Good god, lady

So this being my first post on JD, I wanted to make it count. I wanted to come in with a bang. That being said I expected to have to wait a hot minute for the perfect D to come around. Little did I know, said D would fall into my lap in a matter of days.

I had nothing but bad feelings when your sketchy ass started walking over. But honestly I wasn’t that upset when you asked to use my phone, after all I was awaiting our sober ride in the MOJO’s parking lot. So yeah, sure thing, go ahead, but it may be a little querky, it’s led a rough life. So I understood once who ever the fuck you called didn’t pick up, you discarded my phone for my buddies for try number two. I was even mildy acceptable when, while taking your sweet time dialing, you asked a fellow acquaintance for a cigarette and were rewarded. Of course, you need a lighter too. All of this is actually ok, but you sealed your fate with you next move, D. At this point in time our sober ride had shown, and we are waiting on the D to finish her phone call so we can roll the fuck out. Clearly you realize this, as we all move towards the vehicle. Still taking your time, once you’re done you have the nerve to ask for.. wait… what? A ride!? Who the fuck do you think you are? Do you see the back seats in that coupe? They’re about as small as your brain lady, and we already have to use them both. Had you been asking me, you would have been hoofing it to the gas station to meet buster brown. But alas, my highly intoxicated friend has graciously granted your request. That’s my seat bitch! You’re lucky the girl that kindly gave you a cigarette also kindly offered to give me a ride home. Otherwise I would have protested outright, there’s no way I’m waiting here while you get taxied around. And on top of all this, to change destinations mid-trip because “he’s not there”, while still smoking talked about cigarette in a usually smoke-free vehicle? You’ve got some nerve D, some nerve.

He's not gay! He's European.

Hey all, this is JustDouche coming at ya from Europe! Thought douchebags were an American thing? Think again!

Look at that guy over there, the one in the tight jeans and the hair that took longer to style than that of every girl in this room. I can't wait to run my fingers through your rock-hard gooped up hair. That tight shirt ripping across your biceps and that choker from the 1990's go great with the faux hawk. But the best are those patent leather atrocities on your feet (do they have heels?). Do you employ a shoe shiner?

But don't worry ladies, he's not gay, he's just Eurofabulous.

My Apologies

Listen. I don't pretend to be a thoughtful, compassionate person. I'm about as self-serving as they come, wallowing away in a pool of my own hedonism. So when you offered to "get me in backstage" for free, well, that was the only reason I accepted. And let's face it, this is a no-face jazz group with virtually no hand. So it's not like I'm getting a free platter of crab rangoon and fried rice here. No, it's just a perk, getting to save the $15 I had almost no intention of spending to see your "needs work" band anyway. Simply put, the Rum n' Cokes jotted down your number with the intent to get in free, whilst you misinterpreted the "get in free" part. Sorry, nope, I won't be calling you back. So when I run into you the next day (ya got me again, universe) I don't want to hear about how you're all hot and bothered that I, uh, blanked out on the whole calling you business. Not to mention the fact that you're a good decade older than me.

Lemme Get That

Alright, Mr. Nachos. I'm callin' in a favor. What better way to end a night of heavy drinking than with some cheapo mexican cuisine? Some cheese-flavored nachos? I'll bite.

(Though scrumptious beyond measure, they will be paid for in more ways than one.)

I mean no offense, but I will admit it wasn't your winning good-looks that grabbed my attention. I saw you wolfing down that jalapeno-covered mess and thought, hey, i'd like some of that. Why wait in line like an idiot when I can surreptitiously steal one of your own nachos? I am hungry, after all. Like a classy lady, I heft up what little cleavage there is to bear and seductively (ouch) ask for one of those tasty-lookin' nachos. Close (?) but no cigar. Literally, since apparently I "reek of cigarettes." Oh yeah? Well you reek of bromance and self-disdain, heh heh. I see you there with your only two friends, eating your emotions like Tamara who just got rejected to the Sadie-Hawkins dance. Boo hoo. Lemme get that nacho!

Generosity shining through, you admit that you don't give nachos to smokers. Well, la di dah, aren't you the pick of the litter. That's discrimination, if you ask me. You didn't? Well I suggest you and Rob Reiner settle the task by visiting your vacation home in Hawaii. Or Mexico, whichever it is, ya snooty bastard.

Great

I've signed and sealed an envelope to Windows Live-Bullshit-Email of high priority compliant.*
Unfortunately the student email that I have to use sans choice uses this email. You might originally think this type of email address would be classified as "this means business." Apparently not. Curse who ever decided it'd be helpful to include the address of every single other classmate you have, in a class-by-class list. You've provided the douches of the world to create their own kind of spam email. And you bet it's fucking annoying.
Right around the same time the bad news that all of my teachers decided to send around emails about upcoming tests and other bullshit, now I'm aware that a big game is coming up. Some lazy ass scalper you are, douche. Not every 200 or so person in this class is interested in buying your ticket. If you want to make some money on your season tickets find another way to do it, cause this isn't cutting it.
Just when I thought trying to sell tickets was crossing the line, another douche created their own version of "online shopping." Everyone should now be realizing that the Uggs are getting out of hand. But what's even more out of hand is that you're sending out a mass email asking if any one is interesting in buying your embarrassing pair. Gross, man. I'm also not even going to begin to think about giving you $90 for an old coach or chanel purse that you probably think is the real deal. To top it all off, absolutely no one is going to give you a quick buck for some GODDAMN old tennis shoes! Seriously just throw them away or donate them somewhere. Get a handle on life. 




*not really-I'm a member of the lazy community

Riddle Me This One

Facebook is starting to become common language now, whether we like it or not. Our mothers are on it, even Pep Pep is commenting on your status. This leads me to "Riddle Me This One," when a status is just too good to pass up. What were these D's thinking when Facebook asked them what the hell was on their mind? D's: You have to realize these are permanently up for grabs on the internet, associated with your inner-douche.
"oil change and taxes today....hpoe i get a million bagillion dollars back...if i do ill take everyone out to eat :) " 
- Mr. Moneybags
If you read this wonderfully insightful status, the smiley face probably threw you off. A younger,  uhh, gentlemen posted this one. I sincerely hope you get a million "bagillion" dollars back too on your tax return, but I don't even know how much money that'd be. A bagillion? Really? 
"i just wanna fucking know why im not good enough for him." 
-Ouch
When I saw this one I did a double take. Um? Well for starters, now we all are aware that you fell below standards, and the rest of the entire ">">fucking"< world knows now too. But you consciously chose to initiate this rapid process, way to go! I start to think how in the blazin' would you even begin to think of putting this up as your status, but then you see the comments. They're just what you hoped for--some sympathy from your "friends." All I can say is that I hope whoever Him is sees this and gives you an honest reply, it'll be another shocker.