Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Send Me Your Douchebags!

Well, I'm eight omens up the ladder of fame.  I think that earns me some soapbox time.  (Just like it did back when I was only two omens old!)

If you're reading this post, then it's probably not meant for you.  You're probably someone who can already identify a "douchebag," scientifically speaking, and you know that you're not one of them.  Please identify the nearest douchebag, punch them in the teeth, then send them to my blog to figure out why. 

If you got sent here by someone who punched you in the teeth, please keep reading.  I'm glad we got your attention.

Dear douchebag:

Is it a surprise to you that I just addressed you as "douchebag?"  I'd like to think it is, because I'd like to think you don't realize how much of a douchebag you are, and that's why you're still such a douchebag.  After all, I'm clinging to the remote possibility that all humans, every single one of them, are good, just that some are misguided.  And if you know how much of a douchebag you are, but you're acting the way you are anyway, then . . . well . . . there goes that remote possibility.

Let's assume for the sake of my soul that you don't know how much of a douchebag you are.  That gives us a little hope.  Let's further assume that the person who punched you in the teeth and sent you here believes that you can get better.  I agree with them.

So get better already.

Sorry.  I forgot.  You don't realize what you're doing that's making the rest of us call you a douchebag.

Well, for beginners, you're emotionally unavailable, and not in a to-your-vapid-girlfriend kind of way. (Though, truthfully, you're probably that, too, and boy, is she vapid!  And while we're on the subject, I hope she knows that you're going to dump her as soon as the sex gets dull.  As if sex with you was ever interesting.  She just doesn't know better.  You know that, right?  No.  You don't.  You're not astute.  You're a douchebag.) 

Back to emotional unavailability. 

You haven't accessed a feeling since you started burying them around age 11, when you were having those weird homosexual feelings and didn't want to deal with them.  I'm sorry.  Did I just imply that you are a latent homosexual?  Does that insult you?  That's another sign of how much of a douchebag you are.  The rest of us have stopped fearing the world, gone out and met people of different races, orientations, and persuasions, and found at least a little bit of comfort with diversity.  You, I know, still prefer to spend time almost exclusively with members of your own race, gender, and persuasion, to seek comfort in them, and to mock everyone who doesn't share those things in common.  We all know it's a sign of your fear that you don't branch out, but you don't recognize that.  (See previous paragraph.)  You think you're still in the cool crowd, which stopped existing for the rest of us at age 15. 

Speaking of recognition, you don't experience it much.  True beauty, injustice, need, hope, courage: these things are all lost on you.  You don't empathize.  You don't communicate.  You destroy the things we build.  You're careless.  You're aloof.  You're, in the words of my eleven-year-old self that also knew you then and beat your ass at King of the Hill, "no fun."  

In conclusion, we all know that the haunted house you're wandering through isn't real.  We all know the actors are just that, and that they aren't going to touch you or actually hurt you.  We all know the noises are coming through speakers and the walls are moving because of the electrics.

So let me just remind you that you paid for this shit.  At least try to use your imagination and have some fun, instead of ruining it for the very real people who are trying to entertain you.  


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