It's the Economy, Stupid!

Sure, that guy sitting in the cubicle next to you at work is annoying. We all know him: his iPod is so loud he doesn’t realize people can hear him drumming on his desk and singing every third line of Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” in a nasally, falsetto whisper. It is true, The Handbook could devote an entire chapter to Desktop Divas, but a douche of even bigger proportions has arrived on the world stage. His name is Prices.

This week, Prices vaulted six spots to number two on the list of biggest douche bags on the planet. Take a look at the Top Ten (first place votes in parentheses):

1. Brodie (193)
2. Prices (25)
3. Sidney Crosby (2)
4. Voldemort
5. European explorers
6. R. Kelly
7. That guy at Clarendon Ballroom last weekend who sidled up to the bar and bought a drink for the girl I was clearly hitting on…and he was wearing those Cole Haan driving mocs I saw at Nordstrom the day before but couldn’t afford. They were like $300! I guess that douche bag had enough cash…he sure was flossing it last weekend…douche…
8. Snidely Whiplash
9. Karl Rove
10. That same guy from the Ballroom (see no. 7). I really wanted those shoes…dammit…

But this is not about shoes. It’s about Prices. Since 2007, Prices have cost the average American more money than gambling and Lindsay Lohan combined (smashing 2006’s record of just over $1,967,047 billion). And now, even as the U.S. economy is slumping, Prices keep rising.

Today, gas costs $4.00 per gallon, rice costs $0.21 per pound, and hiring a naked woman to clean your home costs $100 per hour. Even the price of corn is rising, which means in one week, your favorite Woodford Reserve Perfect Manhattan could run you $25.00 instead of $21.00. It is truly a tragedy. No, there’s no bigger douche bag right now than Prices, and things going from douche to douchier. But, judging by a recent interview with DBH, Prices doesn’t seem too concerned:

DBH: You’re approval ratings have hit an all time low, yet you’ve continued your meteoric rise this past year. What keeps that smile on your face?
PRICES: Well, it’s true. Pretty much everyone hates me. But it’s hard not to smile when you make this much money.
DBH: Do you have any fans at all?
PRICES: Of course! John Hofmeister, the president of the Shell Oil Company, invited me to his private floating yacht/island/waterpark/leper colony for Spring Break. We had a great time drinking fresh-clubbed baby seal wine out of panda skulls. I got to pet some of the lepers, too. With gloves on, of course.
DBH: That sounds amazing.
PRICES: Yeah, it was awesome until the velociraptors got out of their zone and then one of the dilopasauruses spit all over my Prada boat shoes.
DBH: Wasn’t that in Jurassic Park?
PRICES: Yes, he owns three of those as well. And a Wendy’s.
DBH: So you pretty much just hang out with rich people all of the time.
DBH: Pretty much. I’ve given up on poor people. I tried to go to Mali last year, but this really tall black guy got pissed off at me punched me in face. He broke my left orbital bone and I ended up needing surgery…it was a mess. He literally punched my face in. It cost me like $8,000.
DBH: Did you sue him?
PRICES: I didn’t sue him, but I got him back. Good luck trying to buy millet now, Moussa!!! [Laughs] Man…things like that remind me why I love my job.
DBH: Do you have plans for the summer?
PRICES: Actually, I’ll be working, but I have a big summer ahead of me. I’ll be in the US until July making sure people drop a C-note on a tank of gas. Then, I’m going to go skydiving with the American Dollar over the Alps. And I’m going to spend all of August snatching tortillas from the quivering, desperate fingers of young Guatemalan children.
DBH: Well, keep your hands off my chalupa!

Cable Television Series

They’re better than eating at the newest restaurant in town—that hot joint with the one-word name concocted by slightly altering a real word into a high society, faux Latin moniker like Trivium or Sequinox or Epatitus. They’re better than “out-greening” your co-workers by pedaling to work on a bicycle constructed of reclaimed 737s wearing a suit made from wheat grass and naturally shed (never sheared!) free-range alpaca lint.

Not only are cable television series hands down the trendiest of hot trends, they also satisfy the two Tenants of Trending: over-saturation of the market and a very low effort-to-respect ratio.

First, there exists a seemingly endless supply of critically acclaimed, ground breaking series from which to choose. First it was Sex and the City. Then came The Sopranos, Six Feet Under, Queer as Folk, The Wire, Entourage, Rome, The Tudors, Flight of the Conchords, Weeds, Californication…the list goes on! A 2007 San Diego State University study showed that the cable series conception rate (CSCR) in North America is on par with Amazonian deforestation, or as the study ominously phrased it, “Really f*cking fast!”

The CSCR shows no signs of letting up. During the time it took you to read this, HBO wrote, cast and filmed thirteen series including:

…The Bell Tolls
Starring former Saved by the Bell cast members Lark Voorhies and Dennis Haskins. Jolinda Negroson (Voorhies) is a paraplegic, single mother and truck stop waitress who falls in love with Mr. Felding (Haskins), her openly gay, HIV positive former high school principal. The two forge a symbiotic, yet legally unrecognized partnership and struggle to cope with the tribulations of an interracial, handicapped relationship in ultra-conservative and historically non-ADA compliant Brewton, Alabama.

Running Out of Time
Herman (Albert Brooks) is a down-on-his-luck bank teller who finds a magical track suit that allows him to jog into the future. Season two introduces late-80s phenomenon ALF as Herman’s futuristic talking, domesticated companion.

The Secret Diary of Madison Keller
An eye-opening look into the fast-paced, real world of Madison, a third grader from Hoboken, NJ. Season one explores “10 Fun Places I Would Go with Hannah Montana” and “Ew! Broccoli!!”

Second, to keep up with this hot trend requires just about as much effort as tragically confusing a Chi O. Merely alluding to the fact that you watch any one of the myriad shows is enough to give you credibility with your premium-cabled peers. Absorbing any details while watching a cable series is considered purely coincidental and immaterial to any discussion of the show with one’s associates. Take this actual conversation between “Tim” and “Mike” (names have been changed to protect the innocent):

Tim: Dude, I watched four episodes of Rome season two on DVD last night. It was f*cking awesome.

Mike: Aw man, I’m still on season one…what happened? No don’t tell me!

Tim: It was awesome.

Mike: Ok tell me!!!!

Tim: The big guy…you know…the general or emperor or whatever. I forget his name.

Mike: Yeah I know who you’re talking about.

Tim: Anyways, that guy totally destroyed like this entire army in Gaul or Africa, I think.

Mike: No way, that guy is such a bad ass.

Tim: And he cut this one guy’s head off with a huge broad sword…

Mike: Niiiiiiice.

Tim: and then there was an orgy and then Larry David talked to Richard Lewis for 20 minutes about men buying tampons…

Mike: Aw man…I can’t wait to watch it. Sweeeeeeet…

Tim: I know. [Texting girlfriend with explanation of why they can’t have sex that night]. Awesome…

Women

As the old adage goes, behind every douche bag stands a douched woman. Not only do women admire and adore douche bags, extensive studies show they also perpetuate their preponderance. Today’s society pays an inordinate amount of attention to douche men, but what of the women?

Not simply relegated to subversive supporting roles, douche bag women actively contribute to the douche culture; however, many people have trouble distinguishing she-douches from normal women. It is true that the traits of the fairer douche are sometimes hard to resolve with the naked eye, but by no means it is impossible. In some areas, female douche bags outnumber their male counterparts by a 3 to 1 ratio (see: New Jersey). One simply has to know what to look for:

Bag Hag
We’ve all seen her…the underwhelming girl treading water in a sea of horizontally striped, primary-colored rugby jerseys. As their name suggests, Bag Hags consort exclusively with douche bags, and their emotional bruising is only slightly less repulsive than the midriffs spilling over their tragically tight jeans; however, the relationship between a bevy of douches and their Hag is quite symbiotic. The douche bags project their anger and frustration upon the Hag to prop up their otherwise teetering self esteems. In return, the Hag gets double-teamed more consistently than LeBron.

Drink Minx
Ladies, do you honestly believe you can go to a bar and get free drinks all night simply because you wore your backless, sequined washcloth of a top? The answer, of course, is “YES!!!” As a matter of fact, a Drink Minx could punch a complete stranger in nads, break into his house, stomp on his NES (and his Contra cartridge), slap his mom, key his Honda, drink his beer and STILL get Bacardi mojitos (and Cran-tinis for her gurlz) until last call. What’s most diabolical is how the Minx uses her guile (and her Cleavage/Fake Cell Number Combo Strike) to avoid the courtesy blow jay that is normally preceded by at least three free drinks.

Bag-ette
Popped collar and windshield-sized sunglasses…‘nuff said.

Miss Mess
Calling this chick a functional alcoholic would be like saying Perez Hilton is just a little gay. Miss Mess kicks off the evening with a BAC of .10 and works her way up. Way up. She seems completely sober upon arrival at the bar/dance club/Wendy’s, but by 9:30, after a Smirnoff Ice, Miss Mess is on the dance floor (as the DJ is setting up) bouncing to the erratic pulse of the beat inside her head (more often than not, a truant nipple works its way out to wish everyone well).

With mussed, sweat-infused hair, Miss Mess throws her spirit fingers in the air and let’s out a long “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” This display of fertility, and a respectable arm-pit-shaving average (APSA) of .375, signals to the men in the bar/dance club/Wendy’s that she’s available for courtship, but by no means will she be easy. Though her outward appearance screams otherwise, Miss Mess is no more promiscuous than she is a contributing member of society. The evening's lucky winner will come to realize this fact as he attempts to determine where he can drop off the now unintelligible Miss Mess without committing a misdemeanor. The night culminates triumphantly with the gentleman struggling to aim the tear-soaked stream of Miss Mess' half-digested dinner out the half-opened taxi window as he reassures her that majoring in [bull-shit sociology discipline] at [any small liberal arts college in rural Virginia] was a smart decision.