nights out make for manhating. intense manhating. sorry dudes, i don’t know what has caused this onslaught but the rage seems to drive on a fuel that replenishes itself effortlessly…douchebaggery.
the illustration does the term incomplete justice.
recent assortment of treats:
1) friend’s ex is in town for whole summer. suggests they hang out. she says sure just holler. then drops off face of planet. decides its only worth his time to see her 7 days before he’s leaving town again…for the booty call. DOUCHE PARFAIT.
2) man at bar asks my friend to go get a drink so he can dance with me. DOUCHEMUFFIN!
3) groping man who can’t dance. DOUCHECREAM PIE.
4) guy pinches friend’s arse uninvited. CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE DOUCHE!
5) good intentions but poorly executed. DOUCHEPUDDING.
*yawn* i feel like the IRREGULAR/CLEARANCE rack no longer holds secret bargains. and i can’t afford the full-price product. and the analogies never get old. shopping never looked so bleak at 6 in the A.M.
i don’t think it’s the dude’s (speaking of dudes as a whole) fault per se. i’m just not a fan of the emotional bloating, the mental cramps and the bleeding heart. the madness must stop.
and like a true hypocrite, i will espouse the exact opposite sentiments, in, oh, about a week. give or take.