Thursday, January 15, 2009

Seminal Moments in Douche Bag History

January 20, 2009 will be forever known as one of the most historic events in recent history: the inauguration of Barack Obama as the first African-American president of the United States of America. In light of such a watershed event, it is only fitting to reflect on other, similarly important events that helped shape the world as we know it:

Quintilis 1553
Improving upon the recently invented printing press, Johann Gutenberg’s son from his second marriage, Kyle Gutenberg-Stevens, develops predictive movable type (then referred to as T-Nein) cutting the time it takes to print one copy of the Bible from eight months to a paltry six. Predictive movable type would later fade from mainstream use when its speed is eventually outweighed by its inaccuracy, as seen in the abundance of unintelligible verses peppered throughout rare editions of the Bible printed using the method: “Genesis 1:12- And the earth brought forth grass, and herb wielding seed after his line, and the used wielding fruit, whose seed was go itself, after his line: and God saw that it was home.”

December 1787
Originally known as the Province of East Anuss, New Jersey is reluctantly invited to join the newly created United States after it walks up behind Delaware and Pennsylvania talking about the big cask party South Carolina is throwing at Independence Hall for Virginia’s birthday. Delaware really didn’t like New Jersey, but it had a crush on Connecticut, who was best friends with New Jersey’s roommate, Georgia…so if New Jersey wasn’t invited, Delaware knew it had zippy chance at getting its Constitution ratified that night (unless Maryland showed up).

September 1853
Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony–wait…Susan B. Anthony–found the Women’s State Temperance Society of New York to combat rampant domestic violence and lollygagging stemming from the abuse of alcohol and other kindred narcotics. The Society is short-lived, however, as New York women discover that enjoying drinks purchased for them by moneyed and eager young bachelors improves their comparative sagacity, phrenologically speaking, and increases vitality. Later that summer, offering to buy a woman a cocktail is made popular by J. Z. Patterson at his Forty-Forty Club* in New York City, as he deems every Wednesday to be "Ladies Night" during which time any dram or jigger purchased for a lady "is to be sold at fifty per-cent of its originating pryce."

July 1935
Paul Sperry discovers that imprinting the soles of his boat shoes with a herringbone pattern, rather than the traditional hound’s-tooth design, improves traction when walking along slippery brick paths of university campuses in the American Northeast, especially when reinforced with madras.

February 2004
Stalking officially becomes both legal and socially acceptable (if not expected) as Facebook merges cautiously onto the Information Superhighway. Photo tagging destroys the political aspirations of an entire generation.

January 2009
Disgraced Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich quietly replaces his controversial appointment to the U.S. Senate, Roland Burris, with conveniently homonymic, NFL wide receiver Plaxico Burress, citing their shared fondness of brazenly flouting established penal codes and the inability of "those f*cking WASP motherf*ckers to tell the difference between two [African-American males]. You f*cking feel me, dog??? Ima get paid, bitch!" During Burress' rocky first week in office, he is arrested for illegally carrying a motion and sets the record for most bills introduced during one session after "making it rain" on nine-term Senator and President Pro Tempore Robert Byrd (D-WV). Senator Byrd would later describe the ordeal as "confusing and tiring."

*Forty-Forty, of course, referring to 40N-40E, the geographical midpoint between England and the United States. A popular political slogan at the time, "Forty-Forty or Fight," demonstrated America’s resolve to keep British warships on its side of the Atlantic, lest all out war be waged.

Friday, January 9, 2009

Ask a Douche Bag IV

Remember to send your questions to DBHandbook@gmail.com and have them answered (anonymously) on the Internet!

Dear DBH,


You know what's really annoying? That's not the question. When you are running on a treadmill at the gym and a d-bag gets on the one next to you and engages you in a treadmill speed war. I'm a girl, and seeing as you are taller, in better shape than myself, and male, you will probably kick my ass at speed (although I will still be running on here when your pansy-ass wimps out in 15 minutes). But it's not like I am just going to get blown away by your stationary speed and keep my slower pace and look like a slacker. Oh no. But really, I also wasn't planning on breathing this heavy at the gym. Maybe after, but not now. Anyway, how can I not compete with the d-bags at the gym and still win?

High five and a fist pump,
A. Winner


Ms. Winner,
(I’ll assume from your body image issues and your passion for competition—not yet dulled by years of acquiescing to incorrect answers shouted by your spouse at previously recorded episodes of Jeopardy—that you are not married. ‘It’s the Sistine Chapel, not the Sixteen Chapel,’ you’ll scream inside your head while taking a long, slow sip of your Coke Zero, swallowing it along with your feelings of anger and remorse.)

While your situation may seem intractable, it is not. To borrow a line from the Academy-Award-winning 1994 tour de force Speed, when life presents a challenge you cannot overcome no matter how hard you try, shoot the hostage.

That’s right, shoot the hostage.

And if that advice seems confusing and misappropriated, as if the author committed prematurely to a movie from which to quote (only to find it woefully lacking), rather than finding a quote to fit the question at hand and then citing the movie from which it came, you’re missing the deeper meaning.

Trying to beat a douche bag at the gym is like punting to Devin Hester or waging a land war in Asia—it’s just not a good idea, and you’ll more than likely end up sweaty and embarrassed. Like the current conflict in Iraq, and the misunderstanding in Vietnam before that, you’re trying to defeat an adept and well supplied adversary on its home turf. If there’s one thing we’ve learned from those two conflicts it’s that the only thing sweeter than absolute victory is changing the definition of victory with a series of incremental, purely symbolic and Pyrrhic successes achieved over an interminable period of time.

So what do you do? Don’t try to beat a douche bag at his own game. Change the game:

Start a gym-wide rumor that How I Met My Mother was abruptly canceled after Neil Patrick Harris left the show to star in a one-man, off-Broadway adaptation of The Sisterhoood of the Traveling Pants that is basically just an hour of NPH dancing alone on stage in tight fitting jeans while humming the I Dream of Jeannie theme song …to himself.

Remark aloud that for years you thought Georgetown Prep and Landon were different names for the same vocational school located in Prince George’s County, until you found out last week that they were two completely different vocational schools located in Prince George’s County.

Turn every TV in the gym to the Hoosiers-Rudy-Brian’s Song-Invincible Saturday afternoon marathon on USA, then hide the remotes and count the number times every guy in the gym clears his throat in an effort to disguise the fact that he is crying.

Bring a bottle of vitamins with the label removed to your next workout. Whenever you see a guy wearing a “Property of [Big Ten school] XXL” shirt finish a set and strike up a conversation with a girl, walk over, hand him the bottle and say (loudly), “Excuse me…I think you left your Valtrex at the lat pull-down machine.” (Use a Sharpie to write “HERPES PILLS” on the bottle for a more realistic effect.)

Or simply forgo competition and revel in the fact that no matter how fast any guy can run on a treadmill, come Saturday night his impressive muscles and horse-like stamina will always be outweighed by his Zoo York Battle Reversible Camo hoodie and his bad gin-and-tonic breath.

...and he will probably buy you a drink…

You win!

-DBH

Monday, January 5, 2009

Something Wicked(ly Awesome) This Way Comes

Once every four years, a miraculous force marries the grimy oil of Washington politics with the murky water of the District’s underground social cistern, two otherwise immiscible entities, into one breathtaking emulsion known as the presidential inauguration.

Inauguration Day has changed greatly over time. For example, the quadrennial to-do was originally celebrated on the Fourth of March. Then, in an apparent nod to the lack of presidents dying of pneumonia contracted during their inaugural addresses, the Twentieth Amendment was ratified in 1933, which moved the inauguration into the heart of winter on the twentieth day of January (which moved Italian-American Appreciation Week to the last full week of April, until it was replaced two decades later by Administrative Professionals Week).

Contemporary inaugurations have also adopted a different tone from that of their predecessors. What was once a grave and cautionary ceremony, infused with the immutable eloquence of Washington and Lincoln, has morphed into a debauchery-filled weekend replete over 50 balls and galas that make the ending dance sequence of Footloose seem about as exciting as a Wes Anderson denouement. Beginning during the cocaine-fueled days of the Reagan Administration, the three days surrounding the actual inauguration have been officially confiscated by bow-tied, patent-leathered douche bags from every corner of the country, with good reason.

To a douche bag, very little in life is more satisfying and rewarding than an inaugural ball, as it fulfills up to 80 percent of his or her top five personal goals of any given calendar year, which include:

5. Being tangentially associated with a political figure or entity of minor importance.
4. Drinking 12 glasses of champagne during a weeknight event that isn’t New Year’s Eve or immediately preceded by a regularly scheduled kickball game.
3. Splitting a Panera Asiago Roast Beef sandwich with Jeremy Piven.
2. Watching Lindsey Graham do the robot to “Love Lockdown.”
1. Combining the words “tuxedo”, “K Street” and “balls” into the same Facebook and/or Gchat status message (without also using the words “homeless guy” or “feelings of self-doubt and remorse”).

But with opportunity comes the burden of choice: Which ball to attend? Wing tip or cap toe? Escort or ex? And what of pocket squares?

Fear not, douche bags, as you are not alone in the labyrinth of confusion and frustration. Take this actual conversation overheard at the most prestigious of douche bag haunts, the Liberty Tavern, re-printed in this medium with false names to protect the innocent:

Jordan: I can’t decide which ball to go to this year, dude. Last year I went to the Kentucky Colonels Society Gala at the Hay-Adams, but I lost my plantation tie at Foxfields, so I don’t think they’ll let me back in.

Chris G.: That’s too bad, that was a strong tie. I’m still trying to decide between the Arkansas State Society Ball at the National Press Club, or the Meineke Care Care Ball at Bank of America Stadium.

Jordan: I’m not sure that’s a ball—

Chris G.: —I was reading about it today and it sounds pretty money…they typically invite the #6 seed from the ACC and the #3 seed from the Big East…so…s’gonna be a lot of people there.

Jordan: [fist pounding bar tender] I just picked up my tux today.

Chris G.: Yeah, I need to do that. What did you go with?

Jordan: Pretty standard…I got a midnight blue tux, matching bowtie, wing collar shirt…I read in GQ that you want to aim for something between T-Pain and George Clooney. Nothing too fancy, but nothing boring either. I’m having trouble finding a leopard-print top hat though…

Chris G.: I think I’m going to go with the shawl lapel, but with a solid-colored silk tie rather than a bowtie. I want something that says, “I’m spontaneous and nonchalant about my attire, even though I clearly know what a shawl lapel is and made a conscious decision to buy a jacket that has one.”

Jordan: Yeah, girls definitely dig shawl collars. I read in GQ that Megan Fox refuses to have sex with anyone who wears Sketchers or peaked lapels.

Chris G.: I found Transformers unrealistic and overly saturated with special effects.

Jordan: [texting on Blackberry Storm] God, Becky just won’t leave me alone…

Chris G.: Have you tried opening up to her? You should tell her that you’re at a point in your life where you don’t really want a relationship. I’m not sure stringing her along is the healthiest situation for either of you.

Jordan: Well, I was going to tell her that, but then she gave me a smoker in the car ride home from salsa lessons…so…

Chris G.: Maybe it was Shia Lebeouf in a lead male role that turned me off to the whole concept of the movie before I could buy into it.