, I thought, it just got pushed around while I was stacking that luggage. But to make matters worse, somehow the top 2 buttons of uniform shirt came undone as well. Then on the drive home, I noticed there was a Kid Rock song on the radio and I didn't automatically change it like I normally do. I'm freaking out a bit.

I mean what's next, do I wake up with my hair inexplicably gelled and my skin orange? Or do you think this will clear up on its own as long as I don't expose myself to anymore masculine deodorant spray?

Help me DB1, you're my only hope.
- Douche Springsteen
----

Yikes, a Stage-2 Grieco Virus Infection, clearly contacted by close proximity to Vinny's luggage.

Shower at once, D.S. Then put on some classical music and relax. Then get me a set of thirty weight ball bearings, some three-in-one oil and some gauze pads. And I'm gonna need ten quarts of anti-freeze, preferably, Prestone. No, make that Quaker State.

There may not be much to do in rural Nevada, off the interstate and six miles up from the I-Hop on the outskirts of Reno, but that didn't stop Tony, Carol and Mike from meddling in an old Indian burial ground.

Nobody is more popular with people at a party than Pooper. Pooper's people love to pop poppers while playing with palindromes. Like Pippip. And Poopoop.

Yup, I'm jittery and not making sense again.

I blame the Trader Joes Blood Orange Soda. It's just so sweet and tangy.

Like Patsy Kensit Hott's large, yet succulent, racks of lamb leg.

When not partying up in his Logan's Run Ice Palace, Denny takes time out to read philosophy and contemplate the mysteries of the human existence within a Hegelian framework.

After Sublime broke up in 1996, Carlos found love, in his own unique way. So who are you to judge his shiny belt and matching thigh tatts?

Maria Conchita Aboobso on the right causes small marsupials to collapse into paralytic shock and then tremble weakly crying for the marsupial mother they never had.

Stupid small marsupials. That's what you get for being so small and furry.

You ever play butt bongos with a rusty Pringles can and a spork? Yeah. Me neither. Here's your finalists:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: I Say, Old Chap

Oi there, guvnah! Yer yarbles got their own bloody coat of arms on 'em, eh?

Okay, I can't talk in Cockney Britspeak anymore.

She is delightful librarian smiles, albeit with inexplicable tweety bird matching hip tatts. I would trek across the Adirondaks wearing only a sheepskin legwarmer just for the chance to mulch the birch bark off the tree that once provided shade to her great aunt, Bertha.

He has Wolverine Douchitude in spades.

Although no tatts. I guess 1890s Britain wasn't into the tatt thing.

But for Wellsian time traveling creepiness and douchey Vegas hair, Old Chap had to get a shot in the Finals.

And by shot, I mean look kids! Big Ben! The Parliament!

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Mencken

At first, you're probably stunned into submission by the high Bleeth factor on both girls. You think, "This pic is all douche."

True.

While the hotts are both so 'baguetted out as to be unredeemable, their inner hott does remain.

Like a footprint.

Or an acoustic echo.

So while they still render the pic the toxicity of true hottie/douchey wrongness, there is the glimmer of a better world lost to the dark plague of dark douchebaggery.

Plus, the lifting of shirt with mouth to reveal ab may be one of the most innovative douche maneuvers since The Peach Point.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Fung

What more can be said about this strange, eerie, almost otherworldly pic of all that is wrong and greasy in our culture?

The uberdouche is overwhelming. This pic will be used someday to teach 3rd graders in a "Scared Straight" anti-douche seminar.

And all the while, that little Anna Pacquin Rogue Cutie sitting nonchalantly in the background.

It's sort of like smoking a cig and checking your cell phone while standing next to Chernobyl.

This pic has to be the favorite, but does it have enough to pull off the victory?

And by pull off, I mean chin fung.

(Dis)honorable mention to the uberdouche lineup in A.S.O.W., who simply lacked the hott to make finalist status, the perfection and poo of The Ass and I, The Brothabags and OC Hotts of Summoning Cthuthlu and the perfect boobies of The Four Horsemen of the Douchepocalypse.

Damn fine week of submissions, props again to all 'bag hunters who sent in pics. But three may enter, and only one may win. Which one? That's up to you.

Cast your vote, as ever, in the comments thread.

Your humble narrator, The DB1 is suffering what the townies in Boston call a "Wicked hangovah." Stupid PBRs. Stupid half-drunk actress type working the bar, pretending she likes the patrons for tips. But she was so blonde and boobilicious. I went over 20%.

Wait, what's that? Lil' Head wants to say something:

Lil' Head: Hey Big Head! Remember that joke you used to tell about me doing pushups in a cave until I threw up?

Big Head: Yes Lil' Head, we used to tell that joke in 3rd grade. Why?

Lil' Head: That was funny.

How's your weekend going?

You gotta be a serious Lord of the Rings fan to tattoo middle earth on your chest.

The following spam email came in this morning:

----
Do you wholesale your bags? The stores we work with are aggressively looking for bags to sell in their stores this holiday season. If you want to make a push, now's the time.

We work with buyers from thousands of department stores, specialty shops, large retailers, mail-order catalog companies and Internet shopping sites. We need a larger variety of products they can choose from, hence my email to you.

If you want to sell your bags, visit us at http://www.WiseRep.com. We guarantee sales.

Sincerely,
David Thibos
Director of Merchandising
WiseRep.com
----

I love spam that uses the word "hence."

Another Friday in Los Angeles.

The fog lifts over the mid afternoon traffic like a Peking opera revealing a dancing Chou. The city sweats like a schizophrenic ferret trapped in a dryer. Set on high.

The people, trapped in their cars on the 405, ranting and raving because traffic sucks. I gaze at the smog. And I chuckle.

I sip some semi-flat Mr. Pibb out of a Big Gulp and contemplate the rare Wendys Hold + 'Bag Hand Gesture that Flippy here is demonstrating for us.

Whither Flippy's trip to Wendys?, I ask myself.

As he pollutes a sweet, soft ball of soft brown hair and large smile that looks cuddly and playful and a bit scratchy, I can't help but wonder.

Was the Wendy's run the pinnacle of the evening? Or an impromptu stop after winning the fuzzy dice at the local fair playing The Whack-a-Mole?

I know not how these formations occur in a society confused by fragment and disjoint. A culture overwashed by odors for sale on every street corner to embody the eros magnified by television and magazine.

But even flat, my Mr. Pibb consoles me.

For it is like Dr. Pepper. Only different.

From Doucheteronomy 13:25:

Lo! And the Lord commanded it, saying "I am the Lord, your G-D. And I shall give you a sign, that yea, in the day of the wonderfully innocent boobie rise, there shall gather the Four Horsemen of the Douchepocalpyse."

And, hark! The people listened.

And the Lord spoketh his warning. "They shall ride with stupid faces and loud shirts, towards thy Holy Boobie Hottie. And you shall mock them. For it is My Will, and I command it! As I am thine G-D. And they are very pooey."

If Richard Feynman's theory is correct, that all of matter is created by one electron traveling backwards and forwards through time, then it would stand to follow that I am that ass.

However, the anitmatter on the left is so rank, it couldn't break down even if it oscillated for a barium half life.

Yup. Incomprehensible physics comments.

It's all I can make in the presence of a butt moon that sings poetic songs of heroic inspiration.

What to post, post "Fung?"
MTV Real World Hottness,
And big hair old choad.

guns and roses choad
appetite for douchestruction
gropes sweet child o bleeth

- bcs

Dude, just give it up
"Chinese Democracy" disc
Is never coming.

-- mr. white

Lazy-eye douchepimple
Hand way to close to boobies.
Slash would not approve.

- spaz

Buy Hot Topic shirt
Cut holes in shoulder - comb 'hawk
But he loves Emo.

- crucial head

Rare clear cup appears!
Designer punk hurts my heart.
Faux hawk claim Bewbeez

-- holbrooks douchestershire sauce

Too much megadouche overload and not enough clearly visible hott give us a highly unbalanced HCwDB pic.

And by unbalanced, I mean AIYYYEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

Fish Slap's Anal Beads writes in:

----
Dear DB1,

I’m in a great relationship, my woman is perfect, the farthest thing from a baggette you could imagine. She’s kind, creative and holds a top tier job in a male dominated profession. Not only that, but one of my favorite aspects of my relationship is that we both hate the same things. Call it odd, but I love that my woman loathes ‘mandals!’ And naturally she’s revolted by douche bags, of course she works with more than a few.

With that said she is aware of your site and enjoys it. But I have a quandary…should I come out as a ‘Bag Hunter?’ I’m freaked out at what she’ll think when she realizes that I frequent the myspace pages of these tacky hotts. It’s not like I’m always doing it, but being on myspace makes it sort of hard to avoid. And yes it’s fun in twisted way.

Enough, should I come out to my girlfriend? Should I share the pride I feel when you publish one of my submissions?

-Fish Slap’s Anal Beads
----

A true 'bag hunter admits with pride that he hunts 'bags for a living, F.S.A.B.

Until you embrace your mission quest, Grasshopper, you have not conquered The 'Bag Within. Tell her. If she laughs, she is worth keeping. If she complains, she is Bleeth.

Is this... could it be?!

Hall of Scrote legend, The Crustacean?

Still as douchey as ever?

I think you get one of these free at the bottom of each box of Doucheios.

But Melissa on the left is on the Volleyball team. And so I would crawl through six inches of Madacascar leech refuse just for the chance to fondle her bobby socks.

On an unrelated note, a Baltimore Weekly jumps on the Douchebag Mocking, with some rather "uncanny" homages to the site.

You can take Sideburn Harry out of the clubs, but you can't take the clubs out of Sideburn Harry.

As to Vanessa, I admire her introspection, groundedness, self awareness, humility and intellectual acumen.

And her boobie grapefruits.

----
DB1-

Last weeks Jimmy Question raises a topic that I've been letting swirl around in my brain bowl for quite some time. Are there different language dialects of douche?

I have no idea what the standard douche gesture is communicating to us, but there is some comfort in the familiar and easily genused and speciesed.

On the other hand, I do get excited when I read about some new species of whatever that they find in Madagascar every year or so. Here we have a Double Jimmy with full thumb extension accompanied by a third, even more rare signal.

It's too much for me to decipher on my own. Thoughts?

- Madame Curie
----

Deciphering douchal communication is an ongoing and highly nebulous process, M.C. That being said, sometimes the primitive language can indeed be deciphered quite clearly. Translating the image you've provided gives us the following exchange:

Jimmy: I find your style of dress and generally attractive demeanor pleasing to my eye. Would you like to engage in coitus?

Jimmy's Hott: Yes, I would desire to do so, perferably twice. Thank you for asking.

army of doucheness recruits a new 'bag tagger to the community:

(5:02:51 PM) *help j:-Oe: dude there's so many douches in my class that its funny
(5:02:58 PM) *help j:-Oe: they should all be on that site
(5:03:31 PM) MG: hahaha
(5:03:41 PM) MG: snap photos of them with hotts and send em in
(5:03:51 PM) *help j:-Oe: oh i will
(5:04:33 PM) *help j:-Oe: tomorrow theres a "law school gala" and the douches will be out, so they're gonna post all there photos on facebook and i'm gonna take them and post them
(5:04:55 PM) MG: you gotta send em to DB1
(5:05:11 PM) *help j:-Oe: DB1?
(5:05:52 PM) MG: look at the site again
(5:06:02 PM) MG: dont be some lurker, give it the credit it deserves
(5:06:22 PM) MG: it's not just funny pictures of douchebags man, it's philosophy
(5:06:55 PM) *help j:-Oe: i'm gonna do it when i get to my apt.
(5:07:02 PM) MG: cool.
(5:07:05 PM) *help j:-Oe: cause peoples dont understand the dbags
(5:08:05 PM) MG: yeah. well you should read the site more thoroughly if you want to be part of the community, I quote Stacey Keech in American History X, "this isn't some country club you can just waltz in and out of"

And a Tigger Tag no less, nice work, MG.

Nobody ever went broke underestimating the taste of the American public.

-- H.L. Mencken

My country is pooey.

- DB1

Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue cover model and future bacon between my lettuce and tomato, Marissa Miller, is still married to a heaping douchepimple.

While this may not constitute "breaking news" like a tsunami or hurricane, it is still worth noting for posterity's sake.

And by posterity, I mean her posterity. Which is round. And pink. And smells like flowers and petunias.

And by noting, I mean laughing hysterically at this clown's Big Top, then yanking off his goofy white watch and throwing it in the Hudson.

In a tough three way battle between three worthy hottie/douchey couplings, the ubersquat nature of Acey Douchey, posed or not, was too much to overcome. The debate was furious, but the people have spoken:

marita: They're all sooooo good. But Acey Douchey is the only one that made me drop my jaw in cortorted horror. FTW. Jesus Christ Bananas.

dj douche: Acey Douchey for owning one of those gay-ass CDJ-mixer combos, and taking it on a boat. You know he used it to mix (badly) Li'l Wayne and that stupid Kanye West Daft Punk song.

jw: The poor guy is clearly as empty as a human being can be, the sunlight is causing him to lift off like a balloon. The bleeths and vodka clearly aren't enough ballast, so he brings a gun into play and tethers himself to a mixer/turntable set to keep him on his boat.

douchngton chodeskins: Great Oden's Raven, Acey Douchey just stabbed my soul with a jagged scepter dripping with forehead oils more pungent than the vile slush endured by the gluttons in Dante's Third Circle of Hell ... he also sucks chode.

cock-a-doodle-douche: Acey Douchey. I'd have voted for somebody else if he had been wearing both gloves.

douchemaster flex: My vote goes for Acey douche. Cause even though it is staged, (dollar bills on the left have the 1 dollar folded over so you cant see them) our man here has replicated the essence of why this site was created. I mean this is true mugging. Choke hold on girl on the left. Holding girl on right at gunpoint. And extraction of money from where those hott's keep it. This and the look of the hott on the right, the seductive cat like stare. Arched back. Yeah we have a winner.

nook ladouche: Acey ftw. Gun, Grey Goose, God-damn you. Those hotts could've stayed in school and become either that hot barista at Starbucks or my niece's preschool teacher. Instead, they are mere damaged goods, compliments of the anal wart on two legs.

But the "fake" debate will rage on, and rightly so. Is performative douchosity still enough to inspire authentic rage? As the everpresent anonymous argues, yes:

Serious or not, Acey Douchey is the biggest douche here. My vote goes to him.

Indeed. Even fellow DJ's revolted. adrian.w. explains:

As a DJ myself, and one who likes to: a) stay in the dark corner and let the music speak; b) let the people (especially the Hots) enjoy the music; c) try to avoid oozing douchery from every orifice onto nearby Hots; d) wear a shirt; I feel Acey is making a mockery of what many talented DJs have worked years to establish.

Yes. Yes he is. Between Acey and DJ Bello, this has been a dark week for the D.J. profession.

But both Kenner and Sideburn Harry were worthy finalists, and found their fervent supporters. king douchankhamun votes for the robotic toy with the perfect Barbie hott, Kenner:

Kenner ftw. I don't know weather you're real or a mannequin or if realdoll started making guys. Either way I cast upon you the Mummy Curse of King Douchankhamun.

Lets hope it makes a difference, King. And fabled 'bag hunter darksock lays the smackdown on the toy action figures:

The Kenner has less chest hair than an octopus dipped in a vat of Nair; less chest hair than Michael Flatley after river-dancing through a swimming pool full of disposable Bic razors; less hair than Paris Hilton's rhesus-monkey-lipped poon 5 minutes before leaving to go clubbing on a balmy L.A. Saturday night. His front is the yin to Robin William's back. He has no pores, hence he must sweat through his urethra just as manatee do. His testes shine hairless and proud, like two peeled eggs, oiled and boiled and hanging low over our heads like twin Swords of Damocles, except they in this case would be custard-cudgels, about to mount an insurgency into the equally grassless savanna that is Jenny's kielbasa garage.

For the love and honor of all things hirsute (Sarah Silverman's vag) we must rise, as does bile in a wino's gullet, and spew our hot chunky justice across this land.

Spew that justice. With a vote for the Kenner.

A genius smackdown by D.S. But lets not forget the trouble with Harry. don't bring me dowwwwwn, douche! (great song ref, btw), reminds us of the innovative sidekick move:

Sideburn Harry. Many reasons, but the clincher is the "I gotta take this very important call while I have a total hottie right in front of me." Oh, and I MUST snap a pic of it.

Gotta find a 2008 Douchie Nom for Most Innovative New Douche Maneuver for S.H. creature rightly points out the quality of S.H's hott:

Sideburn Harry is the rockabilly bag I would love to play ball-peen hammer pinball with & Maria is the promise of an endless stream of sweaty summer nights

Indeed. So would I, C. But douche springsteen explains why, fake or not, Acey Douchey deserves the win:

Some have decried him for being a faker, a charladouche if you will. My question to you is, does a suplex off the top ropes feel fake even though the wrestling match is staged? I have never been suplexed off the top rope, but I bet it still hurts. So does Acey Douchey, friends. He is essentially the nadir of humanity that this website strives to point out. If you notice he is standing in front of a mixer, which means he is probably a techno DJ, the douchiest of all music forms. And just look at those coppertoned hotts. It makes one weep.

As I sit here alone in my terrible studio apartment, an English degree being used as a coaster for a lukewarm tall boy of Mickey's malt liquor, I shake my fist to the heavens in protest, for somewhere Acey Douchey is doing shots of Belvedere off of a honey colored bosom.

And there it is. Performative douchosity is still rendered real by the underlying signification of hegemony gone scrote.

Book a ticket in the Monthly for Acey Douchey and his dual bony bikini hotts. They've earned it.

Brothabags Karl and Darren have gone well past making simple 'bag hand gestures.

They have just managed to summon Cthulhu using only hand formations and mystical hat rotation.

Vanessa and Beverly, are you aware the power of summoning Cthulhu with 'bag hand gesture?

It means they will be far too busy to remember to buy you that appletini you asked for twenty minutes ago.

Funny morn for a stroll, eh, guvnah? That time machine round old the Wells house is not to be trifled with.

Next thing ye know, yer wandering daft while searching for a drum n' bang to shake off the ole' hatties, in't that right? Next thing ya got ta use yer loaf to better cover that Niagara Falls ya got fobbed onto yer nutmeg, eh?

There's hope for you yet, little caramel carmacita. You sense the toolshed manifest of this wonky uberchoad.

You smell the odor of a chinstrap drawn thinner than the subtext of a storyline on Entourage.

The proper response to this invasion of your personal space, Carmacita? Do not ask Rockabilly Pout why he's making The Shocker while pouting like a retarded seal.

Simply kick him in the nads.

Then come cuddle with me under my blankie while we watch Touristas on cable. In hi-def. With cheetos and a bottle of Mad Dog. Because I'm classy like that.

Somewhere, buried deep in this toxic canker-swirl of nastiness and boobies, I've carefully hidden one half of our classic 2007 Weekly Winners, The Twin 'Bags.

Look closely.

Can you find him?

(hint: click on the pic for closer examination)

Bonus points if you can also find Chandlerbag and The Bumper.

Izzy Finkelstein's midlife crisis reached epic proportions when he met Inga and went on a three day bender at a Provincetown clambake.

The dude in Four Points takes time off from mountain climbing to write in (without a takedown request):

-----
DB1 -

Your post "Four Points" was recently called to my attention by a friend, and it appears that I am (or at least was) indeed the douchebag in the picture. The picture seems to be from a few years ago, and was taken at a golf tournament I was working at as a fundraiser for my high school baseball team in Las Vegas.

Upon inspection, I must say that yes - I do look like a douchebag in the picture and deserve to be pointed out as such. Just thought I'd fill you in on a little of the backstory and say that I appreciate the work you're doing in exposing douchebags everywhere.

Thanks to all those in the thread who defended me as not being egregiously douchey, and even the more vitriolic comments had me laughing (Shrek + Busey? Priceless). Keep up the good work, and I assure you that I am taking all further precautions to limit my douchebaggery in the future.

All the best,
D.

PS: The answer to the $64,000 question? Yes, they're real.
----

Double Point, you hearby earn a lifetime nottadouche pass. Good work and go in peace.

And by peace, I mean love-hills.

The night turned into dawn like two flashing red lights at the corner of Hollywood and Vine... the street walkers crawled down Sunset like a parade of newly hatched slugs after a long rain...

I had to get my head on straight... the Captain wasn't hearing no more since the crack down at Chavez Ravine in '52, and I needed a shower, shave and a pressed suit badly...

She had red hair like firecrackers that burned the insides of your eyes like coal embers off the moat trucks on Virgil... I hadn't seen daylight since the poppers popped back down behind the old Howard Johnsons when Capreze and his gang made a move to corner the H racket after Lenny Weinrib took two of Mickey Cohen's with him to the great hearafter...

Must've been the booze but when I saw her getting mugged by an oily tatted up douchewank, I knew it was time to make the move to Red Cupsville... she let him cup her moneymakers, he in the wifebeater that spoke of the uberdouche from West Hollywood... he was a scrote, that I knew... but what kind of scrote? And who was he playing?... I had to think...

Many times a 'bag hunter in training will ask me, Db1? What is an Ubersquat?

Oho!, I answer with deep introspection. Fear not, for the Ubersquat will manifest with oily kissy face and orange finger.

Note the Bleething taking place on Amanda. She is still redeemable. But fading fast.

All sorts of wrong.

Just... all sorts of wrong.

Extremely tough week to cull down to three finalists. There were at least six or seven worthy pics. Good thing I'm aided by a mean 'Train hangover and a tasty bowl of Lucky Charms. Here's your finalists:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Sideburn Harry

He's a little "pro" in his douchery, but the innovative Sidekick Pose + Self Portrait is too scrotally innovative to ignore.

And let us not forget Maria, who came here from Peru to seek a better life working at the Macy's Flagship store in Manhattan.

Yes, she may be pushing early 30s. But, as I am a magnanimous sort, I would still bite upon her toesies while reciting nursery rhymes in Sanskrit.

It isn't her fault that she ended up getting mugged by a greased up tri-shaved ubertool.

Well. Maybe it is her fault a little bit.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: Kenner

Like two plastic action figures hanging on the pin at that old Child World store in Framingham, Massachusetts, Kenner and Jenny are a form of proto-robotic HCwDB.

Do they have Kung-Fu Grip?

Are they packaged with a free Pokemon Disc?

Would I hump Jenny's lower thigh area like a broken automaton that was wound too tight at a 19th Century street fair in Astor Place?

Yes. Yes I would.

Nice chest shave, jackass.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Acey Douchey

Aces up, for a classic Chicago Ubersquat.

The only thing holding this pic back from sheer hottie/douchey genius is the "pro" nature of the pose.

A little too much self-referential ironobaggery. It's like post-post-modernism. Unlike Still Life with Coors Light, the signifiers betray critique as much as inspiration.

But we've honored other "pro" 'bags on the site. Like The Gator.

And the gun, money, vodka and kissy lips all earn serious douche-points, no matter what the intention. While the dual hotts offer curves of deep sociopolitical introspection.

In addition to these three Finalists, we had a number of pics last week in consideration for the 2008 Douchies, including the Great Googley Moogley of Four Points, The Mugging (which also features a great rant from the people in the pic in the comments thread), Jimmy's Hand, The Neverending Story's Bastian, and the quarter bouncing tautness of the Moon Pie.

And lets not forget the odious DJ Bello, who deserves some form of recognition. And by recognition, I mean crotch leeches.

But these are your three. Which coupling has both hott and choad in dialectic to force an ideological reexamination of the self, The real, and cultural hierarchy?

That, fellow 'bag hunters, is up to you. Vote, as ever, in the comments thread.

The camera guy in the DJ Bello clip brings up an important question:

Whither the Cameradouche?

----
DB1-

This email is regarding the forgotten douche- the douche who actually takes the picture of the douche(s) and hott(s). Your site needs to recognize this undeniable doucheness. Although it cannot be seen, we know it exists.

It's like the wind, if the wind thought it was a good idea to immortalize such unreasonable scenes of douchery alongside hottness, in a photograph. -

Andrew Jackson-
---

Well said, A.J. In this example, there is the Self-Douche-Portrait. But in others, we must consider the douchery of the camera operator as a form of embedded hegemonic ideological reinforcer. Or, in post-Gramsci terms, a doucherstructure.

In regards to this pic, I'd only like to add one word. Mound Mellons.

Okay. That was two words.

Here's even more stage-4 Uberdouche from the rankest festering cold sore on the lip-herp blight of our social formation. The one and only DJ Bello.

I gotta find a 2008 Douchie Award for this pud. The problem is the lack of hott in his clips. A douche on their own is like Yin without Yang. It has no meaning but nihilistic void.

WARNING: Minimal Hott appearance, once again.

A solid sense of humor goes a long way towards recovery, Guy Who Could Snap My Spine Like a Twig. But if you're in the book, you use the word "fagget," and you hit on your waitress, sorry, there's no escaping the cold hard facts. Yer a douche.

Now please don't snap my spine like a twig.

PIC DELETED

The metaphysical refractions of a takedown of a takedown threaten the space/time continuum.

Anonymous Porsche Girl writes in:

----
take down the post "no more miami mice" because it has my face in the picture with joey the f@#king asshole. i dont want picture on your website. thanks. if you dont take it down i will report it bc you didnt ask for my permission to have me on your website.
----

Sweet Smookums, simply for dissing The Porsche, I will honor your kneecaps.

With a pic of Joey Porsche wannabe, Johnny Blaze.

Clearing out the pixel-attic on an overcast Friday in Los Angeles and wondering if Ace of Spades here needs a beat down from the starting defensive line on the Chicago Bears, or maybe the Dallas Cowboys.

Speaking of football, a Fantasy Football playing fan of the site named his team the Yabba Dabba Douchebags and created the following genius team logo. Nicely done, sir. Fred and Wilma as HCwDB. Love it.

Hot Porsche with Douchebag

An article from England may explain the recent preponderance of makeup on the douchescrotes: Men Brush Up on Male Makeup

This headshave pattern is so out there, it's actually pretty great.

He Still Wants to Sex You Up

Sometimes, when you can't figure out how to work a chair, it's best to kick another kid in the face.

The late, great comedy mastermind, Mitch Hedberg, has a posthumous CD just released. Check it out. The man was a genius.

And while you're buying stuff on Amazon, if you haven't already and you're a fan of this site, order a copy of my book, Hot Chicks with Douchebags. It makes a great gift for Ramadan.

PIC DELETED

One of the fastest takedown requests in history, someone help me decipher this cryptic text:

----
Take down the picture of Miami Mice. Once again I love the haters and the extra publicity. Coming to a TV screen near all of u very soon, now take the picture down or my people shall be in contact. Thank You again and have a great day.
----

Well, we "haters" will always have Joey Porsche.

He shames us all, Ashley.

He shames us all.

PIC DELETED

Oh, I saw this one!!

Don Johnson and that other guy go undercover as oiled up Miami douchewanks on a quest to save little Maria Hottriguez from a lifetime of Bleethed out douchebaguette.

And then there's a Peter Gabriel song and a slo-mo montage of boats.

Love that episode.

Syrup not enough,
To mark douche. But Hotts and cups?
Enough to happy.

Bosom Buddies 2
Starring some New Jersey putz
Spike T.V. this fall.

- charles nelson douchely

way back in the day
girls wore a lot more clothing
to a house party

-- johnny scrotten

Can't Haiku right now
My college was not like this
Not having daughter.

-- dunkterdouche

"Hey check it out bro,
extreme chocolate beer shakes dude!"
nobody cares chad.

-- bcs

Yikes.

I don't know if this guy is a douche, bats for the home team, or is just really happy to be crimson.

But I do know this. I loved him on Fraggle Rock.

Kimmy isn't a classic hott, but she is Iowa corn fed hay rolling delight. I would gladly go to the five and dime out back near Jimmy's hay field, before taking her to a pool party where Cybil Shepard will strip naked on the diving board and the whole thing turns out to actually be a metaphor for the decline of the American dream in small towns in the early 1970s. And is in black and white.

This pic is a puzzlement. A mystery.

Yes, we have standard Orange Long Island Douche mugging two very cute Fashion Institute Majors on summer break back in Montauk.

But what remains a mystery is Doucheface's right hand. Could this be an entirely new genus of 'bag hand gesture? The "Double Middle Finger"? A mini "Westside"? The "Not So Shocker"?

'Bagologists working out of Jim Swarthow's office in Provo, Utah, are pouring over research as we speak.

And yes, I would take both of the Peace Twin Hotts to the Freshman sorority kegger. And share my Red Cup of Miller Lite with them. Then I'd ask them what their major is.

The History of the Great American MoonPie

Early in the 1900s, while servicing his territory of Kentucky, Tennessee and West Virginia, Mr. Mitchell was visiting a company store that catered to the coal miners. He asked them what they might enjoy as a snack. The miners said they wanted something for their lunch pails. It had to be solid and filling.

“About how big?,!” Mr. Mitchell asked. Well about that time the moon was rising, so a miner held out his big hands, framing the moon and said, “About that big!”

So, with that in mind, Mr. Mitchell headed back to the bakery with an idea. Upon his return he noticed some of the workers dipping graham cookies into marshmallow and laying them on the window sill to harden. So they added another cookie and a generous coating of chocolate and sent them back for the workers to try.

The response they got back was so enormous that the MoonPie became a regular item for the bakery.

By the late 1950's, the MoonPie had grown in popularity, so much that the bakery did not have the resources available to produce anything else. The phrase "RC Cola and a MoonPie" became well known around the South, as many people enjoyed this delicious, bargain-priced combination.

By the early 2000s, the phrase "Moon Pie" began to refer to greased up hott butt in the presence of ridiculously mohawked Vegas douche.

No more cellphone pose, but another delicious hott on his arm, and even more detail in the follicle spike.

Is Sideburn Harry making a run for the Weekly?

I'm pretty sure that in The Neverending Story version that I remember, Bastian does not save the Empress Moon Child by turning himself orange and making the Kissy Lips.

Maybe this is the updated version.

I can't tell why this pic unnerves me so.

It's like my childhood action figures came to life, and one of them turned into an oily, pumped up douchewank.

Now I know what you're thinking. Where's the hand gestures? Where's the overdone tatts? What makes Action Figure Ken so unnerving?

Again, this is Douche Aura. You just know, in your heart of hearts, that this guy suckles Alpaca teat.

Oh, Jenny. Your sharp, angular curves warm my fireplace on cold, wintery nights. Your smile and retro mid 90s roots showing Melrose Place angst would spank me like the naughty chocolate stealing child that I once was, and still long to be.

I would revel in your overachieving, highly ambitious, yet sexually cold and emotionally dysfunctional ways, like a drunk koala on no-doze.

----
Dear DB1,

While strolling through myspace on a tagging expedition, I stumbled across the attached photo. The bag(?) in question displays only a small number of the telltale signs of a douche. But my question is, if said signs are glaring enough, can one fairly call him a scrote on these merits alone?

He’s got the overly-serious-despite-being-wrapped-around-a-hot look, the ridiculous ‘flavor saver,’ and some obnoxiously large douche shades. I also feel that from what can be seen of their surrounding, this pairing seems to be smack in the middle of prime douche/hott mating grounds. So what’s the verdict? ‘Bag, or not ‘bag?

Thanks,
-A Rookie ‘Bag Hunter
----

The issue you're bringing up is what we call "Douche Aura," ARBH. The moment when the sum total of douchuous essence rises above the physical manifest of uberchoadosity as presented in the structural signifiers within the cultural markers of scrotepoo.

Douche Aura is the subjective. It is located outside of taxonomic quantification. Like Roland Barthes's notion of the Punctum, Douche Aura summons a subjective experience in each viewer that is rendered unique in relation to each of our experiences with Douchal Plague. These responses are not objectively measurable, but still legitimate.

In short, this man is choad. And she is hott.

Great Googley Moogley.

I'm being pointed at on so many levels.

Back when I was in a barbershop quartet in Skokie, Illinois, we used to have a term for guys like this.

That term was douche.

I had a feeling this week would be a domination by the orange suppository, and I was correct. douchey fogledouche explains:

The vote has to be for X-Lax. It's a simple matter of completeness. While Megahead and Corey Hamster are serious contenders, they can't complete with the completeness of X-Lax's douchery.

It's like he came up with a list to take with him to the douche Stop'n'Shop to pick up what he needs.

Douchey hair -- check. Douchey look -- check. Exotic hotts -- check, check. Douche hand signal -- check, check. Possessive arm grab of hotts -- check, check. Gratuitous alcohol flaunt -- check. General Douche Je ne sais quoi -- check

So it's X-Lax, for his careful attention to douche detail.

Well checklisted, Fogledouche. Didn't Opus's hot girlfriend have a tattoo of you on her butt? But back to X-Lax. douchington chodeskins tosses the pigskin and agrees:

X-lax ... and it's a joke that there even had to be a question about it. He has the other 2 out-douched by 78 clicks ... and by clicks I mean orange.

Well put, D.C. bagnes of God agrees, making the case for the diuretics:

Sheer ubiquitousness of this asspipe make me want to vote for him, not to mention that blubbery, slack lower lip that I would love to snag with a four-pronged Dixie Jet from a fast-moving bass boat. The Hotts, while beginning to Bleeth, still have potential to be saved, and, sans ghoul makeup and laquer-head are still some pretty girls. However, they are tangled in this insidious web of doucherey, falling into the cheap vodka-scented hell of orange-spray-tanland and loving it. While I was really pulling for Cheeks, I'd have to say X-Lax certainly moves me in ways I don't really like. Shoulda put less imitation butter flavoring on that popcorn last night...

I agree that The Cheeks had the uberdouche factor, but something was just a bit too creepy about them to give them Weekly status. However, Corey Hamster also found some votes, as cleopatra argues:

Corey Hamster. For that stupid "I take myself very seriously" face. The others are also very douchy. But the Hamster's facial expression puts him over the top.

Well put, Cleo. the lone scroat agrees:

The Hamster, FTW. Fuchsia hott is smokin' and his collar is wider than the wingspan of a 747.

And mr. biggs finds deep scrotal wrongness beneath the comedic veneer of Megahead, as did a number of other 'bag hunters:

If we go by the rubric of hottie which attracts all humanity clinging onto a douche nobody cares for or respects, it would have to be Megahead FTW, followed by Hamster for a close second. This is because Hamster looks redeemable. Not the douche (though he's still young) but the hott - she doesn't look so attached, like she just keeps him around while looking around for something better.

Contrast that with megahead, where the hott is definitely showing signs of engagement, pressing such perfect cleavage firmly against old man flab. I think this is the last thing Oedipus really saw before he gouged his eyes out.

There is a very good chance The Hamster inspired many a Greek tragedy. But this was a stool softening domination.

douche douschofferson brings the 70s singer/songwriter ethos to the next level: X-LAX gets my emphatic vote.

odouchius: X-lax, because he makes it look easy. Even while ensnaring two sorority hotts and simultaneously throwing out dual hand gestures, there is no hint of tension or self doubt on that punchably perfect orange douch

scrotebob douchepants: Orange is enough to take the Weekly. X-Lax for the win. He's the guy even I would have avoided in college.

And dunkterdouche brings home the solid victory:

There is just no contest here. X-Lax for the win. His body of work shows a transcendence form mere scrtoebaggerty into full blown Douchebaggery of the 3rd Kind. Throughout his body of work we see the most important hallmarks of a bag. From the tongue, the white tie all the way to the dealmaker, the kissy lips.

He makes me want to implement a national sterilization program.

Well said, DD. I was surprised at the Pedro fans, as he struck me as standard issue (and without hand gesture or sneer), but his hott was delectable. Maybe I'll toss Pedro in next week's Weekly, to give him his due. And by due, I mean poo.

But this is X-Lax's day to shine like a polished turd. Chalk him and his bevy of rotating college hotts a slot in the Monthly. They've earned it.

Looks like I cut out of that DeVry Technical Institute Reunion just a tad early. Before things really got off tha hook.

You go with your bad self, Tony. That subtle three tiered hair fade is way classy.

There are many laws on the books protecting an individual from both civil and criminal violation by a Douchescrote Posse.

Punishments vary, but judges tend to be especially harsh when the victim in question is a boobie hottie suckle thigh.

But those laws don't go far enough.

I'm advocating we bring back the leeches.

Come to the Great White North!

Play some hockey.

Enjoy the crisp, rain soaked, pollution free air.

Experience the beauty of natural forests and sequoia trees.

Watch as a douche-clown makes the douche-face while getting double kissed by the side of the road in rural Washington State.

The Hoboken "Class of 2005 DeVry Technical Institute" Three Year Reunion was sparsely attended, and Joey totally cleaned up.

Our second installment of the DJ Bello YouTube Series marking the End of Civilization as We Know It is a litmus test for the stamina of even the most experienced douche hunter.

Use the following time chart, marked by when you can take no more of this atrocity, to determine your Douchal Tolerance Level:

00:00-00:30 -- Level 1 Entry Level 'Bag Hunter
00:30-01:05 -- Level 2 -- Moderate to Advanced 'Bag Hunter
01:05-:01:35 -- Well trained, if masochistic, Advanced Level 'Bag Hunter
01:35-02:0 -- Megods, how are you still breathing?
01:35-02:24 -- Get thee to a hospital, you are now sterile

Yeah, Timmy's grinning it up, has on a stupid mandana + hair spike and is awkwardly trying to flash his allegiance to African-American gangs signs originally meant to mark territory in Compton.

But he just seems so... happy to be there.

I can't call douche on him. I just can't. So I thought I'd open it up to the floor.

Is Timmy 'bag? Or nottabag?

Sue-Ellen has the hopeful smile, shining white teeth, elegant Prell scented hair sheen and hint of curvy boobage that causes men to go insane, claw out their eyeballs, swallow their tongues, and start wars. Sue-Ellen's smile offers the promise that we can forget about our own flaws and inadequacies for a fortnight, and fulfill all the unfulfilled promise of our childhood. By suckling on her clavicle.

Somewhere in this lineup of tri-hott tips featuring the most perfectly designed blue dress hott since late 90s Dawson's Creek Michelle Williams, I've placed an Ex Hang.

Look closely.

Can you kick him in the nads for making a hand gesture while holding a pack of smokes?

There's definitely a backstory to this pic of an elegant brunette with suckable forearms getting spank interrogated by the Russian mob in a basement outside of Volgograd while DJ Scrotey Scrote poses with full on Yankee tilt.

What that backstory is is anyone's guess.

My money is that it involves stolen microfiche, a crucial game of bacharach and sixteen penguins named Tom.

Yup. Not making sense.

Need a coffee.

Famed prestidouchitator Criss Angel knows who he's voting for in the Weekly. Do you?

Last week I was tense with anticipation over the impending release of Beverly Hills Chihuahua. I can safely report that it was everything I hoped it would be. And everything I dreamed it would offer.

Here's your finalists:

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #1: Megahead

Megahead brings the laugh factor, and an unusually high quality (if stage-3 Bleethed) hott. But is he a threat?

Judging by the eye makeup, Megahead may bat for the home team, which tends to be a disqualifier for HCwDB toxicity. But it's hard to say.

The cuddle, the fwippy hair, the hint of chin fung, and the Megahead head, all earn a spot in the Weekly.

Okay, lets face it.

The dude just cracks me the hell up.

I probably shouldn't go with this pic over some of the ones that just missed the cut, but never underestimate the laugh factor in a HCwDB coupling.

And she is a caramel corn summer fair sweet.

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: X-Lax

We haven't had a truly legendary breakout doucherstar appearing in a number of pics since probably Bra!! a few months back.

X-Lax could be that scrotewank.

Rocking consistent douchery in the presence of hotts across a number of pics, including a delightful Asian belly hott, a strangely Da Vincian sorority party, and a hidden turd float, X-Lax has shown longevity in his douchal career.

And with a wide collection of sorority girls on his arm, the hottie/douchey factor is high. But orange enough to take the Weekly?

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #3: Corey Hamster

For classic Tuscan European scrotifery, for holding a delightful hott in his furry little wheel running paws, and for rallying the base when I needed to bring the votes in, The Hamster gets the coveted third and final spot on the ticket.

Some may argue the Hamster is lesserbag.

I give you the white Dog Tag / Jesus Bling combo. The giant collar. The hamster whiskers. The Dick Tracy watch. And, of course, the douche-face.

And like every pure hottie/douchey dialectic, the swan of hope. Slap some librarian glasses on her, and I would definitely marry her in a stormy shotgun wedding, then weep quietly in the bathroom when she cheated on me with the gas station attendant, Antonio.

As with any Weekly after a Monthly, a number of worthy finalists just missed the cut, including The Cheeks, Tatty McTatterson and the luscious mounds of Melon Butt. Even Pedro lacked that certain extra quality to make the Finals.

We can only have three, and them three's your Francis Bacon inspired triptych. Which will rise to become HCwDB of the Week? That, fellow 'bag hunters, is up to you.

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

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Hey, db1. I'm a long-time Hot Chicks with Douchebags fan and I have a question that perplexes me.

I think we all have a little bit of douche in us without us even realizing it, and I'm not proud to say that I sometimes exhibit these tendencies.

My question is regarding the removal of chest hair. I notice you mock the guys who shave/wax their chests a lot, yet I also noticed in your book that you mentioned the Furry 'Bag, who is a douche because he basically has, well, chest hair.

So are they both douches? Is one bigger than the other? Surely this is not an over-looked contradiction, is it?

Douche of Arabia
----

Excellent question, D of A. A number of the more hirsute males will, of course, require some basic manscaping to maintain appearances. Some even suffer from Robinius Williamsus Armsus, or, in English, "Yeti Arms."

Furry Man, as detailed in the book, does not receive douchal scorn for his hairyness, but for his creepy-ass display of that hairyness. Just as displayed chest shave is scrotey, so is chest fung display. It is in the presentational, not the genetic, that we locate douche.

Most men require some basic trimming and shaving as we attempt to woo the Boobie Hottie Suckle Thigh. This is excusable, and is not subject to douchal scorn.

Dig the dopest, freshest, most illin' dance moves since The Fly Girls. DJ Bello is in love. And by love, I mean douche you have to scrape off your shoe to get rid of.

WARNING: No Hott counterbalance provided in this video. It is all choad.

EDIT: Since the video is sadly lost, here's DJ Bello dancing with a camel, courtesy of pfah.

Pedro says, "Challo. Chowarju?"

I'm fine, Pedey.

Thanks to your embrace of Brunette Lollipop Wonderland Rainbow Boobie Hott, I'm now officially crackin' my PBRs and gettin' ready for a delightful Friday Night.

Because the sun is shining in sweaty Los Angeles. The weekend is here. My fridge is stocked with milk for extended sugar cereal consumption this weekend.

And, hot on your arm or not, you look like a six year old ate sixteen crayons and then puked in the rec hall.

What better way to wind down a productive week of hottie/douchey mocklust then with with Pedro's stylin' douche-on game.

His shaved chest and elegantly placed rosarie Jesus bling are offset only by the Han Solo vest and Kessel Run inspired Ed Hardy Douche Hat.

On the flip side, we have Sultry Camille.

And while you were on the swim team and never talked to me in math class Camille, I still sat behind you and tied your occasional shedded strand of hair left behind on your seat onto my jacket buttons after class.

I'm much better now. All grown up. I no longer fantasize about your perfect senior year boobies. So far as you know.

douchey2coasts writes in:

----
Hey db1-

i have been a long time fan of the site and living half the month in las vegas and the other half in south beach (the 2 meccas of douchedom) i consider myself a pro bag tagger. but even a a semi pro can bag tag in these two epicenters of doucheyness.

i myself have slipped to the darkside of douchedom every now and then but thanx to the good graces of the 12 step not-a-douche program i joined, i have made it back into the light....after seeing all i thought i could see.. i took this pic (ed: The Haiku Pic) in vegas over the labor day weekend, where douche was as prevelant as cowpies in a field.

keep up the good work... my office cant make it through the day without your site to the point where we came up with a secret douche hand sign to throw at each other while spotting douches from across the room...sent you the pic on that too...its the db hand signal...great way to make fun without gettin punched in the dome...hope you pass along the secret hand sign of the douche (me in the hat with my 2 girls giving the db hand sign)

your humble servant,
douchey 2coasts
----

What, do you get a free bowl of soup with that hat?

It looks good on you, though.

Somewhere in Glendale,
Ricardo Montalban's kids,
Waste trust funds on hotts.

young bridgette nielsen
partying with long duck dong
and douche with pink hair

-- ted theodore scrotgan

After School Specials
Were made so kids would not grow
Up and be like this.

-- massengill

a white hula skirt
corona does not age well
cold air arouses

-- 'bag lanta

Blonde hott's skirt defies
Known Newtonian physics
Somewhere, Hawking cries

-- anonymous

It must be tough partying with the head-wound from the Kennedy Assassination crimping your style.

Franz Baggenbauer writes in all the way from Deutchland:

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dear db1,

after days of researching your site for the true meaning of douchebag, i started browsing the pages of some clubs over here in cologne, germany. i daresay i found some pictures that may meet the requirements, although i did notice that those guys who could really make a name on your site usually arent with hott. that's a good thing, i guess.

i'll continue the search and hope i can enrich the collection of jersey-, weekend-in-vegas- and LA-douches with some nice deutschbags sooner or later. i'm a big fan of the page, thanks for the enterntainment

Franz Baggenbauer
----

We've seen that the Global Douche Virus has touched lands as diverse as Finland, Australia, South America and Canada.

Even that douchey-ass country, Uruguay. Yeah, I'm talking about what a douche-ass country you are, Uruguay. What are you gonna do about it? Unlike your far superior neighbor Paraguay, which rules. Stupid Uruguay.

Somewhere in this lineup of pouty, if a tad uneven, club cutes (with Dark Haired Raven the ambiguously European standout), I've carefully hidden an aging Party Douche who likes to Party with multiple "y's."

In other words, he likes to partyyyyyyy.

Look closely.

can you find him?

Occasionally, a new 'bag hunter, having recently begun training in the Douchal Arts, will come up and ask me, "DB1, can you tag a 'bag with a single sign? And if so, what is that sign?"

And I answer, "Aha, grasshopper. The question seeks an answer you cannot foresee. The specificity of the sign will change. But the reaction will be the same."

Witness here.

Vinny has only one douchetribute. A combo hand gesture and hott headlock, forcing his girl to pull his arm down to breathe.

No kissy lips. No hat tilt. No annoying tatts. No hair highlight. Yet we can stamp "Douche" simply from that one gesture.

And while hott may be 17-ish, she's surely turning 18 very soon. At which point I will buy her a car.

In a hotly debated contest in which each of our four finalists drew support, The Moobster's overwhelming douchitude was too much to overcome.

Even with a lesser hott, Mooby Dick's victory proves that while a gorgeous girl may carry a lesser douche to a victory in a Weekly, an uberdouche is too toxic for anything to overcome.

sir douche-a-lot explains the reasoning:

My score is based on 2xD + 1xH. The douche must be given more weight as even if the site were just “With Douchebags”, it would be nearly as gawkeriffic. Given the fact that (gay or not) Mooby is wearing the douchiest ensemble known to man, there is no possible way for any hott in this pool to sufficiently inflate their respective douchebag’s score to claim victory. The other douchebags are just not douchey enough.

Well said Sir DAL. There is no doubt that a powerful douche can invoke rage even with a lesser hott. And I disagree with many of the posters, as I think Mooby's girl is a solid cutie. the doucheman cometh continues:

Mooby. While the hott presence is no where near that of the Hourglass or The Mariner, it is the hott presence that makes those pictures at least somewhat tolerable.

Mooby on the other hand makes me want to take my eyes and refresh them in a nice hydrochloric acid bath in an attempt to burn any memory of having viewed such an atrocity.

And fidouchiary responsibility further elaborates on the Moobster's win:

Though Janice has more than a handful of goodness and Hourglass makes me question my own sexuality (I'm a girl), Mooby is an affront that is all wholesome, round and perky wonder. By flaunting his Moobs, he degrades all boobies. Truly, after witnessing his douchousity, can you look on the pert orbs of Hourglass loveliness and not suffer flashbacks of the Moob?

Maybe the hott is not so much - maybe she is blocked out by his Dollywood mounds of puffed-up wrongness - but Mooby should take the monthly, if only for the fact that his awesome douchitude can make us all, for a moment, think unkind thoughts about boobies.

Very well argued F.R. I think there is the potential for brain damage due to the Moobster. hp lovechoad agrees:

Mooby climbs to the top of the primordial waste heap, single handedly setting back the human race 100,000 years. He is the missing link, the alpha and omega, the proto-douche from a land that time has unfortunately not forgotten. Is he drunk on animal traqs? Does he have Down's Syndrome? Has he received a baseball bat to the dome? All these mysteries and so little time.

The mystery of the pic definitely contributes to its genius, HP. And ronnie explains the sheer revulsion factor:

Though the hott is a bit lacking Mooby 's shirt is the douchiest thing ive ever seen, i may have to wash my eyes out with Bleach

As a last minute sub for Crapser The Douchey Ghost (who will likely turn up in the rocker douche category at the Douchies), Squidward represented. gratz casts in:

Squidward for sure...

With all of my love, he gets the prize for selecting a permanent life appearance in exchange for a few years of boffing the shallowest silicone displays.

But the perfection of the Hourglass and the Beachbag came in a solid third. champagne douchernova makes the case:

I want to vote for Hourglass. Hers is not a shape that sailed a thousand ships. Hers is the shape that makes me want to kill babies. And by kill babies, I mean masturbate.

Her body perfection wipes away the fact theat she'll resemble my 25 year old 1st baseman's glove in about 8 years.

There is only the now, my friend. And her now is very now. And the dude reminds us of the everybag rage of The Rime of the Scrotey Mariner:

I'm going with Scrotey Mariner, for the boobies - there's twice as many. Those girls smile like they've already met me. Scrotey is scowling like he already knows his fate. A giant fish will leap out of the water and bitch slap him.

Yes it will, dude. But it's the Moobs all the way. coco is on the case like Macy's:

Mooby Dick, for taking it to the next level and showing us a hereunto unseen douche wardrobe piece. It's an anthropological find. Also with a history of being a monthly winner, it will hopefully give him a record that will render him unable to ever run for public office

And buffy the scrotebag slayer:

The power of the Moob is much too strong. It makes my brain melt and my eyeballs explode on contact. It causes me to consider joining a convent in hopes of escaping the sheer horror, but I doubt if becoming a nun would be enough protection from douchiness of this magnitude. Angels will weep and newborn babies will be slapped in the face at the sight of this monstrosity...

Indeed.

If anything, the female 'bag hunting vote carried the Moobster to his "victory." And by victory, I mean societal loss.

There will be much debating this Monthly, as all four pics had arguments for their selection. But if your favorite lost out, do not fret. The Hourglass will most certainly be seen again at the Douchies in December, and possibly Squidward and the Mariner as well (a boatbag category perhaps?).

Excellent work to all Cultural Douche Theorists for another excellent round of deconstruction and mock. The lacerating wrongness of the Moobster and his Perky Coed have earned their spot in the Yearly.

Around 250 million years ago, during the Paleozoic and Mesozoic Eras, what is present-day New Jersey bordered northern Africa as part of the supercontinent of Pangea.

The pressure of the collision between North America and Africa gave rise to the Appalachian Mountains. Then, around 180 million years ago, Pangea began to break apart, separating the North American continent from the African continent.

Around 18,000 years ago, the Ice Age resulted in glaciers that reached New Jersey. As the glaciers retreated, they left behind Lake Passaic, as well as many rivers, swamps, gorges, and an uberdouche named Neil.

The glacial retreat also resulted in Kimmy, the best friend of Neil's 19 year old sister, Stephanie. Who is very, very drunk.

From Moses Maimonides to Hermann Cohen to Theodor Herzl to Gershom Scholem to this.

Scrote Turdowitz.

The leader of a multicultural posse of fratwankery and a sexy goy hott into the Promised Land. And by Promised Land, I mean a house party near Hermosa Beach.

Good work, S.T. I'm convinced. You've turned me into a Sighonist.

Get it? Sighonist???

Heh... uhm... forget it.

Woh... woh... woh... woh... woh. Hangin' Scrotes.

Old, douchey and synchronized dance moves are no way to go through life, son.

Next thing you'll tell me, American Idol's Randy Jackson was a douched up Brothabag bass player for Journey.

Don't stop believin'. Dawg.

EDIT: Probably better not to link to our mystery party girl.

There's a certain aesthetic genius when a scrote manages to match a chaotic hat design with his chest tatts. It's like douchery designed by Edith Head.

Toss in the perfectly coiffed Hitler Chin, the smug yet subtle douche-face, and the ability to make hand gesture while in inverted 'bag sandwich formation, and Tatty is impressive. And by impressive, I mean dead rodent.

Hard to say where the ambiguously quartasian Lemon Sisters rank on the hott scale. But them hindquarters look firm like angry bull on deepest summer. They could crush a walnut at fifty yards and still have time to enjoy a chipwich at the 7-11.

----
DB1,

My six-year-old son often looks over my shoulder as I peruse the wonderful world of Douche. What could I do? I had to begin his education, he was quite persistent. A small problem arose when he was playing at a friend's house and let slip that he knew of this wonderful website. While his tiny companion was perplexed, the boy's teenage brothers were fascinated and went right for the computer.

My wife gave me the business, but I rallied: what is HCWDB if not a wonderful educational tool chock full of intellectual stimulation? My son may be young, but he's certainly not too young to be challenged, and horrified, by all that is Douche. Plus he's the only person in the house who understands the need to rate the hotts. I won the battle.

Douche Regards,

Choad the Wet Spocket
----

If there's one thing I can contribute to Western Civilization in my short time on this earth, it is teaching six year olds to mock the choad and celebrate the hott.

When Kendra ran away from home to become a roadie for the emo band "Jigsaw," she didn't know one of her jobs would include anal wart removal.

From last month's Monthly winner, Droopy's actual Craigslist personals post:

----
So basically I'm an amazing person that people love to hate because I'm so fly. So I'm about having a good time with my people. I love to party VIP for everything. I love to be the center of attention. So I'm looking for a woman that bows down to me and loves to wait on her man hand and foot. I consider myself a made man in my life. My hero is K-Fed that is a made man in you truly consider it. He got at the time a certified dime then had a woman on the side then got married and now has three kids by two women. All I can say is that fool is a pimp. So if you want to roll in style and be VIP to everything then feel free to hit me up…

Please enclose a picture to see if you get my stamp of approval
Thank You
(Droopy)
----

On this, the day of the August HCwDB of the Month, it is important to appreciate when we're in the presence of true douche greatness.

And by greatness, I mean droopy poo and Surfer Kelly hott.

August was Boatbag and Beachbag month. We have no less than three beach hottie/douchey couplings in the Monthly. And one disturbing image that cauterizes wounds and neuters alley-cats. Which one will win the Monthly and earn a slot in the Yearly in December?

That's up to you.

But lest I ramble too much as I nurse a mean 'Train hangover on this post-Labor Day Tuesday, here's your finalists:

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #1: Squidward

In an executive decision, I bumped Crapser The Douchey Ghost and am entering Squidward in the Monthly instead.

Since the vote had been extremely close, and Janice's perky boobage made my happy pants do the happy dance while greased up Squidward burned holes in my retinas like melting Raiders of the Lost Ark heads, I made the switch.

But now I'm not so sure. Crapser's a pretty tremendous rocker douche. And his Chiquita is delightful.

But so be it. Squidward's oiled up douchebaggery has squeaked into the Monthly. Come to think of it, that guy is just a huge douche.

They've earned their slot as a couple. But enough to win the Monthly?

HCwDB of the Week Finalist #2: The Rime of the Scrotey Mariner

The Scrotey Mariner doucheth one of three...

True, we have yet to link the Coleridge poem literally with this abomination mutant of oldbag and boatbag. But it works on the esoteric level.

The Scrotey Mariner's sneer/hand-gestures go beyond the sum of their parts. He is ass-kick worthy douche.

While two happy party hotts think winsome thoughts of summer homes in the Hamptions, lunching on the veranda, and oiling each other up with Canola and reenacting the fight scene from They Live. Only with bikinis and suntan lotion, rather than bad acting and wrestler dudes.

Because life really isn't complete without occasional They Live references.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #3: The Hourglass and the Beachbag

As perfectus as Hourglass is, I'm wondering if we erred too much on the site of the Hotts this month.

Her beachchoad's pretty generic.

Don't get me wrong, The Hourglass deserves enshrinement in all of our collective psyches. But O-Prune really was the uberdouche of that week. And O-Prune's hotts were nothing to shake an ugly stick at.

But the voters vote, and since I already overturned one vote, I can't do a second.

That being said, The Hourglass's excessive, almost cartoonish curves really are the hott response to a Stage-4 douchebag's extreme cartoon douchery. So, in a way, she is the Fish Slap of Hotts.

So I take it back. For sheer power of hott, this coupling does deserve finalist status.

HCwDB of the Month Finalist #4: Mooby Dick

The Moobs burn the soul and render all of human accomplishment a waste.

Here is a person, if I can call it a person, that had a shirt designed to show off his giant man boob pecs. He then selected a large tan douche-belt to accent the stomach area. And lets not forget the stylishly "distressed" retro bell bottom jeans.

Combine that with a douche-face and a perky co-ed he's coerced into fondling his moobs, and there's enough rotting garbage to power the DeLorean.

If you're voting on douche-power over hott power, it's Squidward or Mooby.

If you're voting on hott power enhancing lesser choad, it's The Mariner or Hourglass and Beachbag.

But remember fellow 'bag hunters, your vote should be guided by both hott and douche. In dialectic. Structuralist meanings of codes and signifiers linked through the negation of the negation.

Which of these four couplings rises to a Monthly victor?

Vote, as always, in the comments thread.

Pumpy may not be with us anymore, but I'm sure he'd want to wish everyone a happy and playful Labor Day.

Regular postings, as well as the HCwDB of the Month, will resume tomorrow. For today, it's BBQs, Boobies and a frosty mug of PBR for all!

And for those enduring Hurricane Gustav in the Gulf Coast, stay safe. Pumpy's boob grab is in your honor.