Lola Revealed

Are you for serious? I wish I were lying right now, despite the humor of the situation. You see folks, Lola, a class-A douche, just whizzed by me only to reveal an even bigger douche as an owner. Oh jeeze: a walking Barbie. However, these days Barbie has got you beat on style, I'm afraid. Riding a baby pink moped around in head to toe shades of pink is not okay. Bright pink sneaks and socks, hot pink gym shorts, a light pink tank top and jacket, and a sparkly PINK tote bag. You might as well be Midge Monochromatic. What are you doing even going anywhere dressed like this, let alone riding around on your pink moped. You know what? Barbie seems like she'd be really annoying to be around. She's constantly got a "fuck you" grin. Her hair looks exactly the same, all the time, until it turns into a rat's nest. She's always stiff and standing on her tippy toes, and she wears Velcro clothes. Her voice is probably about as annoying as the one in the Barbie dream house commercial: overly excited and singly. Lola, I don't think you want to be whizzing by or walking around like this or even giving off this vibe. My first advice is to lose the moped. (Don't worry, even I won't care if you ride a pink bike around.) Secondly, never buy anything pink again. Perhaps I just caught you on a bad day--when you happened to be decked out in literally everything pink--but I suspect the majority of your belongings are 90% pink. I forgot to mention she was wearing a pink helmet, too.

What a Catch!

You, my good sir, must have quite a way with the ladies. Oh, I know what you're thinking. "Why, yes, I do! After all, I have learned how to jitterbug. And bonus- I'm wearing a vest!"

All right, so ya know how to move those feet. Good for you. Though to be fair, Douche, your overall competish is a sea of middle-aged, classical music-loving museum patrons sporting ill-fitting Dockers.) Your shit ain't that hot! When you were reviewing your outfit in the mirror before a "night on the town" (impromptu swing dancing in the front of a history museum) I bet you thought that vest would be the deal-breaker for potential dance partners. You just knew they wouldn't be able to resist. Seriously, though, you're decked out like you gotta hit up your wait-table job at the clubhouse after this. Sir, may I have another apple martini?

Yeah, and props to random guy trying to show you up with his dance partner. By that look on your face, you're not havin' it at all. "Why, this is my dancefloor, dammit! And boy howdy, look at me go!"

Well Swing D, you're certainly making Couple-to-Your-Left look bad. Now while they look like they're begging for death while they perfect the "creepy sway," you are swirling and dipping like nobody's business. Right on!

Here's You

"Line up, girls!"

You are not a model, correct?

Because I don't know what advertisement has Creepy Jock's Basement as their primary shooting backdrop. You're givin me the ol' "hand on hip" classic like nobody's business (see above). In what is essentially every picture I'm skimming through. Now I'm not pointing any fingers, but I'm betting you guiltlessly pursue the text of cheesy "How To Look Good in Photographs" Yahoo articles. And this is what they told you to do, is it? Fixed gaze, rigid legs (one out in front of the other) and angled chin? Caught you red-handed.

Douche Like Its Your Job

There's nothing worse than waking up to someone mowing their lawn. Should I curse the douche merely cutting his grass or myself for leaving the window open? Well in the case of today it was the douche trying to MOW THE SIDEWALK! What the pancakes are you doing?!? That piercing, screeching noise is the blades scraping the concrete, dumb-ass douche. My whole day might be ruined. I could have let it slide if perhaps it was just a few seconds, a whoops-e-daisy, and you got the mower back on track--in the grass. However, you must have thought a jungle was growing on the sidewalk because you proceeded to mow around the entire walkway, five minutes of nails on a chalkboard. What's going on? Really, I don't know why you're doing this, and how you're even putting up with the noise being right next to (and producing, goddamnit!) the source. I'm definitely not still drunk & delusional because my head is swimmin' this morning--okay afternoon--and this chronic, painful noise may make me come out there and do something rash. Pardon me, but I'm lazy, so I'll just call you a douche.