Check Out This Douche

It's no mistake that Douche left his face out of this picture.

hope your christmas is douche-free!

Happy Birthday?

If there's anything worse than a person making a big deal out of their own birthday... I haven't heard about it. Pressure me into throwing you a party, will you? Well I'm gonna let you in on something- I'd be happy to give you a pat on the shoulder, maybe with a smile thrown in there, but quite frankly, asking anything more from me is absurd. I'm not interested in cooking up a big celebration just because you get to add another tick mark to your life status. I don't much care that you're 19. Your mom might, but her and her only. Oh, and pretty much no one enjoys birthday gatherings. You know who likes birthday parties? 6 year-olds and grandmothers. There, I said it. You are six years old. Or eighty, what's the difference. Don't ask me what kind of cake I'm getting you either, because there's a 100% chance I haven't thought about it.

I Don't Know You

Facebook: The tool of the desperate nobodys. Looking to get on the good side of a complete stranger? Well that's where Desperate Douche comes in. And does he have some advice for you!

Rule # 1: Make contact daily. Whether this be through an online medium or other means, make sure to get your message across indefinitely. Leave no doubts that you are trying to stay in touch. This is essential! She must know you are going to great lengths to harbor a relationship with a perfect stranger. You don't want her to think you're a slacker, do you? Of course not.

Rule # 2: Pray for a response. When that doesn't work, send a follow up email. Playfully hint that you think she might not be that into you. That is sure to send her on a guilt trip right into your weak arms. It is important to say something along the lines of "Oh, thanks for not replying to my message... ;)" or "I get it.. you're too good for me... ;)" A winking emoticon will play up the fact that you are simply a flirtatious jokester. This will cause her to reevaluate her initial impression of you, which was, of course, "hopeless case of Desperate Douche.''

Rule #3: Pepper your conversations with vibrant non sequiturs. Maybe mention that you shot a deer and now her mom will have one less deer to worry about eating up all her flowers. (What?)

Rule #4: Try to recapture her attention with some witty snide remarks. Maybe comment on her reasonable, affordable car. For example, "I saw you driving that gay ass car of yours the other day..." Hope for a reaction. When no reaction comes, say it again within the next few seconds. "At least you admit your car is gay!" Now it will be nearly impossible for her to ignore your weak jokes. Remember though: Be playful! You are a sexy, playful kinda guy. Remind her that you are above reasonable and affordable: you are all about gas guzzlers and noisy spinouts. And Dodge Chargers.

Rule #5: Lack of enthusiasm on her part of a tired conversation should not be a deterrent. Instead, be persistent. Ask questions. Point out stuff that no one else would think to point out. Tell her she looks like someone you know named Stacy. Mention that even though the two of you have been neighbors for years, you have never met. Giving someone an awkward guilty conscious is a sure-fire way to get into their pants. Remember that and look for the outstanding clues: Does she ever initiate a conversation? Does she ignore your Facebook messages? Does she carefully avoid giving you her number when asked for it? Don't worry: she's just playing hard to get. Remember. That.

On that note, I wish the best of luck to you!

Over and out,

Advocator for the Desperate Douche

Go Big or Go Home

Listen buddy, I commend you on the top hat, I really do. But I think I've seen you with a taller one. Yeah that's right: I see you just about everyday, I live near you. I'm tired of this! Seeing you everyday in a jean jacket, jeans, and some beat up sneaks. Go big or go home! If you've got the balls to never be seen without your signature top hat and cane (yes that's his in the corner) you best step up your game. I wanna see you all out. A full suit and tie, white gloves especially. Then you would be doing your tall top hat justice, because right now you're just another D walking around.

Pour yourself a real shot, you're twenty one.

You Must Be Blind

A typical sidewalk is wide enough to fit two people walking side by side, maybe three if you got skills. Usually, the third person is walking one foot grass, one foot sidewalk. I hate being that person. Regardless, a sidewalk-as far as I'm aware-is for walking along, not congregating. The douches of the world seem to think otherwise. A circle of Ds (probably discussing their next zombie attack) chatting away standing, literally, right at the front of the crosswalk. Hey, thanks for blocking the ENTIRE walkway. If I was giving you the benefit of the doubt, I'd assume you were all blind: there's a ton of people walking towards you seeing as class just got out and even some bikes heading at you. They're also all hopping off the sidewalk and detouring around you, because again your blocking the ENTIRE walkway. Take your clusterfuck's boring conversation somewhere else and inconvenience someone else.  In other words, get out of my way all ready!

I Am Not a Fly

The horror.

Just look at that picture above and tell me your overall well-being doesn't plummet by about 300%. Are they trying to break my spirits? The answer, clearly, is an overwhelming "yes".

I am not a fly. I do not revel in light that blinds/stuns. Why set up a lighting system that literally makes everyone ugly? Flattering to no one. God knows I don't want to end up like Jerry's girlfriend and cause fright in a potential mate. The mildly attractive opposite sex member is now stifling a horrified gasp and a look of pure shock. These bulbs aren't doing you any favors either, pal. These fluorescent lights are rather condemning.

We are being turned into zombies. People think the government is trying to control us by other means? Open your eyes! It's all in the lights. You're telling me they don't want me to be driven to insanity to the point of braindeath? Well that's exactly what's happening. Why do you think fluorescent lighting is used in virtually every building imaginable? Oh sure, it's cheap. But so cost effective! Flocking their sheeple one fluorescent bulb at a time.

Just a crazy idea: would it really turn the world upside down to get a lamp in here? Shit, looking at a white piece of paper is causing me singed retinas.

Say goodbye to my loved ones, because I'll be flatlining here in another minute.

Happy Turkey Day, Douchebags!

Typical Douche

I'd like to say that you were the typical douche in this situation. But you, sir, have gone above and beyond. Should I be giving you a pat on the back? Probably not.

Thing is, it took me a grand total of about three seconds to spot you as Typical Douche when I saw that fucking look on your face. You know the one I mean. That's some serious douchenozzling we're talking about here.

I knew I wouldn't want to spend even ten minutes riding in the back seat of a tiny car with you, even if it is in my personal interest to acquire those flagons of ale; quite frankly, I was dreading it. And you didn't disappoint. Oh, your sister's name is Emily? What are the odds. (Where is Walmart already!!)

Finally. Why, yes, I'd love some free booze! Oh, but little did I know... little did I know. I mean, superb job on scoring 2 handles of the golden sauce. Sneaking two big ol' bottles into your duster is skillful, I'll admit. But let's be serious for a minute. You really gonna make me pay for this brotha?? What a buzzkill. I don't really care that you ripped off a Walmart, Mr. Klepto-man. You just had to go and douche it up like nobody's business.

Additional douche of note: D trying to spin out his silver Mustang in the Walmart parking lot. Because that's what he does with his time. Anyone see that one South Park? Yeah, this guy's a fag.

That Person

Its not good unless you've got that person at your party. That person takes it too far. Everyone's laughing at their expense, and they don't even know it. Hey, gotta hand it to 'em. Person is out of control drunk! "How gangsta is that? Not gangsta at all." They're the one spewing on the tree at the corner of the road at the end of the night...and again later in the the trash. It's five o'clock somewhere, but five o'clock never ends for this person--they got no idea what time it is. Damn straight they showed up to this party prepared, crunk bag in hand. They arn't just breezin by, they're rolling through loud like a storm. About just as loud as when they fall down the stairs a few hours later. Twice.
Pull yourself together, wastey; you're makin a fool of yourself! Strobe lights are not for you, but let's all be honest, whats the deal with strobe lights? That person is waking up feelin good the next morning, feelin a margarita. Ahhh, why not skip the hangover and just keep it going? Tequila gives you a hug and never lets ya go. Needless to say, if you've felt that hug's grasp, there might be a good chance you've made your appearance as that person.
[photo props to some guy on flickr]

Damn

Oh great, here comes Stumbley. Never have been acquainted, Stumbley. However the first words of our interaction were of you bluntly asking for some of my whiskey. Alright, alright, I'll spot you a shot cause I feel sorry for you.
The cups no good for you? You literally turned down the cup I offered! You might as well be turning down the shot you had the nerve to ask for all together. No, you take it a step further and state that instead you'll just get a swig off my bottle. Seeing as it's too late for me to recall my generous donation, I'll hand over the bottle to your germs.
The second you grasped the bottle, a rude exclamation about how "warm" the bottle is slips your tongue. "Mother of God!!"
You just rudely criticized something that was given to you. A classic asshole douche.
We're outside, idiot! Sorry I'm not carrying around a bucket of ice.

To Whom It May Concern

Dear Sir or Madam in Room 305,

The ladies from below are becoming distressed.

Let me explain:

Like clockwork. Mid-evening, settling in after a "high-quality" meal, the racket begins.

I just have one thing to say. Did someone decided to hold wrestling tryouts in your 8 feet wide dorm room? I don't buy it. I also find it hard to believe you're finicky enough that you need to rearrange the entirety of the furniture in your room day after day. I'll just say this: I'd love, if only for one night, to believe that I don't live in the basement of a bowling alley. For now, I will be forced to bounce volleyballs off the ceiling in hopes that you get the picture. Sort of a "cease and desist" to the thunderous blows emanating from the ceiling. If changes are not made, I will be taking action. I'm hopeful you will be more mindful in the future.

Signed,

Agitated Dweller of Room 205

P.S.- Please shut the fuck up.

You're Welcome

Dude, we're both late for class. I know that. So as I rush through, I hold the door open behind me with one hand. So that you can take it as you walk through. This doesn't mean you can waltz through without so much as a thank you. Nay, without even acknowledging my presence. I'm not here all day to prop the door open for you. I was merely making sure it didn't slam you in the face. Don't worry, next time I'll go out of my way to make sure it does so.

Avert Your Eyes

Who made you designer? Because you need to stop spazzin' out! You got this frilly wire flower decor juxtaposed with a dull, navy-turquoise "modern 80's" geometric piece of outcry. On top of that the seats in here are calling out all three of the primary colors. Seriously, make up your mind. Even you decideded it was a lost cause when made the decision to neglect any upkeep. The ugly contrasting wallpaper is literally coming off the wall. Fluorescent lights? Must I say more? Insanity. We're in a place of food service, and the decorations around your weak buffets are exclusively fake fruit. I think you're a hypocrite. Meanwhile, the salad bar, only offering the damned iceberg lettuce, has a sorrounding decoration. And guess what? It's lushness green, REAL lettuce. Too cheap to only buy good lettuce once: and not even serve it. Just place it around the offered ingredients and maybe they'll look better. Appalling and completely absurd. I'm feeling malnourished.

It's Starting To Get Annoying

There once was a bike rack watching over many bike friends. They all lived in a small and for the most part, quiet town. But then!

One fateful day, Lola, the pink moped whizzed into town and started frequenting the rack. The bikes tried real hard not to get on her case, but things soon started to get out of hand. Ole Shwinny boy eventually started gossiping with Doctor Trek and formed a gang with Gary, meanwhile the giant around got unbelievably huffy--all on account of Lola's annoyances. Lola, on the heavy side, was taking up way too much unnecessary room. Two to Four bikes were put out of a resting place when Lo was around.
Finally, she got put in her place when Dusty 1964 called her out, "Lola you need to book the hell outta here! Just park your ass next to the rack so us fellas can take a breather! You ain't even need the rack to rest."
Lola didn't like this at all. Sooner than can imagine, Lola's worse off friends were involved. All the roads started to get attacked by mopeds...and even the stage 4 douchebags, the Davidson's, took charge. Unfortunately for every specimen in the town, the violence proceeded to sidewalks. Every liable sidewalker, was from then on in danger; at a moment's weave, they could easily be knocked down by a passing motor from behind. To say the least, the bike rack and all of his watchful friends across town now have regular, unfriendly parkers.
The bike population is currently seeking hugs from their tree friends, and are trying to read the signs of the situation.

Time's Up

There comes a time in a man's life when he's gotta hang up his coat and deal with the fact that college parties are no longer his turf. Look, Bob, I get it. Fitting in didn't work out so well for you a decade ago, so I imagine you've decided to give it another try. You pick out your glossiest hair gel and slap a knockoff Rolex on your wrist, all whilst preparing your freshest pick up lines. Stop hitting on the underage drinkers and go do something with your life. Try being a little proactive. Maybe get a job. Or a girlfriend. Or just a life in general would suffice. Those confused stares you're getting? For good reason. You are painfully out of place. It's uncomfortable for me to see you here when you're well into your late 20s (early 30s?) trying to fit in the with college crowd. We can all see through you, Way-Too-Old-For-This Douche. You don't want to overhear the infamous "What is he, 40?" line. Great way to become the least popular party guest, rest assured.

Fit together the pieces of the puzzle: you didn't belong here 10 years ago...

Figure It Out

Note to self: Don't leave shitty stereo blasting on repeat and then proceed to exit room. I wouldn't imagine I would ever need to reference this note, as it it common knowledge. For most, that is.

Unfortunately, Sandy Suitemate never wrote this rule down on paper. Now Sandy here is obviously an avid Mariah Carey fan, seeing as she favors leaving her songs on repeat. Correction: blaring on repeat. This would at least make sense. But here, that is not the case. Sandy puts in her favorite R&B compact disc, makes certain that the volume is at its maximum limit, and then meanders out the door. Alright, well that's all well and good for Sandy, except that it is now up to me to relieve the hallway of the forthcoming 3-hour "Obsessed" loop. I must shake off the dew of my mid-afternoon nap and, ears surely covered, slink in next door to hit the "off" button. Ahh, that was satisfying.

Does Sandy believe it to be magic that, when she leaves on music upon departing, it has been mysteriously silenced? My guess is as good as yours.

But really, Sandy, figure it out: these walls are thin!

Check Out This Douche

Why stop at balls for your car? Get bicycle balls. Or doorknob balls. Just put balls on every single thing you own. C'mon, don't be lazy.

Talented

Oh, here we go. Girls breaking out into a sugary ballad in the middle of a study session. Let me tell you, memorizing John Mayer's latest ditty won't get you anywhere in my book.

Thing is, Sky'lar seems to think its a real treat for everyone to overhear her rather lackluster singing voice. This might even be amusing if it wasn't clear this girl is trying dangerously hard to win compliments. Yeah, good for you, you got a singing solo at church that one time. This isn't something I can say for myself, I'll admit. But man, there's a time and a place! Save it for choir practice, Sky.

Lingerers, man

You're on my list. Yes you, lingerer douche. Right at the top.

Can I be honest with you? I'm starting to regret ever letting you into my house. When you mentioned over the telephone that you wanted to "drop in and say hi" i thought it would be, at the very least, less than an hour long visit. Bad enough you brought your mom along as your sidekick. You failed to mention this earlier, and now it's my job to politely deal with this batty old woman. I mean, damn, I'm happy you're getting that unsightly tree in front of your house torn down, but I gotta get up in the morning! Feigning interest isn't really a skill of mine and I can't be entertaining you through all hours of the night. So, to save myself the embarrassment of bluntly professing "i want you gone", I let my body language do the talking. For the record, excessive yawns, darting eyes and glassy stares are a sure sign that you have overstayed your welcome. Be a little more perceptive, for both our sakes, and don't ignore these essential intimations. Unfortunately, in this case, these signals are flying over your head with an audible whoosh.

Long story short, (too late!) you don't want to be the lingerer. Hell, that's right up there with hasslers. Some advice to live by: get the hell out.

The Assholes of the Internet

If there's one prime asshole hangout, it's the internet. Where anonymity is handed out like free Chick-fil-a samples (delicious), being shunned from society is no longer an issue! (Unless, of course, you are the type to engage in online disputes and throw merciless insults to strangers you can't even see, in which case, more power to you.) And then there's these guys- just plain clueless. Yahoo Answers is evidently, for these, a haven:

(real life Yahoo Answers question)

"How would you describe colors to a blind person?"

Just absurd. If you want a legitimate answer, don't go looking for it from the losers of yahoo answers. That was simply dumb on your part. Everyone knows they're only good for knowing links to free online movie sites.

So, here we have an example of the internet douche at work:

Joseph the Second: WONDERFUL Question ! I wouldn't know where to BEGIN to Answer it !!! :)

Look, 'seph. I can call you 'seph, can't I? Or would you prefer to be called JosII. Either way, you suck. I admit, you're sarcasm in this situation is justifiable, as this person (let's call them Joan) obviously has some things to learn about life in general. Number one being that if you ask ridiculous questions on Yahoo Answers you'll just end up with a Joseph the Second- the internet asshole. My question to you, JosII, is why you would take a minute out of your day to taunt an (admittedly ridiculous) stranger. I see you threw in a little smiley face in an attempt to conceal your inner douche. Well that's not gonna make things better, Jos. The damage is done. I'm pretty sure Joan is officially hurt by your response. Poor Joan. She just wanted to know how to describe "red" to Pep Pep who can't exactly see anymore. His memory is shot, and he can't even visualize colors these days. Way to let down Pep Pep, JosII.

Well, Well, Well: Second Edition

Well, look who it is again. Guy in the gray shirt and myself are certainly confused...That tree there is sure giving you a nice hiding spot. What are you doin with your life?! Sabotaging a harmless biker's ride? Maybe you should try giving all these idiot walkers "tickets" for jumping out in front of cars, assuming they'll always stop for them.

Roughly five minutes later: [apologies for lack of better snap shot]

[not just the one, but two "policemen" have "pulled over" someone who is surely thinking 'who the fuck are these guys?']
What an accomplishment! You probably saw this poor soul of a biker meander through that stop sign you were without question guarding. Justice must be served! Oh wait! No helmet? Call in reinforcements.

In all of roughly five minutes these sorry excuses for cops ruined a cyclists day. Great Job! I'm sure that cyclist would have cause a five car pile up if it weren't for you two.

Seriously?

Oh No.

This is just inappropriate, douche. I not only don't want to see any Impala's anywhere on the road, I also don't want to see your Impala lookin ridiculous with those rims. I don't know what those are trying to say; maybe because it's too loud to comprehend or perhaps a different language, but I'm not trying to listen. I'm no car enthusiast, but I am enthusiastic enough to say get that shit out of here.  

Kens: Change Your Look

Hey Guy, you don't seem that into this chick. (I don't blame you.) You you should probably make up your mind.

However, this douche hair you got and lipstick-verging lips are not about to fly. You, frankly, are not using any positive features to your advantage. They're being used to complete disadvantage. Don't be fooled by Barbie's on and off relationship; you don't want to look like Ken. It's time for you to be revamped!

Some girls find the "baby face" Ken look you have a go-for; the others don't. Unless, however, you can pull it off the right way!

-Sadly plastic surgery is unrealistic for the majority; I hear Carmex is addictive.

-Even if this tan you got is natural, I don't want to bask in this type of sunshine you're radiating. 

-Burls will get you no where in life. From a woman's point of view, picking up the tweezers is easy. Judging from the burl influx in the male population, it must not be easy for your masculinity. You're either gonna be plagued with these horrendous, overgrown brows for the rest of your life, or you better find a guy way of fixing them.

- The white polo dress shirt is nice. Nice for nice events. Maybe I'm being obtuse, but I don't think you are in a suit-attired situation. Save the dress shirts for then.

-Haircuts ARE necassary. The thick, waviness might work better with a shorter 'do so it doesn't throw off that vibe.

Reading too much into it? Perhaps! (must be a similar theme on this blog)

Just some thoughts.

Ah, hot air balloon.

The Ideal Life: travel by hot air balloons

An Inside Ant Battle: The Ants Are on Top of Their Shit

Breaking News!
Moments ago a granola bar wrapper was placed on a surface.
Attention was said to be diverted for approximately two mintues.
Suddenly, a casual glance down revealed several ants all ready going at the empty wrapper.
The ant swarm seems to be ready for battle.

I've Had Enough

Alright, Ant. That's it. You're on my shit list.

I didn't leave my white soda next to my bed so that I could get in on your family reunion. I can understand if one of you guys came around, but seriously Ant, did you have to bring the whole clan?? You're a fucking ant, I know how big your families tend to be. Armies, us humans call them. That's a pretty big number you're drawing into a way-too-close proximity to my sleeping quarters. Now you're going to have to watch as they are all burned to death in a lightning bolt of acidic Raid. Well, that's on you, Ant. You thought it would be a good idea to bring Ant Carol and Uncle Ant around for a free meal. Great, now they're dead! And so are you. (spritz spritz spritz)

I'm sorry you had to learn the hard way that there are no freebies in life.

photo: The Ant Bully

The Humans are Dead

Ah, yes. The lowest common denominator. An American classic!

Bragging to your boys that you got with that drunk chick? Hey, look at you. You've earned those gloating rights! That took a lot of charming on your part. But when it comes down to it, I have a sneaking suspicion you crave the approval of your fellow bros more than the presence of a female. Seems a little gay to me. Which I would be okay with, if you weren't trying to come off as the exact opposite. You're super masculine, god dammit! And you need everyone to know it.

Anyhoo, the picture above is of an actual iPhone app, full of classic lowbrow zingers. Spot on, I say! LCDs will eat this up with a spoon. Not even clever or inventive. Just lazy. The dumped girl eating ice cream out of the carton? Sheesh, this was a tired gag even when Sister Sister did it in the 90s. Get with the program!

'he Fuck?!

[actual photograph]

What the fuck man? You're straight trifling. Discarding your gross fake nails on the floor. You've got issues. Not only some insecurities about your fingernails, but littering is bad for all. Alright, so maybe you didn't intentionally put it there. Maybe it just fell off on your finger and onto the floor, and you didn't notice. (You better not have seen it fall and then left it there.) How embarrassing! But let's cut to the chase: 1. If you're going to wear fake nails at all, make sure they fucking stay on, and, 2. Get over yourself and try some nail polish.

If You Raise Your Hand One More Time

The sound of your voice makes me cringe inside. Seeing your hand, slowly at first, and then suddenly, shoot up to the sky, while your eyes beam towards the teacher makes me involuntarily roll my eyes. (Although I'd do it voluntarily.) I know what's coming, and I all ready don't like it. You're the person who answers rhetorical questions. You answer any question you hear with another mundane response. Even if this time it's something insightful, no one hears it, because no one has been paying attention to you since the first week of school. Why don't you just teach the class? I hear your voice more than the teacher's. You're opinion is tired, and I'd much prefer it on a secondary level, if I have to be subjected to it at all. The thing with a discussion is everybody contributes AND listens. Your contribute:listen ratio is skewed so far out of proportion that you need to shut up for about a year. I'll let you in on a secret: I've actually seen the teacher sigh when---once again---your hand was the only one available to call on.

Look At This Asshole

[picture from Google images]

40 degrees in October? I'm pissed already.
While I'm freezing my ass off getting from A to B, I was oh so lucky enough to spot you, a douche-at-first-sight. Just LOOK at this asshole! Wearing shorts and a t-shirt, just cruising around with that look on your face. I KNOW that you're cold. Please, don't try and tell me you're not. I might believe you if your skin was shielded in any way, but since there's a definite wind chill from the arctic blowing directly on your bare arms and legs, there's no way in hell you're comfortable. Period. Put a fucking jacket on and wipe off that asshole mug. No one wants to see that.

P.S. No one needs to be giving out the crazy eyes to a winter hat. It's cold, and anyone should know that warmth to your head is the first step.

Check Out This Douche

Here, we have the latest (albeit first) installment of COTD, or "cotid" if you will.

Spot the douche: can you find what's wrong with this picture?*

*1. If I counted right, D is wearing FIVE polos. What a catch!

*2. He angled this pic just right so that his Scarface poster was in view. Great job!

Check back weekly for more real-life douche photos! Hell, send us some of your own if you got 'em! You could have them featured on this prominent website.

Picture props to photobucket.com. Next week's photo will be an Emmag(ann?) original, I just got lazy.

Hasslers, man

Don't be a hassler. That's not the kind of reputation you want haunting you. It was a horrible twist of fate that I ended up sitting next to you, so let's just try and make this as painless as possible. Is that fair? Coming late into this exam, it dawns on me why the seat next to you was the only one open. Everyone else could sense it. And by "it" i mean they knew you to be The Hassler Douche. My fellow classmates were smart enough to get here when other seats were available, and I envy them.

I blame you, Hassler Douche. It isn't necessary to attempt a newfound "bestie" status with the stranger sitting adjacent. I just woke up from a nap, I feel terrible, and unlike you, I probably am legitimately unprepared for this test. I don't need you cracking jokes in my direction about how hard this test will be to get me on your side. I will never be. Oh, you are a worthy foe, I'll give you that. I sense that you are going to be a challenge. Yeah, ok, I'm up to it. But just how far will I have to go to shut you down, or at the very least, shut you up? In a better world, I would stand, find a comfy spot on the floor, and continue with my test there. Free of Hassler Douche.

The Life of the Party

Want to know the truth? Because the title suggests the exact opposite. Oh, the irony.

So anyway, you're an asshole. The buzzkill. Ouch. Quite a reputation you've made for yourself already, even though I've been in this car all of 30 seconds. That's quite a record in my book. Great job!

I mean, two hot chicks (that's us!) just hopped in next to you and, like most who interact socially, asked you your name. You decide to withhold this information to the point of no-holds-barred dick. “Suck my balls, I don’t gotta tell you my name! Get the fuck outta this car if you don’t like it!” Well, you certainly know how to make a first impression, I’ll give you that much. Now, I can tell this guy is frustrated. Not because he’s so keen to make a douche of himself, but because two ahead-of-the-curve assholes (that’s us!) just infringed on his bro-time in the car. He wants to be the biggest asshole, dammit! Pardon me. I was only invited in, ya dope! I was shocked that your buds didn’t use their feet to shove you out of the car. I know I was pretty close. I’m pretty sure these dudes would rather you left than force out the already overwhelmingly small female ratio. It’s all about the ratio, after all.

Your problem is you haven’t stumbled upon the true brilliance of being the asshole. You just need to fine-tune your disposition. It’s all about subtlety, man! Let’s sit down some time, just the two of us. I could teach you a thing or two about the grace of a beguiling a-hole.

Oh, now you're really pushing it

Nice. No, actually, I'm appalled. I just feel like you're really trying to push me over the edge on this one. Oh, I know what you're thinking- It's October, so it's time to break out a few costume-y pieces. I'll just say one thing: Big mistake. You really can't wait two weeks to bring these horrifying stretch pants out of the closet? Quite frankly, I think setting fire to the two-legged fiasco in a towering blaze would be appropriate. Just my two cents. Did you really think that smothering your legs in neon pink polyester was the best way to get the boys in American Government to notice your obscene camel toe? Just picturing you pulling those faux-pants over your thighs gives me the chills; I really feel I have lost all connection to humanity, if someone thought that this was a necessary addition to their wardrobe. Excluding Halloween. And even then I have my doubts. Leggings are not pants, and they are not to be worn as such. End of story.

Note from ed. :

Ok, we've been covering a lot of fashion blunders lately, and we'll try and cover some new territory. There is never a shortage of material! So don't worry about that. Because for a second there I feel like you were. I just felt that this disturbing item could not go ignored. I'm sure you won't disagree.

4 a.m.

Hey. You. Yeah, you there who decided 4 a.m. was an appropriate time for a snack. You're the reason we're standing in the parking lot in our pajamas with 400 of our closest friends at this ungodly hour. You can stand there and try to look inconspicuous in your boxers, but by morning the word will be out on how difficult you find the instructions on the back of the Ramen packet.

You're probably the kid that tried to dry his jeans in the microwave freshman year, too. Please, stop trying. This complex technology is obviously above you.

Gatherings Beware

So you got really excited to go chill with [friend/acquaintance/possible D.] You arrive to the event, and unbeknown-st to you, some others were invited and this is a gathering. Regrettably, you detect some Ds. Typical! You've changed your mind of this attendance decision all ready. You should have known. Thoughts about how long you actually have to stay and when is the "just making an appearance" cut off run through your head; you crave a u-turn. You're lucky if you just came from the giving tree*.

Say a gathering decides to pop in a movie, you know you're in for a treat. Hands down there will be that douche who repeats every line of the lame comedy [description confirmed on account of the giving tree's gift] everyone thought was a good idea. Great Job! The D's seen this movie more than once. It's retarded, and it sucks to be you. That zinger was let alone painful enough to hear from the actor, but man did D for real have to repeat it .01 seconds afterward? Oh, please. Shut the fuck up all ready.


Sometimes worse than a movie scenario, is a gathering regulated by drinking games. Don't get sucked into playing anything with the sort of title like "fuck the dealer" or "cannonball." You can drink a beer without someone counting your gulps. You don't feel like mindlessly guessing a single card out of fifty-two nor do you think this is fun. Preferably you'd sit aloof [giving tree gave well tonight!] and in disbelief as to why every single one of them is playing that game. Alright, so if you gotta be an alcoholic a guilty participant sometime, you bet you better make it fun. A for real card game that requires some strategy is the way to go, obviously. Spades and drinking! Win-Win! Unfortunately, when there are Ds around, making this happen can be rare.

Hopefully you're smart enough to have pre-gamed and came prepared to this gathering [lord knows the giving tree is waitin for ya.] Somehow, and no one ever knows how this happens, the situation takes a right angle: the douchebags here are also squares. Crazy eye's focused on your drink? Seriously? Everyone else and their dad can enjoy a glass of wine or whiskey. In fact there are others here doing just that. Don't your nose up to me, D. No one is interested in (and isn't going to bother) your "clean" life style, so don't worry about mine. Next time consider peacefully declining something you think is unhealthy rather than dishing the shit out, which is point blank unhealthy for all.

All in all, sometimes the only gathering you need is with the giving tree.

 *a visit with Mary Jane

The Weekend Update

Hey, you. Yeah, you sitting there in the row in front of me. It's Monday again, and here we are in biology lecture. I was wondering if today I could opt out of your weekly weekend update? See, you're talking awfully loud and I can't hear the professor. And you're right, I don't want to listen to Dr. Whozit droning on about molecules for fifty excruciating minutes today. But the thing is, I want to listen to you even less.

If I'd woken up today and decided it wasn't a day for biology, well then I wouldn't have gotten out of bed. But since I put in so much effort to rouse and clothe myself, please try to contain the summary of your gloriously fratty weekend to under thirty minutes.

(P.S. For someone who was "so fucking wasted" that he doesn't "remember a fucking thing from Saturday night," you're giving us an awful lot of details of Saturday night.)

Remedy the D's

You find yourself stuck at a party that has unfortunately been flocked by a swarm of D's. If devastating circumstances make you unable to hit the U, at least try and have some fun before you leave. Also keep in mind: the maximum number of drinks in this particular situation is necessary. You must remember that these people are [drunk] stage 3 douchebags.
The best way to act when your gettin' hit some real "clever" comments by some Ds is to throw 'em back with a curve ball.

Some dude thinks his motorcycle will impress: "Oh cool...you drove your motorcycle here? I sure hope it's not a goddamn Harley Davidson!" [Laughter.] [Silence.] Confused? Hurt? The D with the Harley is too.
The next douche tries to make you laugh by cracking a joke at one of his friends' expense; just give him a blank stare and then blatantly inform him you think he's lying. You could spot that lie from a mile away and calling him out is what needed to be done. Perhaps he wasn't lying, you'll still genuinely piss him off. Success!
D-bags are full of talk that will literally make you bite your tongue. Sometimes when you've simply had your limit, it's way too hard to resist messing with them. Be an asshole for a day! The D certainly deserves it.

Well, well, well

Look who's the bitch of the station.

I hate to say it, but no one is taking you seriously on that 1995 Schwinn of yours. I guess that big pay raise you were pining for went to Bob in the Parks Department. Well, there's always next year! But for now, you can rest easy tonight knowing you've taken one less bike-traffic offender off the streets. Noble. Keep that in mind when your fellow officers are pointing and tittering behind your back and when your wife decides it's time to move out.

At what point did your life take this horrible turn? Get back to me.

Muscle Shirts: Society in Disgrace

There's something to be said for self-respect. I see you wearing that muscle-baring shirt with gaping armholes, revealing the entirety or your torso (complete with male side-boob), and I see someone who wishes to clue the world in on their absurd delusional fantasy. In what situation is it necessary to have arm holes that big? I've got a hint for you, Mr. Exposed Hip-Bone. There isn't one. Oh, you need the breathing room? For those oh-so-sculpted 'ceps, I assume.

Look pal, I don't know if its your weight trainer or your gym buddy, but someone is giving you the wrong idea. You simply don't have an impressive physique. Nor the vast muscles that your "tank" (what do I even call this catastrophe?) seems to suggest you do.

No, somehow I get the feeling your shoulder would fit comfortably in an arm hole about 8x smaller. Just a hunch.

Note from ed.

A sure-fire way to douche-detect:

1. Observe a male firgure.

2. If this woven bit of cotton is on his back, make a beeline for the opposite direction. There is no excuse for this attire. Not one, do you hear me?

(Seriously, I don't care if it's just hanging out of his gym bag, take a hike!)

Fill me in on your thought process here

I can tell you one thing: this guy has no reason to be smiling coyly for the cameraman. No need to attempt any seduction, I recoiled the instant I caught a glimpse of your pitiful coif.

We've mentioned hair gel quite a bit on this young blog, and, as we like to say around here, it's time to get down to the douche. Time to take a look at this overwhelming issue and address it in full.

You're walking down the street, minding your own business, when SHAZ-WALLAKABOOM that diligently-sculpted mohawk enters your field of vision. You know the one I mean. The one that looks like Bobby NoGood woke up extra early to perfect. As the kids are saying these days, the "faux-hawk." Your nice day is ruined with the vibe of douche. Poor bastard doesn't even recognize the fashion faux-pas he is committing with this over-gelled mess of a hairdo. I didn't know this was something that needed spelling out, but apparently it is necessary: no fellas should be sportin a 'do. Think about it. The words "faux" and "hawk" defining your hairstyle? It's obvious to me you didn't give this a good thinking-over. When good old mom took you to Walmart to pick out some fancy hair products, she wasn't doing you any favors. Next time you have that plastic bottle in your hand, I want you to stop and think. You're not just hurting yourself, you're hurting everyone around you. Think of your little brother, who looks up to you. Do you really want him to catch you in the act of styling your locks? Make the right choice. Put it down, and try keeping your hands clean. It will do you a world of good.

The "just-had-a-run-in-with-a-faux-hawk":

Hey, a rainbow!

You've Got To Be Kidding Me

You're typing at roughly 5 words per minute because it is as if you're outside in the midst of a mid-December blizzard. You just walked into a room and your two-hour-old water bottle that was sitting out has a crisp cold taste. Your laptop, made of aluminum, is fresh out the freezer underneath your hands. [Stops to breath hot air on hands.] Okay it's not freezing outside, ringing in at a nice 70 degrees. This does not justify leaving the AC on like its mid-July. [Note taken at this time: thermostat reads 62 degrees.] No one wants to live in an igloo, unless they're in Alaska. [Takes break to warm hands underneath down blanket.]

An hour-long class in a room filled with a hundred people: subjected to having to sit, shivering, in a room the temperature of arctic winds. The temperature outside reads 66 degrees; excuse me, I forgot my parka. Actual Human Photo (of someone else in the same room): are you kidding me guy? It's fuckin freezing in here, and you're wearing that. Nonetheless, it's 66 degrees outside, and you're wearing that. [Stayed tuned for Fashion is Danger: Muscle Shirts.] Bonus: you've got cargo shorts!

Alas! A beloved attic, sitting atop a fine house, once spotted having a recorded temperature of 59 degrees in the summertime. [Moments ago: relief from a faucet of flowing hot water.] In this house, it is as if heat didn't rise. Summer is wintertime, and wintertime is unbearable.

Absurd

Sexy. Lusty. Foxy. Red-Hot.

Unfortunately, none of these words describe you. I don’t care how much money you spent on that costume at Party City. You look ridiculous. I’m guessing you spent well over $50 for that sexy referee getup. Because that makes sense. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen a female referee, specifically one wearing hotpants at a children’s soccer game.

This fad has escalated to the point of no return. It’s probably not going away anytime soon. Know why? Because hos love dressing up in some nonsensical prostitution garb, come All Hallow’s Eve, way too much. These bitches love the thrill of “Oh, tee hee, I’m dressed like a bad girl. I’m going to get so much attention!” Yeah, except every other ho is wearing the same costume. I don’t think I could handle it if I heard another chick quote that line from Mean Girls. You know the one I mean. Where she says Halloween is the one night where a girl can dress like a skank and no one can say anything. For reasons beyond me, girls tend to believe this is fact. Believe it or not, I still think you’re a skank.

Okay, okay, maybe I see where you’re coming from. Being a butterface and all, this is the one time you can attract any male attention. But I don’t think putting together a sexy chef costume is really going to do the trick. Seriously, a chef? Apparently all you have to do is work in some exposed cleavage and tramp stamp action and VOILA! You’re a slutty chef. Even though the only thing identifying you as a chef is that ludicrous hat.

Do I even need to mention the dudes costumed as Chippendales dancers? They won’t get away with this, I’ll tell you that much.

This Makes Sense

Why the hell are you stretching on a treadmill? You would be the asshole who does this. You're much too important to bother with the fellow gym goers waiting for an open treadmill. When you're at the gym, this is YOUR time. You care not that only about 3 people are waiting for your sweaty ass to hit the showers, because you have to do your little stretches first.

Look at you. Putting on some tight spandex and bending over in such a fashion says something about you, and it says you need to stop trying so hard. Hoping to catch a glance from Johnny B. Jones over there? Guess what. He isn't the least bit interested in those flabby buns. At most, he's probably glad to see you're making an effort to make changes in your life. You know what that means? You're fat. All that work and nothing to show for it. You might as well not even use the machine in the first place. Stop wasting my time.

The Cargo Pant

Its here! Its innovative! Its pursewear for men!

Gents-

Have you found yourself having to lug around all your possessions? Do you need a place to store your multitude of needless items? Well look no further than the cargo pant. Don't worry about having to carry around all that shit in your hands. Just stuff 'em down your pants!

Ok, now let's be serious. Sorry, but in almost no situation will a man need more than 3 items to carry around. And generally speaking, a standard pair of pants has 4 pockets. More than enough.

I'm gonna let you in on something. Cargo should only be used to describe a ship. So what does that say about your choice of duds? It says that unless you're transporting goods across an ocean, the word cargo shouldn't be used to describe your wardrobe.

Alright, alright. Unless you're an inexperienced woodsman out pitching a tent, you could stand to lose the cargos. Indeed, if you are a fisherman, I can probably let it slide. But showing up to your afternoon algebra class in that getup just isn't cutting it. When you've crossed the line into legal adulthood, Cargo Douche, this can't be justified. Put 'em away, friend.

The D-Bags of Facebook

Oh, here we go. Facebook. D-bags love it, and they can't get enough of it.

Let's just say you're surfing over to Facebook to read a wall post that Facebook notified you of. Convenient, right? Wrong. Because now you will be exposed to the excruciating details of your Friends' lives. Oh, you're watching the VMAs? Kanye West did what?? Spare me. Better yet, spare me your "goodnight fb" status. FB won't miss you overnight, Becky.

Moving along, you, Facebook Douche, are the one whose profile resembles the following.

1. -Your picture is always you surrounded by your friends. You apparently have a rule for this in which "no exceptions" applies.

-You are posing with the Hooters waitresses. Really? You're not fooling anyone. This says "douche" more than it says "playa."

-Your senior pictures. You look better with airbrushing, I'll give you that. But we all know what you're trying to do. You're throwing your line out to sea, hoping to catch the compliment catfish. Remember though, only your besties think you look simply stunning in that pic.

2. -Your status is a totally gay song reference. i.e. "Love Drunk" (especially, ESPECIALLY if you're a dude)

-Your status suggests you are doing something that takes less than 5 minutes to do.

3. Your interests include partying and beer pong.

4. Your favorite music is Nickelback and Kenney Chesney.

5. Your favorite TV shows include, but are not limited to: The Hills, Sex and the City (seriously?), Family Guy, and "MTV shows."

6. Your favorite movies include, but are not limited to: Scarface, The Notebook, Sex and the City: The Feature Film (seriously?), and Twilight.

7. -Your quotes are lines of famous philosophers that don't reflect your lifestyle in any way.

-You quote yourself. Wow, kudos.

8. Your favorite book is I Don't Read. This one has been on the best-seller list for a while. (zing!)

9. You are In a Relationship with someone named Tanner.

10. Your About Me section gives stats that only your doctor should be made aware of. You weigh 120 lbs.? Who'd have known. 5'7" ? That's good, I'm starting to put together a mental image. Jesus, anyone looking at your profile should know that you have brown hair and a tan. Yeah, a tan. Stop wasting my time.

11. You have 1000+ pictures. Frankly one is too many, Ms. Sally McNoface. No one cares about your trip to High Hill and who you went with. You have no business documenting every move you make and slapping it on Facebook for the whole world to (not) see. Stop worrying about taking a good Facebook pic and at least try and enjoy you're trip to High Hill. Am I right?

These Hoes

Let's not forget that d-bags can most certainly include girls. Considering the typical phrase "look at these douchebags," I usually just go ahead and say, "look at these hoes," if referring to a female D.

Imagine walking down the sidewalk and seeing some cute identical toddler twins dressed in the same 'fit. I'm not going to mess with those two. Now imagine seeing this again, only it's a group of girlfriends your own age: dressed in the same [with slight pattern/color variations] "trendy" outfit, all going to the same place, looking exactly the same. Bleh. You guys are reeeeeal original. Creative even. Maybe this will help onlookers dwell on your glorious face. Oh wait, I'm distracted by your ridiculous clown makeup and overly bleached [white] hair. We're all well past the awkward stage of newly-discovered makeup. At this point in your life, you should have it figured out. Be aware of what actually works, maybe even be talented in the application process. Unfortunately for some hoes, the matching of one neutral color to another is a complete incapability resulting in a terrible "cake face."

However, if this isn't the case, then rest assured they've got that tan. Still not fooling anyone! I know for a fact that there's not a beach anywhere in sight or any other route to get that dark by natural sunlight. We all know that you went and bought a weekly package at your favorite tanning salon. Hell, you even dropped mad stacks on a highway-robbery priced bottle of bronzing lotion. And just like that you're verging on a wrinkly face with 'coon eyes like a grandma Oompa-Loompa in Florida. We are all guilty of wanting a little color here and there, but when you accumulate too much time in the "salon" I can tell that you didn't just get back from a fun time in Los Angeles, but a rather sunny trip to Hollywood Tan. There is indeed a difference.

All in all: get off your cell phone for once in your life, find a way to acquire your own alcohol that doesn't involve stealing mine, learn how to make your self look presentable, and stop making stupid poses for the pictures you take every thirty seconds.
Just a thought.

For Reference: The Stages of Douchebaggery

Stage 1: This is the lowest level of douche. Though ultimately non-threatening, these individuals tread dangerous waters. They risk continuing their douchey behavior until they have taken it to the next level. These douches favor Dave Matthews, wear cargo pants (see below), and wear baseball caps every day of the week. Generally bearable, though very adamant in their terrible taste in alternative-pop music. (Don't ever mention to me that your favorite band is Boys Like Girls.)


Stage 2: D-bags who have transcended into the second hierarchy of douche. These guys dig hair gel and pop their shirts off as much as possible. Only bearable for a short period of time. Ones who are "looking to get fuckin' drunk tonight" will generally pass into Stage 3 by the end of the night, so be wary of Stage 2 Douche.


Stage 3: Highest level on the douche chain-o-command. Oftentimes, these individuals are so far gone they have no hope of ever being tolerable. Avoid at all costs. These douches typically try and impress with their knowledge of all things "badass." They walk around with crude ironic slogans on their TTT (too tight tees), generally favor mainstream tattoos, and tend to believe they are good-looking. These individuals have proven themselves capable of reaching douche-at-first-sight status.

That's Not Working

Nope. Stop right there. That is not working.

Let's start here: you are not attractive. You think having a toned bod sets you ahead of other dudes, therefore making you a prime choice for the hot chicks. You are sadly mistaken.

Firstly, you're hair is gelled. Strike one. I know you like to get dolled up for the club, but this won't fly here. Also, you may have a plain face, but I don't need you to put in your faux-green contacts to make your eyes pop. It's pretty pointless when girls do this, but even more so when you're a dude. It just doesn't add up. But then you take it a step further and drape a sea-shell adorned necklace around your neck. Wow. Original. I get you're going for the whole "laid-back west-coast surfer" vibe, but you're in the heart of buttfuck Missouri. Oh, that's good, unbutton your shirt a little. Or a lot. That way everyone here can catch a glimpse of your meticulously waxed chest. Success. Although you'd like to believe otherwise, this and your freshly bronzed face gave you away as a hopeless douche chill the second you entered that door. Tough crowd, I guess.

Fashion is Danger: Part 2: Hey, There's a Douchebag!

Camouflage: a hard subject. For the record: douchebag. Okay, there are some instances when you can pull it off ( i.e. hunting). But walking around in full blown camouflage is not okay.

“One of my favorite clothing patterns is camouflage. Because when you're in the woods it makes you blend in. But when you're not it does just the opposite. It's like, 'hey, there's an asshole.'” - Demetri Martin, I love you.

Camouflage cargo pants? Bonus. (Stay tuned for the upcoming Fashion is Danger post featuring cargo pants. Should be a winner.) In my opinion the army should have kept some sort of sufficient grasp on camouflage and not let it go. Camouflage in daily fashion is a travesty. Girls in camo? You've lost any way of proving your sanity to me.
I feel sorry for the douches out there shopping in their favorite stores (this really could go in all different directions: Hot Topic, Hollister, Uncle Sam's) when they see that camo and are inherently drawn to it. They shouldn't even be tempted; we all know they'll give in and go for it. If you're a first-class hunter, then you know to keep the camo to the woods. So don't even play, douchebags! Don't try and give me the "I'm going hunting later" excuse. You know damn well that you fell into the camouflage trap when shopping at American Eagle with your mom.
Just a thought.


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Turn That Shit Off

Nice subs, brah! Just kidding for real. Get your shitty-ass car out of here, as well as your shitty-ass music. No one, I repeat: NO ONE, wants to hear your excessively loud bass blasting away the top 40 pop song whilst waiting for that way-too-long red light. Unbeknownst to you, you're a douchebag. Maybe if the sound quality was up, or the taste in music for that matter, I might give it to you. But by all means, you're driving a Dodge Stratus! PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER. If you, however, were driving a nice car (obviously, I'll be the judge) I might leave you alone. We're all guilty of glancing over at the guy next to us in the BMW, complete with good taste in music. (Perhaps I'm speaking for myself?) If you're this dude, play your music as loud as you want: I'll come listen. But if you're not, and the majority of you aren't, TURN YOUR SHIT OFF.
Just a thought.

Fashion Is Danger

On the way to the office, I see. Wait a tick, it's nighttime! Saturday night, to be more specific. Ah, you must be going to a high-class event. No? A friend's basement party? Right. Well I'm not sure who told you that blazers were the new black v-neck, but I think they were messing with you. Try not to take such comments to heart. I mean, no one else is wearing a blazer at their friend's lame basement party. Know why? Because it is not lame basement party attire. Jesus, get your shit together. Try and fit in, will you? Not only have you made this mistake once, but you decided to keep the joke going when it was far past being funny. Saturday nights (I should say, every Saturday night) is not an occasion to sport a fancy black jacket.

Rule of thumb: Don't be the douche in question by showing off your Men's Wearhouse sport coat. Opt for a simpler wind breaker.

Just a Quick Before-Thought

To the 3 (possibly 1) of you reading this site:

As of Sept. 19, 2009, Just Douche has launched! It's official. We've made it, in the technological sense of things. But we have far to go. We have already begun the shameless process of pimping out our ad space. Google for life!

If you're one of those individuals that needs everything to be explained, here goes:

1.) This blog is, in fact, dedicated to douchebags. Not to be confused with an actual douche, in the literal sense of the word. (As in "just douche it," which seems to come up when Just Douche is googled. Ignore this.) Prepare for the terms "douche," "douchenozzle," "douchey," and "douchebag" to be thrown around profusely. Don't be alarmed if something non-douche related is brought up, because rest assured you will have a healthy dosage of douche coming your way.

You got that? Write that down.

-Management

Get the hell out

I'm sorry you're old. It's going to happen to all of us. Believe me, I'm not looking forward to it. But just because you're as bored as us young folk doesn't mean you need to be creeping on Facebook, too. I don't need to be reminiscing about some priceless pictures from last night or posting profanities on my friend's page, only to see dear great-aunt Cindy posting about the family reunion, or better yet, her potato garden. It was meant for college students, and by george, it should have stayed that way. A run-in with a teacher on the F book? As close to awkward as seeing them in the grocery store (except without their knowledge of the occurrence). Even more awkward when you see that some of your friends are mutual. Hmmm.

Just a thought.

That'll Do

Oh, you're shrewd. For you, Bingo Night will not be about the possibility of winning a bottle of Pepsi. That's not what you came for. No, tonight is your chance to make it as a stand-up comic. After Sally C. Regibold announces next round's prize, it's your turn to shine. You're not satisfied with the university's chosen prize of Gatorade, so you throw down suggestions. Sniggering at your own quick wit, "HOW BOUT SOME BUD LIGHT?" Ah, you clever bastard, why didn't I think of it first?? You're well on your way to being the next Jay Leno! Instead of actually partaking in the drink-fest that is Friday after 10, you would rather announce your drink of choice to a crowd of alcohol-free bingo-ers. It is obvious that you are striving to peak on the douche-o-meter, because to you, holding douche status means you can say whatever comes to mind. Good for you. We all reap the benefits of your comic genius.

Even worse than Douche1? Douche2. He looks over his shoulder to smile appreciatively at Douche1's first-rate shout-reference to cheap beer. Congratulations, you made a friend. Douchebags, unite!

The Minimized Friend

You have a Skype account. Bravo.

If we can all morally get past this fact, we can get down to the douche. A chat with a friend is okay every once in a while. Great job, you've stayed in touch. What's not okay is minimizing that friend! In the background of your Tetris game? I don't think so. I demand your full attention. This brings up another point: typing while you're having a Skype conversation. If you can be discreet---not get caught---go for it. But if you're one of those Mozarts over there, playing around on the keys, you better think twice. I can hear you, shit is loud!

With many things, a line must be drawn. Sitting a few rows behind you, or even a row for that matter (douches abound), I'm going to see your laptop's window. And I'm going to make fun of you if you're Skyping your friend. In the middle of class.
Just a thought.


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