We Want Douchebags

You’re in a crowded bar and he’s there, staring at you – eyes gleaming, necklace dangling, collar popped, cocktail in his death grip, straightening his coat, glancing at his watch, glancing at the crowd (for someone better looking), glancing at his iPhone to text a midnight booty call.

Turn away? Too late. He’s in your personal space, boxing you in, buying you a drink, telling you about his convertible, his tailor, his vay-cay to Bali, his bench-press, his MVP award from junior high lacrosse. His pants are too tight, his skin is leathery, his teeth are impossibly white and he wears so much Drakkar Noir you’re about to faint.

Or maybe he’s of the D.C. variety – breathlessly name-dropping, too quick to ask what you do for a living, too many stories about UVa or kickball on The Mall, too much Ralph Lauren. When he looks in the mirror, he sees Tom Brady when he should be seeing Justin Bieber.

Escape? Only if you’re quick on your feet: My friends are over there. I have to go to the bathroom. I have a flight to catch. I need a liver transplant.

Resistance is futile: I’d love to meet your friends. I have to pee, too. I can give you a ride to the airport. I can give you my liver.

Ladies, you may be familiar with encounters like the one above. Gentlemen, you may have initiated encounters like the one above. In either case, I need your help. On behalf of the People’s Republic of America, the Chairman’s Central Committee is proud to announce the 1st Great Douchebag Contest.

Douchebags are everywhere, comrades – from the lakes of Minnesota to the hills of Tennessee, as Lee Greenwood would say. You just need to send me a photo of one and a maximum 75-word caption that describes your candidate’s douchiness. Deadline for submissions is December 1 – plenty of time for you to scour the bars of Washington, D.C., Southern California or other environs during football season. I will occasionally post some of the submissions so the competitors will know what they’re up against.

The top 3 douchebags and a few honorable mentions will be announced on December 14. Winners will receive a drink of his/her choice at a bar/pub of my choice. I am the judge, jury and executioner. After all, this is a benevolent autocracy.

You cannot submit photos of people you already know. The photos must be real, featuring a douchebag in his natural crowded, sweaty habitat. A woman cannot be a douchebag – a female exhibiting douchebaggery is simply a dumb slut. (Editor’s note: That clarification came from a woman.)

“I can’t see Gronkowski anywhere!”

The uninitiated might be asking, “What is a douchebag?” You’ll know it when you see him. It’s a look, behavior and attitude, rolled up in one STP-greasy package – a special blend of arrogance, self-absorption and braggadocio that’s too eager to please and too aggressive in every facet of social interaction. He probably exaggerates about his salary (“150K? I told him to go fuck himself!”), his connections (“… the other day when I was texting Antonin Scalia…”) or, if applicable, his war wounds (“…I got this scar from a tank round”). Douchebags can be bald, but they typically have long thick locks that are gelled into some gravity-defying shape. Pants are so tight that they practically scream, “Hey, check out my package!”

Can douchebags be handsome? This blog post muses about how U.S. swimming phenom Ryan Lochte is America’s “sexiest douche” thanks to his grillz, bling and eagerness to hook up in Olympic village. Hell jeah, douchebags can be handsome, although I thought Lochte was simply dumb.


Other key identifiers include:

  • An Affliction T-shirt two sizes too small.
  • The stench of Drakkar Noir or Aqua Velva.
  • His name is Skip Bayless.

It’s amazing what pops up when you Google “douchebag,” including many photos of Bush 43, Obama, the cast of “Jersey Shore” and this semi-serious feature in SF Weekly about how the term has evolved.

Good luck, comrades. I’m expecting big things from you. (That’s what she said).



About Chairman Mao

I like fomenting socialist revolutions and purging my homeland of pseudo-intellectualism and capitalist dogma. I also like sports, dogs and food (although I wouldn't consider myself a foodie).
This entry was posted in Culture, Dating, Douchebags, Life in D.C. and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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