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est. 02.27.02

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June 2008

Wrapped up like a douche, another runner in the night.
Euch. | Thursday, 06.12.08
I am highly susceptible to douche chills. If you're unfamiliar with the term, it's the feeling you get when you witness someone make a complete and total ass of himself... sorta like agita, except you feel it in your brain, then your stomach, then your privates. Like, picture walking in on an overweight man in his 40's standing in a kiddie pool, wearing ill-fitting swim trunks, singing Weird Al's "Fat" (the hit parody of Michael Jackson's "Bad") to an audience of stuffed animals on his birthday. OK, that! That feeling right there! Douche chills!

Don't be discouraged if you didn't get the douche chills from the above example. Like a beautiful snowflake, your douchiness threshold is different from mine. Plus, I feel that the douche chills rely heavily on sight and sound, as well as the formula below...

Make this stop + Euch + I'm embarrassed for everyone involved = Douche chills

So now that we've summed up what makes a douche chill a douche chill, let's move on to my problem - there's a sick part of me that wants to be around douche chill-inducing moments. Much like licking the business end of a 9 volt battery, I know it's going to sting... but I have to keep licking it over and over again to see why it stings. I've become obsessed with what I like to call (as of right this very second) "Douche Chill Science." I have very specific triggers that make me extremely uncomfortable, but I feel I'll achieve some sort of higher consciousness if I keep pushing the levels of my douche intake. Either that or I'm a sick fuck that, for whatever reason, gets off on the ineptitude of everyone and everything around me. Maybe both. Maybe neither! I don't even care anymore! Below is a list of stuff that make me wince, shiver and say "euch" all at the same time.

Rapping grandmas. Oh man, do you know what would make this comedic vehicle that's being driven into a wall by a former SNL castmember from the early-to-mid 90's even more embarrassingly douche-chilly than Rob Schneider derp-derping it up in a cameo that made like three people in the audience whisper to their partner, "It's nice that they let a man with severe Downs syndrome have a cameo in this multi billion dollar box office extravaganza."? RAPPIN' GRANNY! Ooh yeah! Get it because she's white and old as fuck and for some strange reason knows all of the words to Rapper's Delight? Outrageous!

12 seconds... that's all it takes to send douche chills up and down my spine. I'm hoping Adam Sandler's new film, where he plays an Israeli commando that cuts hair and kicks people in the face, features a squad of rapping grandmas, Rob Schneider (confirmed), and hours of indecipherable dialogue delivered by a mush-mouthed imbecile. Oh god... there are TONS of old rappin' fucks clogging up youtube. See for yourself.

The jocular barista. I get coffee from the same place every morning. I ordered a tall coffee from the same barista every day for about a year. One day, about two months ago, I said to myself, "Self, you're a hard working man with the weight of the world bearing down on your shoulders... you should upgrade to a larger cup of coffee." So, I built up some courage, strapped myself in and ordered a GRANDE coffee. The barista's face curled up in confusion... "Wait, wait, wait...," he said, "You want a GRANDE? B-b-but... what about the tall?" I gave a polite chuckle and said, "Eh, I feel like it's gonna be a rough day, so I'll splurge." The barista found this HYSTERICAL. "OH HO HO HO WOW. A rough day? Oh boy... here you go young sir, one grande cup of coffee for your drinking pleasure!"

Whatever, right? No. I continue to order grande coffees, and we've had this conversation every day for the past two months. "Still gonna be a rough one today, huh? WACKA WACKA!" Now, my douche nerve endings stand at attention from the time I walk into the coffee shop until I leave. Oh, there are variations - on Mondays, I hear, "Uh oh! A grande? Sounds like someone had a rough weekend! Look out!" It's not like I'm asking for a 50 gallon drum of coffee, it's a fucking 16 ounce cup. Like, a 20 cent difference from a tall, and here I am doing a song and dance with a boisterous apron-ed douche every morning at 9:00.

Douche chill LIGHTNING ROUND. Baby talk amongst adults. The word "naughty." Waving to someone that's actually waving to someone behind you. Movies that feature farting. The phrase, "Someone's been a bad boy." Beavis impressions.

Old white women using wrong and/or black slang. Euchhhhh, this shit is the worst. If you're a white woman over 50, your stately brooch is not "bling." Neither is your string of pearls, your turquoise ankle bangle, or your other stately brooch that you were awarded for 25 years of service with OldCo, the insurance company for sassy grandparents.

You cannot refer to yourself as a MILF unless you plan on fucking yourself... which reminds me - go fuck yourself. You're old! Don't you remember? A television remote is a "clicker." Jeans are "dungarees" and pants are "slacks." Robin Williams is the pinnacle of wit because "that guy is a nut... he'll say anything!" You're not sure why, but you don't trust that Rachael Ray. What's she hiding anyway? DVDs are videos. CDs are DVDs. And you don't know what the fuck a Blu-Ray does. "I mean, it sounds like some kind of 'ray gun' from the Star Trak, am I right?" There there, grandma, why don't you put your slacks back on and sit down, ok? You're old, and your olde tyme dialect suits you just fine... just focus on staying alive.

There are many, many, many, many, many more situations, people and ideas that give me douche chills, but they're either hard to explain or so nauseatingly douchey that I wouldn't even be able to write about them without cringing and shielding my eyes from the screen. Also, every hair on your body would stand on end for the rest of your life if you read some of my really douchey observations, so by giving up on this update I'm actually sparing you. You're welcome.



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