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Wednesday, April 11, 2012

The Rise of the Douche-Bag

As I have said before, I am a people-watcher.  Sometimes it’s entertaining, sometimes disturbing and sometimes it makes you wonder how in the hell we ever survived as a race for as long as we have. One distressing trend that seems to have somehow become incomprehensibly popular is douche-baggery. They are out there, walking among us and apparently breeding like rats. You can spot them puffing and preening and wearing ornamental t-shirts that would be too tight for a young greyhound. This, I assume, is to show off their fresh ‘gym pump’ or perhaps their steroid pimples. They have a vacancy about them that they try to compensate for by talking incessantly about their prowess at shooting Jager-Bombs and the frequency which they get sex. I’m thinking that somehow the two things are linked, if you feed someone enough Jager-Bombs you can leave your rohypnol at home. I wonder how many half-bright, second generation, window-licking douche-bags have been inflicted on the world because of poor decision-making and Jager-blindness. They sport goofy-looking tattoos that scream, “Look at me! Look how incredibly cool I am!” I’m not against tattoos, only the ones whose function is to draw attention to a weakness in genetics. When I encounter one of these walking abominations and have the misfortune to endure any amount of conversation (it happens frequently, I work in a bar), I usually have a hard time focusing on what they are saying because I get distracted by fantasies of driving a rat-tailed file through one of their eyeballs and into the area where an un-mutated human’s brain would be. I suppose that they are necessary in ways; they drive the economy with their conspicuous consumption of over-priced sports cars, unnecessarily large and ornate trucks, expensive t-shirts that don’t fit and men’s hair products. They are also good for the alcohol and bar industry. Besides the alcohol that they consume themselves and pour down the throats of potential victims, they also force others to buy and consume more alcohol, how else could anyone tolerate their presence? I would have to be blind drunk to share space with one for more than a few seconds at a time, otherwise I may start to chew the furniture in a desperate, mindless frenzy to distract myself from the monosyllabic idiocy that seems to ooze from these creatures constantly. So, be mindful friends, if you encounter something that has a one-dimensional personality with a two-digit I.Q. and makes references to themselves in the third person, exit the area as soon as possible so as not to be driven to murderous rage or disintegrate into depression for the future of our world. Douche-baggery is afoot and there is no cure. If you could spot them in infancy you could kill them before they were allowed to feed, but unfortunately it is an affliction that develops later. Maybe someday they will have tests for douche-baggery but, for now, there is just no way of knowing.


Self-Evident

The Rat-Tailed File: A Possible Cure For Douche-Baggery
 



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