Douche Bags

I loves me some me.
:waves Rolex in the air:
:bro-​fives mom n pops:

Douche-​bauchery. ewwwww!

Is there anything worse than being a douche bag? Maybe a recycled douche bag in theory, but c’mon! I mean, you are a device used to clean out a female vulva; then afterwards, you are discarded into a toilet and flushed down a sewage drain, where you’ll snake your way through a maze of rusted pipes until reaching open water and uniting with other waste disposed members. Eventually, the oceans lowest form of filth on the food-​chain: feeder fish, will use your gnarly nutrients as a form of life sustainment. Chewed up and swallowed you will travel through its digestive tract until exiting the fish as fecal matter and settling atop the ocean floor. Now depending on the moon’s pattern and its lunar effect on the oceanic tides, said matter will either find its way to a cavernous abyss where it will decompose in complete darkness; or get pushed over to the nearest beach and get trampled on by volleyball players with enflared cases of athlete’s foot. Man, that ain’t no way to go.
For those of you gentleman that reek of this superficial stench, my feeling is that there is hope. Unpop your collars, pick up a substitive book and try transcending linguistics, instead of regurgitating worn out, mind-​numbing, cliches. Unpuff your chest and discard of the napoleonic complex, if you want to get in a fight so badly, take an MMA class. I can promise you it would be a humbling experience. You will learn to harness your anger through training and discipline and the right trainer will teach you how to fight, sensibly; like Mr. Kesuke Miyagi said, «Fighting always last answer to problem.»
Douchebag’s are usually from a lineage and a pedigree of douches — each one, teach one, right? Many-​a-​times, their parents are douche bags. Cousins, Aunts, Uncles: all douche bags. The nut doesn’t fall from the tree; or in this instance, the douche doesn’t fall far from the. *ahem*
From what I’ve learned, these socially-​convoluted folk will have opportunites to progressively evolve, and un-​douche. Normally, through everyday dealings, others will subtly point out fallacies in their appearance and personality. My most common and mature way is by fusing a faux cough and the words, «d-​o-​u-​che-​bag» as the perpetrator walks by. If you can relate to this review and actually stroll about your day faintly hearing echoing coughs that resemble this subject matter: wake up! You are the douche bag! Oh, but it’s never too late to change. Even a maggot eventually turns into a fly.
Good Luck.

If there is ONE THING I cannot stand, it’s fucking POPPED COLLARS.
Oh and striped shirts.
And pink.
COME ON. You’re better than that (ok maybe not)
They come in all sorts of forms. Like the kind whose name I won’t mention for fear he might be stalking me, even though he lives in LA and SAYS he doesn’t care. He doesn’t wear douchey items, but he sure acts like one.
Wow.
How’s THAT for revenge!

The only reason I knew about douche bags was I went to Bay to Breakers with a cool group of sharp minded people who dressed up AND at times acted like one! They dramatically wore multiple polo shirts with the collars up, iPod boombox playing the top 80s and 90s (not even the latest) music, and additionally with the beer pong game throughout the walk definitely attracted tons of sorority type of girls– young, half drunk but wanted more booze, wild with skimpy outfits.
And walking through the Union Street Fair did give me a better perspective of what a real life one looks like LOL…
I must admit, though, the well-​dressed part does deserve the extra star ~wink~.

Let’s be clear — you don’t label something a douche bag and then give it more than one star. After months of study and discussion, I think I’ve narrowed down the key characteristics of this oh-​so-​abundant and yet-​so-​repugnant subspecies of the human race (well, I *think* they’re human, but I’m not a zoologist, or a biologist, or an anthropologist, so I’ll ultimately leave that determination to the experts).
How to spot a douche bag:
Morphology: designer jeans with black leather square-​toe shoes and an untucked pseudo dress shirt, ideally made from a flashy print fabric, or with something embroidered all over it (except on Saturday afternoons, when a shirt with a popped collar may be substituted). Generally, they are or wish very much to be seen as upwardly mobile.
Language: Douche bags like to talk about stocks, sports (but only in a really statistically heavy way — they don’t dig topics like «Best QB of All Time,» and anyway it’s Brett Favre, so enough already), expensive cars that they will claim to own or at least have a down payment on, their alleged salaries, and the chicks they want to bang.
Terrain: Douche bags can be found across the nation, in every neighborhood, but in San Francisco they have an affinity for the Marina, certain large SoMa and Union-​Square-​Proximate dance clubs, known singles bars, and similar establishments. They are known to be afraid of bikers (messengers, not the Hell’s Angels, although I am sure the douche bags are afraid of Hell’s Angels too), people who have lots of tattoos, dive bars, cheap cars, smart women, and emotional intelligence.
In general, looks aside, if you hear apparently human males discussing art history, global politics, other-​than-​top-​40 music, or anything requiring real thought, intelligence, and conversational skill, you can know you are not listening to a douche bag.
(Note that all of the aforementioned qualifications are excused for my sister’s ex-​BFs, who are douche bags by default)
As irritating as they are, douche bags aren’t dangerous. They will normally not attack even if provoked, and will generally flee from confrontation. Therefore, if you see them in the wild, feel free to antagonize them.