It’s Official: I am a Douchebag

Well, I was going to write a post about Charlie Sheen, But my computer died on me, and I lost all that I had written. This really sucks too, because Sheen has gone completely crack-smoking crazy the past couple of days. I WILL be writing on this topic in the near future. For this post however, I am going to explain to you how I made the discovery that is the title of this post: that I am a complete douchebag. My main arguement is this picture:

Superman is much more of a preppy asshole than what I would have guessed.

Let’s break this photo down.

1. I guess I should start with the most vague symbol of my douchebaggery- my build. It isn’t that I am muscular which makes me a douchebag. No, many people who are muscular aren’t douchebags. It is being muscular along with being self absorbed which makes one a douchebag. Look at me. I couldn’t help but take a pic of my flexed bicep as I walked into the bathroom. There is a phrase I like to use that describes that kind of narcisism, and that is “self suck.” You can just tell that I am insecure and I work out just to make myself feel better.

2. My shirt- not only am I so insecure about myself that I need to flex whenever there is a mirror in front of me, but I also have to wear tight-fitting clothes to accentuate (I purposely used the gayest word I could think of to take a stab at myself) my build. But not only is it tight, it is also a baby blue Superman shirt, which makes it all 10 times worse. Since the shirt references a comic book character, I can either be a geek poser, or someone who actually believes that I am superman. Either way, I’m a douche. Next: the color. The only guys who wear baby blue are either gay or douchebags, and if this was another person, I would say that the person was both. So not only am I a douchebag, I am also a huge hypocrite, All because I am wearing this shirt. If only that shirt had a collar that I could pop, I could create a black hole of pure douchebag energy.

3. My fucking face- Look at it. I mean, really look at it.  The expression I am making is a cross between duckface and an overconfidant smirk.  Too bad my pasty white ass isn’t tanner, because the wrinkles on my face would have been much more noticable and funny for you guys. But the fact that I managed to not make a Jersey Shore Guido kissy face is the only thing I have done my entire life that I should actually be commended for.

4. The flowers- Where the fuck did I take this picture? A meadow?

5. My hat-Now, this is going to be difficult for me; I love that hat, but with everything that I am doing in this picture, it only adds to my overall douchebaggery. Also, look at the pins on it. Why in the hell do I need pieces of flair? Isn’t my hair and shirt flamboyant enough? Jesus Christ, am I like this all the time?

6. The picture itself- Of all the elements, the face, the hat, the shirt,  the bicep flex, the single most important symbol of  my douchiness is the fact that this picture exists. Don’t believe me? Fuck you. Also, look on Facebook. Facebook is littered with pics just like mine (I would have suggested that you Google Image search “doucebag” to prove my point, but all that comes up was pics of guidos).  What I’m feebly trying  argue is that when you see a picture like mine, you instinctively think that that person, the one standing in the bathroom mirror, taking a tilted picture of themselves with their camera phone, is a complete and utter douchebag. And despite my hating on them before, I have joined their douchey, douchey ranks.

7. The fact that I have pointed this all out to you- You may be thinking that I may be not as big of a douchebag since I see the signs in myself. Afterall, admitting that you have a problem is the first step to recovering from that problem, right? Well actually, wrong. With me, The fact that I am aware of my own douchery is the biggest factor of why I am a douchebag. It’s the fact that I know this about my self, but choose to do nothing about it which makes me a douche. I am content with it. I enjoy some of the douchey things I do, even this picture, which I took specifically to show all of you how much of a douche I am. I may write my blogs to entertain you all, but at the end of the day, I am still using it to get attention from you, just as every other douchebag uses their looks/ clothing/ personality/ car/ pictures of themselves/ bizarre STDs to get attention of the people around them.

So now I give you the the Douchebag Hall of Fame:

Douche of the flesh-colored beard

Douchebag of the Popped Collar

King Guido

Musical Douchebag



Douche That Can't Shut The Hell Up, Douche of the Retarded Sunglasses

Dead Douche

Historical Douche

Hipster Douche

Self-Aware Douche

Well, at least I have company. Too bad it’s a sausage fest though, but what can you do?



OK, that’s it for now. I will probably post something tomorrow, so stay tuned. For my facebook friends reading this, I gave up facebook for Lent, so this will be your only connection to me for the next 38 days. But more on that tomorrow.


Peas and lub, wurd.


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